What a Woman Wants
The mattress was comfortable without being too soft but not so firm it made pressure points ache. He had an itch but his arms felt too weighted to lift. Without opening his eyes, he murmured in a voice thick with sleep, "Trowa, 'ratch m' nose."
A single nail rubbed over the bridge of his nose and down both sides of his nostrils, and Quatre sighed with the relief. He nestled his head further into the pillow, and reached for Trowa. His arm moved a couple of inches and stopped. Quatre frowned and tried again, not fathoming why the limb wouldn't obey.
Eyes blinked opened, and through the dim light in the room, he twisted his head up to look at the arm – the arm crooked back above his head. The arm with its wrist neatly tied to a length of scarf or some similar article. "Trowa? Why'm I tied up?"
The body lying at his side rolled up into a sitting position, and even as Quatre turned his head to confront his lover again for the condition he'd woken to, other conditions demanded his attention. He was nude, without even benefit of a sheet covering any part of his body. And he was rock hard, instantly desiring the continuation of his lover's ministrations. The fuzziness of his brain cleared enough to feed the sensations that woke him – Trowa had been stroking his cock while he slept.
An unfamiliar touch of a hand too soft to be his lover's glided its path up over his abdomen and chest. Quatre followed its progression and when it stopped, he trailed it up over delicate wrist, and slender arm. His eyes focused on the face of his captor and somewhere between confusion and indignation, understanding wedged its way inside.
She was on her knees, sitting back on her heels watching him. Her mouth twisted up in that half-smile he'd seen on several occasions – her calculated scheming smile that had only been turned on him once before, its cost a near fatal wound. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders; her breast peeked teasingly from between its strands. Quatre hastily snapped his eyes upward, determined not to look again.
Remembering his situation, he told her, "Your joke has gone on long enough. I demand you release me this instant."
One set of brows quirked and she smiled a genuine smile, if a somewhat cruel one. "A joke? I think not." She moved then, sliding to the edge of the bed where she paused to look over her shoulder. "For all of your power, my dear Quatre, you are not the master here."
She rose and Quatre's eyes were drawn to her lower back, and the gentle swell of her buttocks, the curve of her hips, and to her thighs that hid her sex from his immediate sight. His reaction was immediate and strong; his cock straightened and fell back to his abdomen with a thump. Quatre flushed, and turned away. He thought of Trowa, and what he would be doing now.
"You can't keep me here," he said even as the room lightened.
"Oh, I can," she countered, and he turned his head back to face her. Sunlight was filtering through the blinds, casting her in mixed shadow. She began to walk back to the bed with deliberately slow steps, a hand rose to sweep her hair from her face, and expose what had been hidden before.
"You must have forgotten just who I am, and of what I am capable of," he stated, fighting to stay at least somewhat reasonable. "I will escape."
She smiled, and laughed a girlish laugh he knew she'd never sported before. "Highly doubtful, Quatre darling." Her hand slid from her hair, and lingered over her breast. "You are now in a secured location in a remote region of the Duke's ancestral estate. There's no where to go from here, and no one will assist you if you did escape the castle."
Changing tactics, Quatre flexed his right arm, pulling against the restraint. "This is ludicrous, Dorothy. People are expecting me. They'll be looking for me."
He'd tried to keep from looking at her, and instead kept his eyes fixed on the knot where the strip of fabric was tied to the bed. Lifting a knee, she slid it on the mattress, parting her legs to afford a better view. She exhaled loudly through her nose, deriding his statement.
"No one will be expecting you for a long time," she told him, reaching over to trail a lacquered nail down the inside of his arm. "Your message was quite clear on your intentions. No one but me will be seeing you for some time to come."
"Trowa..." he started.
"Now he would have been a problem." She stopped and frowned at him.
The stabbing fear had him redoubling his efforts. "Trowa! What did you do to Trowa?"
"Stop that!" she commanded placing her other hand on his chest. "I haven't done anything. Though it's a good thing it'll take months before his shuttle arrives on Mars." Her smile was at its cruelest. "By the time he makes it back to Earth, you will have long forgotten about him." Her finger swirled the light brown hair in his armpits. "You have grown up so nicely," Dorothy murmured.
Quatre stared in open-mouthed shock. Her statement about Trowa circled in his head, numbing his mind. "You're crazy!"
"No, just determined." She drew both legs up on the bed, and kneeled next to him. "I've wanted you in this position for years, Quatre dear." Her kiss missed his mouth when he turned away abruptly. Her pinch to the inside of his arm was sharp, swift and painful. Quatre jerked and tried to pull away, succeeding in only tightening the loops further around his wrist. "You will not avoid me or deny what I want."
His only recourse was to glare. "What is it you want, Dorothy?" He was going to have to reason with her. And to be successful, he'd have to play her game, at least somewhat. "It can't be money – between your inherence, and Duke Hausnerstien's wealth..."
"It's not money!" Her eyes glittered. "It's..." She lifted her chin, refusing to look at him.
"What, Dorothy?" he asked softly now. "Why am I here? Why have you done this?" Her fingers continued in their play, on his chest, on his arm. Ignoring it was impossible, but he muted the sensation with thoughts of Trowa, chasing after him on his own.
"I told you already." Her voice had lost its harshness, her tone was almost sedate. "I plan to have a family." Her fingers closed over a nipple and squeezed. Quatre bit back the cry, trying to make sense of her words. "I have to have a family."
"What does that have to do with me?"
Dorothy's eyes refocused on his face and Quatre nearly shuddered at the feral look. "Because you're going to give me one." She pinched his nipple again, harder and with a twist.
"Give you..." Quatre's eyes widened, then narrowed at the implication. "How?"
Her lips curved softly upward, and she laughed softly. "The usual way, Quatre dear." A brow rose in amused contemplation. "You do know of the birds and the bees?"
"Impossible," he snapped. "I don't care for you that way and I happen to love someone else entirely."
She held his stare for a moment before lying on one side, leaning back on an elbow. "Love has nothing to do with this arrangement, you silly boy." Her fingers ran lightly down a path of their own making over his abdomen to curl in his hair. "Besides, you've risen to the occasion once already. I don't doubt you won't disappoint me the next time." Her fingers traced over the head of his cock, down the ridge of his shaft, and circled his balls.
Desperately seeking a distraction from her actions, Quatre blurted, "But you're married... and you can't hide me away for..."
Her mouth engulfing his cock stopped his words in a rush. She was applying suction, using her tongue in ways that let him know she was very familiar with the process. Her hands, she kept busy; one alternately coddling his balls, and squeezing them; the other skimmed over the skin of his abdomen, and tugged at pubic hair.
He was panting, biting back the moans threatening to sound. This cannot be happening! He closed his eyes; the groan he could not take back. When he had agreed to meet with her for lunch, he believed it to just be lunch. They had done it before. It'd become a game of sorts; exchanging barbs, sharing ideas and debating current policies. Never had the thought it would come to this.
She stopped and released him from her mouth. His protest died as she laughed.
"Dorothy," Quatre started, struggling to gain breath. "Stop this. What about your husband?"
Her mouth twisted in a hard line. "He is the reason I'm doing this." Already she was moving, lifting a leg over his hips to straddle him, and wedging his stiffened cock into her crack. Closing her eyes for a moment, she settled on top of him. "He requires an heir. I plan to give him one." Her eyes snapped opened, and their look bore into him. "He is completely impotent and unable to father anything, let alone a child."
Quatre started to respond; Dorothy's hips began to rock, sliding his cock in deeper, clenching it tightly between her channel walls. He gasped aloud instead of questioned, demanded release, resisted her allure. She was riding him now, and the cries he heard were his own; and when she kissed him, fastened her mouth over his, he kissed her back.
And then he was coming, arching up inside her as she bore down on him. Even as she was soaking up his seed, for that's all it was, he turned his face away.
Trowa... The taste of Dorothy was still in his mouth, the electric hum of their coupling buzzed through his veins, and her lips brushed over his chest. Forgive me.
It would become too easy to enjoy what she offered. He would have to escape – somehow.