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[guinegreer]

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[guinegreer]

[ It would be one thing if Greer were keeping score in her head, running up that mental tally of transgressions and assigning an appropriate punishment for each one in response — but the truth is she's still figuring out how to do this, embrace her more dominant side with someone in a way that comes naturally and doesn't feel like she's contorting herself to fit a kind of mold.

Beyond that, Embry is just a walking distraction for her — from the piercing blue of his eyes to the visible tent in his trousers. He even looks more handsome when he's blushing, something she didn't think was possible until she put him in the ideal position for her to bear witness to it. His breath stops, as does hers, but then he's sinking down onto the floor, the audible clink of his belt coming undone punctuating the silence that falls over the room — at least, before Greer remembers herself, and hums a noise of approval. ]

Better. [ She can't praise him too readily, not yet, not when she's made all of this about him needing to earn as much as another inch of bared skin from her, but she does stop backing up, gaze briefly straying in the direction of the small bench at the foot of her bed.

It's there that she assumes her next perch, knees tucked together while she swivels to face him head-on — and then she slowly lets them fall open, affording him a front-row seat to the white lace underneath, the fabric already visibly damp against her folds. It's too slow to be written off as accidental, like she hasn't meant for him to see it, so she thumbs open another button in the meantime, wanting to know if she can make the muscle in his jaw tic a little. ]

You know where your hands are meant to be. [ Palms up, on top of his thighs — where Ash always insists she keeps hers while she's kneeling for him, no matter what he's in the middle of doing to her. ]

[hymen]

[ his hands stop moving when she spreads her legs, sitting pretty on her throne at the base of the bed and showing off lace made translucent by her own wetness. he licks his lips and tastes her there, and he could just crawl across the room and take his chances, but he huffs out another breath and resumes unbuckling his belt, slowly pulling it from the loops. ]

I don't know where my hands are meant to be. That's a game you and Ash play.

[ presumably. if he sounds a little tetchy, it's only because he's pretty sure greer is the perfect submissive in ash's bedroom, while embry is the most under-performing one that's ever crossed ash's lap. whatever. he never officially signed up for that shit anyway. it was only a few years ago that he believed he was so fucking special, providing something to ash that no one else ever could, until ash married the most vanilla lawyer in america and dashed embry's delusions against the jefferson memorial. he's been careful ever since not to overstate his importance.

he discards the belt between them like a snake, then rests his hands casually against his thighs, not touching himself but itching to. his thumb twitches closer to his fly as another button slides open, her bra on display. ]

I can help you out of that, you know. [ he angles a brow at her. ] If you come here. Or let me come there.

[guinegreer]

[ Greer's gaze wavers, that initial flicker of surprise betraying her efforts at maintaining a cooler composure. It's true that she doesn't really know the full extent of what he and Ash do, at least by comparison to what Ash enjoys from her, and maybe she'd made an assumption that it tends to go similarly, or that Ash's demands, appetites, whatever they are with Embry, run parallel to what he wants when she's in his bed.

Yet the sound of Embry's belt rushing through the loops, that whisper of leather against fabric, draws her attention down to where his hands are moving, where he drops the strip of material between them like he's throwing down a gauntlet — and now it's been left to her to pick it up. ]

The first mistake would be letting you use your hands. Or get too close.

[ Greer's jaw firms determinedly, an idea suddenly occurring to her, knees sliding together again as she rises from the bench, barely breaking stride in bending over to collect the belt from where it lies on the rug. ]

Behind your back, then. One wrist over the other. [ Her intention should be clearer after that, but she's still careful to remain out of arm's reach until she's standing behind him, when she can crouch down to begin securing said wrists together with the belt. This close, the temptation to reach for him in bigger ways is rising, especially when she's practically drawing in his scent on each breath, but she's denying herself too, here, maybe even yanking the belt a little tighter than she means to in the process. ]

[hymen]

[ it’s hard to explain exactly what it is that he and ash do. there are right ways to go about this — with conversations and understandings and safewords — and then there’s the way he and ash go about it. rough. messy. unpredictable in its need. it’s not that ash doesn’t take care of him. he has never, ever let embry fall alone into the dark, gaping space once he’s cracked him wide open. but it isn’t how he imagines ash and greer to be, because even if he hasn’t been privy to whatever the hell they’ve been getting up to, he knows that she listens to him in a way that embry does not. it’d been apparent in the way she’d draped herself over his lap in the piano bar at ash’s behest, submitting to the sting of his palm without fighting it like embry would have.

maybe ash likes that more. something he doesn’t have to wrangle and tame. the needy little pulse throbs tighter in him when greer comes close, glad for the interruption to his tumultuous thoughts, and he tries out her tactic, setting his wrists together behind his back without complaint as she belts them tightly, turning his head to watch the spill of her breasts through her open blouse while she works. ]

That’s not fair. You should’ve let me touch you at least once.

[ he regrets giving up his hands so easily, fingers flexing as he imagines the slick glide of his fingertips against her glistening cunt. but even with his hands bound, he still has use of his mouth, so he lurches over swiftly and licks a hot stripe along her upper thigh while she’s still in reach, his teeth biting into smooth flesh as he noses up her skirt. ]

[guinegreer]

That's the whole point.

[ It's not supposed to be fair — but a different unfairness, not the kind that still has Embry convinced, sometimes, that they shouldn't be doing this, that he doesn't belong with her and Ash, no matter how right it feels. Greer's determined enough to emphasize the point otherwise at every opportunity, and stubborn enough not to let Embry push her away in the process, but maybe all of it has been leading up to this for them — him, on his knees, and her denying him more and more until he's begging for the privilege to touch her. Maybe, she wants to punish him that much more for all they could have had together before now.

Kneeling this close to him was a mistake; she realizes it all too late, but she's already crouched down within easy reach, and even with his hands bound, she should have anticipated Embry's uncanny ability for bending the rules that have just been set in place. His tongue on her skin makes her breath hitch, the scrape of teeth stealing her air altogether, and before Greer can even think twice about it she's pulled back a hand to strike him across the face with it, a reflexive slap that makes her own palm sting with the strength of its delivery.

Her first impulse is to stagger back, wide-eyed, surprised even at herself, bringing that same hand to her lips as it starts to tremble — it feels too harsh, coming from her, but there's no taking it back now, nothing she can do other than look at him with an expression of muted horror. ]

Embry — [ Surely, she's overstepped; surely, she's gone too far, her heart dropping into her stomach as the seconds tick by and she waits for him to acknowledge her. ]

[hymen]

[ her palm cracks across his cheek before he can get anywhere near the wet heat of her cunt, and where she might've expected a growl of anger or an absurd display of machismo, the sound that shudders out of his throat is far from either of those things, breathless and keening. a wet spot begins to darken the front of his trousers where his cock stubbornly weeps for attention and fails to get it. a quiet fuck drops from his lips, his lashes fluttering as he seeks her gaze.

and she looks horrified, as if she's accidentally stepped on her puppy's tail. it dimly occurs to him that the things he and ash do in the bedroom might take a little getting used to. ]

Come here, princess. [ his face is flushed, and it's not just from where she slapped him, color creeping down his throat where the pace of his breath has quickened. ] It didn't hurt. Well, it did. But I liked it.

[ he tries to clear the fog of lust from his brain, thinking of what ash would do. no, that's no good. he and ash don't follow any rules. instead, he thinks of what he knows from his visits to lyonesse. ]

I'll give you a safe word, so you know how far you can go with me. [ he's never hit a limit he couldn't cross, although he's distantly aware that doesn't always mean he should have crossed them. the corner of his mouth curves up in a smile. ] Steinbeck. The first thing we ever argued about.

[ his throat bobs in a swallow, his entire body straining toward her, his hips trying to flex into nothing to relieve some of the building tension. she's careful this time to stay out of reach, and he's seriously considering the merits of dragging himself across the floor just to be able to kiss her sharply heeled foot. ]

Hurt me again. [ his breath grows ragged. ] Fuck, Greer, please just fucking touch me.

[guinegreer]

[ That plaintive keen — she's never heard anything like that from Embry before. She knows other sounds, though, could replay them in her mind with very little difficulty at all. The noise he makes when he slips a hand between her legs and she's already embarrassingly wet, like something between a groan and a sigh. The breath he takes when his cock is making a home for itself in her cunt, as if he can't believe he's even allowed to get close enough to fuck her. The hurts they've inflicted on each other live beneath the skin, closer to the kind that can invisibly puncture the heart, but she's never struck him before, never even really considered it until the sight of him on his knees conjured that reflex.

When Greer reaches for him again, it's gentler, mostly so she can bring a still-shaking hand to touch the place where she slapped him, feeling where the skin's a bit hotter now. She hasn't hit him hard enough to leave a defined mark, nor the outline of each individual finger, but she wonders what she'd be feeling now if she had. ]

A safeword. [ She exhales in the form of a chuckle — with how new all of this is, she'd forgotten to even consider the need for one, but he's guiding her even from his knees, and in gratitude, or maybe even a reward, she slips her arms around him, briefly hugging him to her middle, fingers of one hand carding through his hair until her nails can rake over his scalp.

And then he begs her, the please on his lips like a vice around her heart, and her grip in his hair tightens, as she uses it to yank his head back more roughly, to return his gaze to hers. ]

Steinbeck, then. If it's too much. [ Her eyes drift down to verify the tent in his slacks, the visible spot of wet where he's leaked through them. ] But I don't think we're anywhere near "too much" yet.

[ She backs away quickly, before he can pitch toward her again, resuming her original spot on the bench, her knees slowly spreading wide. When her hand moves, it isn't to resume efforts on her blouse buttons again, but to stray between her thighs, up under her skirt, ghosting over damp lace. ]

Make me come without touching me, and I'll let you fuck me anywhere you want after.