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Some nights Root tracks you down after your shift at the department store ends. Somehow she always knows when it's payday because that's when she shows up. Not to get you to spend your pitiful earnings on her, but rather because she knows that getting money makes you less angry than usual and she'll have a greater chance of a "yes" when she asks to buy you dinner. And when you consent to free food, there's a pretty good chance you'll consent to something else, later.
Which is why, six months into your hateful, wretched, soul-sucking cover identity, you let Root drag you to some upscale steak joint, where she shells out two hundred bucks on a meal. You sit in relatively comfortable silence while you do 80% of the actual eating and Root does 100% of the creepy doe-eyed watching.
"Dunno why you keep begging to get dinner when you never eat anything," you mutter around a mouthful of filet, letting a drop of Worcester sauce spill onto your chin.
Root smirks. In her defense, she does have a picked-over salad in front of her.
"I wouldn't accuse anyone of begging just yet, not if I were you, Sameen."
There's a promise in her voice. You roll your eyes as she predictably reaches over to swipe the dribble of steak sauce off your chin. Root's smirk as you let her touch you without resistance is too much to bear. You tilt forward and snag her thumb between your teeth, giving it a good suck and winking broadly at her when you let go.
The stunned look on Root's little face is so worth it. One point to Shaw.
After dinner and a leisurely cup of coffee, you find yourself being led down six city blocks, toward whatever empty hotel room the Machine has placed Root in for the week.
You try not to let the rancid and unsettling thought of Root shuffling around from hotel to motel to empty apartment- without any place to call her own- upset the meal that is currently digesting inside you. You try to ignore how the idea of Root drifting along, all alone, makes you coil with a new kind of anger. You think instead of what you might get to do... once the hotel room door clicks shut behind you. You think of the handcuffs you've been toting around in your stupid tiny purse since the last time Root "checked up" on you.
Once you do get into her room, however, nothing goes according to your plan. Root barely waits for you to shrug off your coat, kick off your shoes, and drop your bag before she thumps you onto the mattress, still fully dressed. Before you can react, she's on top of you and kissing you, fast and rough and biting, the way you like. Her teeth nip and scrape and her tongue laves your skin, your lips, your neck, and the soft underside of your jaw. She straddles you, supporting herself by pressing the heel of her hand, hard, against your collar bone.
There will be a bruise in the morning, probably, and you know Root knows this. You see a truly filthy smirk dance across her face as her other hand trips its way down your torso and toys with the buckle of your belt.
You grin right back at her. She tosses her hair over one shoulder, casual, like her face isn't flushed and her pupils aren't blown already.
"Well hello, agent Shaw," Root says as her touch grazes over the inner seam of your jeans and you raise your hips up into her touch.
"Root."
Sometimes you can get through sex without ever saying more than her name. Tonight, you suspect (going by the predatory fixation with which she's staring at you), will not be one of those nights.
Root rubs her fingers firmly against you, pressing hard but not hard enough where you most want her. You can feel her, through your jeans and underwear. The longer she rubs long, idle, strokes up and down the front of your jeans, the more you want her inside you. You can feel yourself growing wet and achy and desperate. You squirm into the delicious friction of her fingers.
"Someone's eager," Root taunts, giving you just a little more pressure.
You grunt. She presses harder and licks a path up your neck to just under your ear (one of your known weak spots, one point to Root).
"Do you want to come?" she breathes and you shiver as her words tickle their way down the back of your neck.
"Uh, yeah, why else do you think I followed you back here? Girl talk? A mani pedi by moonlight?"
You half hope your retort doesn't earn you a spanking. Root enjoys spanking you for pretty much any reason. And, well, you enjoy it too. A lot. It's part of why you keep sleeping with her. But delightful as it is when she pulls your panties down and bends you over (sometimes zip tying your hands behind your back for effect) and whacks you soundly until you come, you haven't had any penetration in weeks, not since your last encounter with her, and you want to feel Root inside you more than anything.
Maybe it should concern you that you've had some appealing enough offers of sex from a few men and women, some from work, some from your side job driving a getaway car, and one or two random encounters in bars. Maybe it should concern you that even the most attractive offer didn't stand a chance because you were waiting for Root, you knew she'd reappear- you'd wanted to feel HER inside you and nobody else. If you were the kind of person who had concerns, this would definitely give you pause. But for now, with Root sparking your lust hot and heavy through your clothes and pinning you to the bed, you can ignore everything but her smell, her taste, the way she feels, so close and so ready to take you.
Root chuckles at you and bites your ear. It stings more than you expected and you gasp a little. She rewards you with a harsh, fast hickey on the side of your neck. Root likes it when you're loud.
Root finally unbuttons your jeans, draws the zipper down (so. terribly. slowly), and wriggles her hand in, leaving the wet crotch of your panties as a flimsy barrier between your skin and hers. Her eyebrow flickers up in surprise. She smiles sweetly, almost innocently at you.
"You're so wet Sameen. You soaked right through to your pants. I bet it's from thinking about me... on top of you.... inside you... teasing you, making you beg."
You can't deny that, as your hips chase the firm, steady rhythm of her hand and your pelvic muscles clench hard around nothing. You squirm upwards, trying to maximize the friction as much as you can.
Root grazes the waistband of your panties. She moves her other hand over, goes from pinning you down to idly toying with your breasts and playing with your nipples until they become hard peaks.
"How badly do you want me to slide my fingers down into your undies right now and reach deep inside you?"
Your breath catches. You don't give her the satisfaction of an answer.
"How badly," Root leans in close, whispering conspiratorially in your ear, "how badly do you want me to fuck you?"
"Root..."
"You don't want me to tie you up?"
You feel an electric tremor shoot through your very core at the idea, no, the memory, of Root winding long, thick strands of silk around your wrists, fastening you securely to her headboard. Making you writhe about with no means of release... Your mouth goes dry and your panties get even wetter at the thought.
"No..." you choke out after a moment.
"Because I could tie you up. I could handcuff your wrists to the headboard. I might even have a spreader bar somewhere for your legs...."
You whimper, barely audibly. Root chuckles and kisses a hot, wet path down your torso.
"Maybe not tonight then. Well what do you want? Do you want me finger you?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?
"Root. Please."
Root arches an eyebrow, she tweaks one of your nipples, hard. You don't know if it's the sheer authority of the eyebrow raise, or the punitive sharp pain that flares through your nipple, but something makes your breath short out and your panties get even stickier.
Root pinches at your other nipple, then sucks at it softly.
"Tell me what you want, Sameen."
"I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me."
Root smiles, pleased, "and?"
"and do it hard, for godssakes!"
She grins and relents, tugging down your jeans and underwear to stroke you, her fingertips sliding up and down your labia, rolling loose, lazy circles around your hungry clit. Root pays special attention to your clit, twirling and stroking her fingertips around it with as much dexterity and finesse as when she does the same thing with her tongue.
"Do you want me to use two fingers, or three, when... or should I say if? I decide to fuck you?"
"yes" you plead, but it's really more of a hiss at this point.
"Do you want me to ram your G-spot until you come? until you scream?" Root inquires sweetly.
"God. Root. Both."
Root teases you with her fingers for several agonizing minutes, until you are sweating and begging her to fuck you. Once she complies, it's all over pretty quickly. She holds up three fingers, waves them at you with a smirk. You catch her eye an grin. Root might be on top, but you get to come first, so this is definitely a Shaw Victory.
Root dips her hand down, gathering lubrication from your slick, slippery entrance, before deftly sliding all three fingers into you at once. That moment is perfect. The feeling of Root's firm, dextrous, strong fingers, filling you up after so long, taking you, deep and hard, feeling her body connecting to your body without any words to confuse or complicate things... it's pure bliss.
Even if she does go and ruin the moment by saying "and when are you going to come?"
"Uh, when you fuck me hard enough?"
"Tsk tsk, don't make me turn this car around."
You roll your eyes.
"Sameen,"
You glance at her face and that commanding, predatory look is back- eyes unblinkingly fixed on you, mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk, one eyebrow dangerously drawn back... You guess she's seconds away from pulling out so you relent.
"I won't come until you say," you mutter.
"Good girl," she rewards you with a good, hard thrust that sends a warm flare of pleasure up your spine.
Root fucks you masterfully, grinding her thumb against your clit, overwhelming you with her touch, stroking hard at your inner walls, filling you so full and so deep that you swear it's never been this good.
You don't scream, but you do say "oh fuck yes" and "harder, Root," pretty loudly. And frequently.
Root pushes hard into you. Your inner muscles grip her fingers tightly and she puts her weight into her thrusts. Each thrust forces a grunt of pleasure out of you, or maybe frustration because you really want to come and you're ready but Root hasn't given you permission yet. Fucking ten points to Root.
"Ah, Root," you manage between gasps because holy shit her hands are strong and everywhere.
"Can I come now?"
"What's that, Sweetie?" She cocks her good ear at you, "I'm having trouble hearing you over all the hot, wet sex we're having."
"Ugh, fuck you! and I'm ready to come now!"
Root shrugs and adds a fourth finger, thrusting deep and curling her fingertips toward her on the retract. Your vision blurs.
"I dunno, Sameen, it hasn't been very long. I thought this was supposed to be an endurance sport..."
"Please." You crack, desperate, as she finds your G spot again and presses her fingertips against it.
There's a moment of silence, punctuated only by the soft, wet, slapping sound of Root fingering you into the twenty-second century.
"Root, please." The whine in your voice is a horrible, horrible sound to your ears.
But then Root says, "ok, you can come now"
And you feel yourself flooding as she fills you with her fingers again, making you orgasm so powerfully that you almost (almost!) sob with pleasure. You feel your breath running fast and shallow, your eyes watering, your skin wildly sensitive all over. Your sex practically buzzes with pleasant but sore aftershocks. It's the kind of fucking you like best- the kind so rough it feels good and so damn good it hurts a little bit. The kind that it seems like only Root knows how to give you these days. Just when you're about to tell her you just can't take anymore, that you're spent, Root leans down and places a tender kiss on your cheek.
"One more," she whispers.
You nod because... because her voice is firm and reassuring. Because her dominant tone allows little room for argument (but you know if you said "no," she'd comply in a heartbeat). You nod and smile softly because she wants you to trust her... Because you do trust her.
Root smiles back and holds your stare as she bends her middle and ring finger together and penetrates you again, slowly, gently. She curves and twists inside of you, then you feel her body sliding back and down until she's not straddling your legs anymore. Your pants are pretty much halfway down by now, so it's not a total surprise when she tugs them off completely and then her mouth is suddenly on your clit, velvety and hot, soft and tormenting, all at once. It's the slow, gentle kind of oral that you usually don't like because it's too intimate, too sweet, there's not enough bite, not enough force- but right now.... Root's delicate licks and smooth finger undulations are about all you can handle.
The hot pressure inside you rekindles slowly. The room echoes with the sloppy sounds of sex. Your thighs shake and you whimper at the back of your throat, trying hard to muffle the sound by pressing a hand over your mouth. Root glances up at you from between your legs. You can tell, from the joyful way her eyes are creasing at the corners, that she's probably smirking while going down on you. Psycho. She settles her mouth over your clit and works magic with her tongue while wreaking slow, torturous havoc inside you with her slender, coaxing fingers.
Even though it's gentle sex and not your usual sort of rough and tumble pounding, you feel Root's control, her power, in every movement. She's guiding you toward your orgasm instead of throwing you into it. And even though it's slow and soft, there's a kind of... surrender happening. You don't fully understand it, even as you spread your legs wider at her command, even as she slips your thigh over her shoulder and anchors you in place for this sweet, delicious torture.
"Mmm, you're so open right now," she murmurs into your thigh.
You want her mouth back on you at once. Stat.
"Please," you hear yourself whispering, "Root, please."
Root sighs and takes you into her mouth again. She makes this happy little mewling noise as she gently fingers you, all the while lapping at your clit. It's almost as though what she wanted all along was to get you so wrecked that you'd cave and let her be gentle with you. You writhe and squirm under her ministrations until, finally, she lets the pressure inside you accumulate and she suckles loud and wet on your clit and you come hard, like being hit by a tidal wave of pleasure. You drop into a fuzzy, semi-conscious state of bliss for a while.
When you come back down to your senses, Root is wiping her mouth off on the back of her hand. Your legs are sticky; Root's chin is wet, her hair is an unholy mess, and and she looks so pleased that something inside your chest feels very raw and tender and good all at once.
You grumble and tug at her wrist until she climbs up and gives you her mouth, lets you lick your own flavour off of her tongue and teeth and the roof of her mouth, lets you seal her lips with yours.
You keep tugging at Root, then, until she gets the hint and awkwardly pulls her jeans and panties off and settles herself above your face. You run your hands up and down the soft skin of her thighs, palms grazing her constellations of scars and bruises. Staring up, you see the soft line of her stomach turning out into the ridges of her ribs; you admire the faint swell of her small breasts, and the sharp angles of her chin and nose. Root is a multitude of things, but right now, as she sways above you, "hot as fuck" is the only descriptor you can think of.
You grip Root's perfect handfuls of ass cheeks, you bite at the insides of her thighs, you bite that sensitive spot where butt meets thigh.You bite hard. You bruise her. She whines, quietly, above you, and digs her fingernails into the wallpaper. One point to Shaw.
You don't bite for very long, going in for the kill, quick and wet and forceful. Root rocks against you. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her as close as possible while you lavish her sex, her clit, and those silky inside folds with your tongue. You encourage her to grind herself against your face, your nose getting slightly mashed by her pubic bone. You suck hard at the salty, dark, richness that signifies her pleasure. You finger her- just two fingers because even though your hands are tiny compared to hers, Root is sensitive about penetration.
Your mouth, though, your mouth is winning you all the awards tonight. Root rides your face until her legs literally give out, coming long and hard, orgasm rolling into orgasm with sharp moans and breathy, murmured obscenities.
When Root flops to the side, unable to come a single time more or support her own bodyweight, you lean in and nuzzle the soft skin of her belly, spreading a wet trail of her juices along her skin. It's a particularly ticklish zone on her body and she giggles, even when you push the tip of your tongue, teasingly, into her belly button. You stroke that very sensitive skin of her lower belly, dragging your fingertips up and down, as she shudders and relaxes. You like that you know these secrets about Root.
You lie back and stick your foot between her ankles, drawing your lower limbs close together. There's a good deal of stickiness, between the two of you, but you don't mind right now. Not when your legs are wrapped up together. It's more entangling than cuddling- because neither Root Groves nor Sameen Shaw "does" cuddling- but you have to admit, your bare skin and Root's bare skin... feels pretty good together. It feels pretty good, after payday and a steak and a scotch and more mind-wrecking orgasms than you can count, to lie together, breathless, a little bit wet and a little bit ruined, but overall, warm and sleepy and at ease with another living thing that isn't a dog.
"You're a better bedmate than Bear," you sigh into her hair.
Root laughs. Her hand finds your head and you let her trace a finger along the shell of your ear. It's kind of soothing.
"Really though," Root murmurs, her voice already low and thickening with sleep, "we both know who'd wear the collar in this relationship.... if we were into that."
You wait a full minute until her breathing has almost completely evened out- then you whisper, casual as fuck, "who says we're not into that?"
As you feel Root's body rapidly shift into awareness next to you, you can't suppress your triumphant grin.
Ten points to Shaw.