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He did well. She hated to admit it, but he did well. Better than usual, really. No taunting, no backhanded compliments, no snark at all. He helped, quickly and efficiently. Evans, for once, didn’t cause a mess, didn’t throw a tantrum… it was nearly suspicious. Alarming, even.
But maybe it was a lapse of judgment on her part when her slightly drunk self came downstairs intent on encouraging this behavior. A part of her, the part she should have listened to, was screaming for her to think and go back upstairs. That this was a horrible call.
Yet, here they were. A drowsy prisoner looking at her from the floor mattress, trying to decipher why she came down so suddenly after everything.
“Another, again?” he asks while sitting up, despite Gabi not holding a case file. She shook her head, and stepped closer. Close enough to be within reach, which she can see surprised him. No sharp object to fend him off in case things went south… she was surely insane. But then she dropped her hand out of the hoodie and he could obviously see glint of the handcuffs she had brought. “What are you doing?”
“Put your hands behind your head,” she ordered, as clearly as she could manage, but her speech was slightly clumsy with the vowels, revealing her drunken state. The bastard had the audacity to seem pleading.
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I do, actually.”
He had the boldness to sigh, and he looked at her—evaluating her state—for almost a full minute, before complying. In that amount of time, she almost turned and went upstairs, almost came to her senses. She approached him anyway, and straddled him in one fluid motion. Cuffed his hands behind his head and over the beam there. He looked at her, as skeptical as she was that it’d hold, but she’d got hope for now. Maybe it was the brass nerve granted by the liquor.
Gabi unzipped her oversized hoodie, revealing her almost naked form, and she could obviously see that, despite him turning his head away, his eyes had settled on her breasts. Even if just out of his peripheral vision. She moved for his sweatpants.
“This isn’t… right,” he muttered, trying to regain his footing. Gabi chuckled, a bit meanly, but continued with her task.
“If it was so wrong, you wouldn’t be a quarter way to hardness by now,” she replied, leisurely stroking his member. He grunted lightly at one specific motion and she noted it, repeating it again for good measure.
“Pl- please...” he groaned out after a second of silence and her torturing him.
“Please what?” she said, leaning slightly closer. Close enough to be all up in his face, and he forced himself to look at her. However, he didn’t say anything else. Her hands kept working him, and she could feel the man tensing under her. If the unfocused eyes were anything to go by, Gabi was certainly affecting him. “You’re going to have to voice what you want.”
“I can’t do this,” he gasped. “This isn’t enough.”
“Earn it, then.”
"How—" he asked, unsure how to speed this along.
"Say what you are," she said, gripping him tighter. He whined, unsure anymore if this felt good or bad.
"I'm — What?” Her fist tightened more, replacing pleasure with an obvious pain now. He gasped. “I'm your prisoner...?" he tried. “This isn’t a partnership, I’m your prisoner,” he managed to clarify.
“Good boy.” With that, her hand released, and he whimpered, which was nothing compared to the desperate moan he released when she slid her panties out of the way and him inside. He gulped, the new sensation being… a lot. He forgot himself for a moment, sinking deeper into the feeling of being in such tight warmth, until she started to move.
He dropped his head back, starting to pathetically attempt to roll his hips with Gabriella's, trying desperately to match the clumsy rhythm. She placed her hands on his chest, riding him, and for a second, he looked at her.
“I’m close--” he tried to warn her, aware there was no protection between them.
Gabi eyed him, and leaned into his ear, speaking in a breathy tone that made him twitch inside her. “I want to hear something first.”
Her hands quickly moved lower. Gabi pushed down on his hips, holding him in place, and despite his attempts, he was unable to thrust upwards. His hands bound above him struggled in frustration and he panted after a pathetic attempt to move forward.
Gabi pulled back and frowned. He sighed. "I'm... sorry," he tried. Still no budging. He was close, so close. He could practically taste it. "Gabriella, please. I said I'm sorry."
"That's not what I wanted to hear," she said, stern and assertive. Sir— no, Hugh whimpered slightly, as he felt her warmth but absolutely no release still.
"I want — please... so close."
Gabi raised her brow at him and he gulped at the realization. He weighed the words in his mouth, unsure if he even wanted to say them, and the distraught look on his face would surely fill Gabi’s heart with joy for a long time after.
"Ma'am, can I please come?" he reluctantly muttered.
“You’re incredibly well-behaved today. Good.” She falsely smiled at him then, ruffling his hair. He pouted, pitiful as it was.
Gabi started to move again and his face soon after changed, relaxing despite the fought-back whimpering under her. She hated herself for enjoying the sounds he was making. Choked back, trying to be quiet, but so clear.
He came inside her, and she allowed it. Only out of her own generosity, and only because it was a reward. He weakly smiled up at her when he was done and she got off him right away. She started to walk upstairs and he moved his shackled hands, looking alarmed.
“I’ll be back in a minute, calm down.” She rolled her eyes, but seemingly that was enough for him to lean back and continue catching his breath.
She had to clean up and finish herself off anyway. He could stay like that a bit longer.