another hole to dig my soul in

The likeness was striking. First time Ulrich had seen her he'd hemmed and hawed, tilting his head and squinting disapprovingly, but after the procedures he could see the canvas that the scout had spotted in the girl. A haircut, a dye job, an iris replacement, various facial fillers, tooth filing and veneers, and one would have to look close to know that she wasn't Rowan. And no one was going to look close.

She was a nobody; Ulrich hadn't even bothered to learn her name, and after his initial inspection and approval of the commencement of her transformation, he hadn't seen her again until she was all healed up and ready for her moment in the spotlight. Fear seemed to be a permanent flicker in her eyes, no matter the color, visible even through the empty sheen of distance that glazed them, like she was a husk, long withered. She'd had rope burns on her wrists and ankles when she'd come in, certainly nothing the cuffs of her abduction would've caused, fresh track marks up and down both forearms — scars now, all of which they'd covered with clothing.

On the screen inset in wall perpendicular to him in his office, an announcer was droning on in a grave monotone, listing Rowan's name, a date of birth they'd made up, an age they'd guessed, the offenses that had landed her on the scaffold. The small crowd murmured amongst themselves, creating a constant, irritating buzz. Ulrich muted the feed. Her rank didn't befit a huge spectacle, but treason was treason, and the hoi polloi never turned down a bit of blood.

     “Yes, sir.” He was so fucking hot and every time he smiled at her — no matter how minuscule — it filled her with a mixture of pride and lust. Camilla nodded, freeing a device from her belt before she tapped on the screen, finally holding it in his direction for him to clear his form of payment. 

     She was quick. Ulrich went in his pocket for his phone again and held it near the device she was offering him until he heard a ding, then returned his attention to his new shirt, buttoning it down. After tucking it in, he refastened his belt and retrieved his cufflinks, slipping them into place on his sleeves. His blazer was hung on a stand to his right; he left her to get it, shrugging it on as he passed her again, headed for the door that led back out.

     Camilla stood, unable to hide the tiny smile that formed on her lips, and her hands smoothed her skirt over her thighs before she approached the electronic armoire that already had opened with the choices Camilla had entered earlier. Her fingertips delicately passed along the sleeves until she found the one she was looking for, taking it off the rack and returning it to present to Agent Falke.

     “Would you like me to put it on you?”

     Again, she surprised him — pleasantly — enough to draw forth another small smile, but he freed the shirt from her grip, pulling it on himself.

    The way he looked at her; it was like he owned her already, and she wanted him to, absolute dizzying bliss making her head swim when he obliged enough to touch her. She rocked her hips into his touch, her moans louder when she felt him delve deeper. Every time he smiled, it felt like a reward, pride brimming along with crushing waves of pleasure. His hand pressed down over hers, increasing the pressure, and once he told her to come for him, she couldn’t stop it, her head falling back as she released a loud yes, shuddering all over.      Between gasps, between being overpowered by lust, she continued, her voice a contented sigh, “You have the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen.” Her head dropped as she made eye contact with him again, “I won’t be able to think about anything else until you’re fucking me every… single… way… possible.” 

     As he rose, Ulrich undid his cufflinks and dropped them into his pocket, then slipped the stained garment he was only half wearing off and dropped it over the armrest of a nearby seat.

    She wanted to swallow every bit; she wanted to do exactly as he wanted her to. In fact, it felt like she needed to. Camilla relished the way he held her head in place as he came, trembling at the sound of his moan. When he let go and she sat back, she could still taste him on her tongue, and she licked her lips, watching with a smoldering gaze as he came down to her level.

Good girl. It made her shiver. Yes, yes, praise me more. I’ll be your best girl. She locked her stare with him as she slipped her fingers underneath the hem of her panties, and she let out a sharp gasp at finally feeling some form of relief. Her breathing became more labored as she touched herself, brow furrowing as she let out a soft moan.      “Please… I’d do anything if you’d fuck me. Anything. I need it.”

     He hadn’t intended to do anything else for her. Getting to suck his dick was a reward enough in itself, and he didn’t have the time to fuck her, nor did he think she’d earned it yet, but when she was begging so prettily, he couldn’t help but acquiesce — just a little.

     His grip tightened on her hair and she fucking loved it, as much as she loved hearing his hum of approval, though she wished for more. Camilla had never wanted to please someone so badly; she’d never been so fucking wet, and her mind began wandering to what it’d be like to be fucked by him, and it only made her moan more. 

     Listen to me. And oh, she would. Tell me what to do. Order me around. Make me do everything you want. His request was met with enthusiastic approval, her hum elongated as she slowed for only a few moments to show she understood. She understood and wanted to. Then, she returned to her earlier pace, running her tongue back and forth each time he passed through her lips. 

    He said no, and her body exploded with desire; she’d never wanted anyone as badly as she wanted Ulrich Falke in this moment. She closed her eyes, her hands finding his ass this time to give her more leverage to take him deeper as she quickened her pace, moans rolling up her throat for his pleasure. Without realizing she was doing it, she kept squeezing her thighs together, trying, and failing, to ease some of the pressure that was building faster and faster. 

     She was eager, taking him in as deep as she could, her hands coming up to hold his waist to steady herself. Camilla was so turned on, it was painful, so much so, after a little while she began moaning, one hand dropping to scrape at her inner thigh, as close as she could get to touching herself, but she wouldn’t; not without his permission.       Her hand stayed there, hiking her skirt up so he could see, her fingertips dusting along the edge of her underwear, but only that. She turned her gaze up to him, pleading for some sort of release, and yet, part of her hoped he’d deny her. Part of her wanted him to make her squirm, to make her scream, beg. She’d say please a hundred times over — more than that — if he’d just fuck her.

     Horny was an understatement. When Agent Falke stuck his thumb into her mouth, she couldn’t help the soft moan that rolled up her throat, brow creasing as she felt excruciating lust. She followed orders, undoing his belt, her lips curving upward in the slightest when she noticed him getting hard through his pants, eager to free him as she unbuttoned them. Another order and she was practically squirming, pressing her thighs together as she leaned in to tug his underwear down with her teeth, then bit down on her own tongue to keep herself from licking him. Not without permission. Instead, she gazed up at him, wanting and willing. “Please?”

     When he took her by the chin, a sizzle of electricity shot down her lower abdomen and lower. Her lips parted in a quiet sigh, arching her back as she watched him examine her. It took everything in her to keep herself still, to keep her hand from traveling down her thigh, from slipping under the silk of her skirt. 

    Down — her entire body flushed with heat — get on your knees — she did, and now there was throbbing between her thighs, her lips parting further on an exhale as she thought about what it’d be like to take him into her mouth. She looked up at him, waiting obediently for him to tell her what he wanted. 

     She hung his blazer on a nearby stand, then circled behind him, reaching around to the front to begin undoing his buttons. “Well, that’s good.”      “Though I can be rather good at ruining clothing too.” Though she was standing behind him, she smirked, “In the best possible way, of course.”

     The jacket was one thing, but before Ulrich could do anything else, the small brunette had her arms around him, manicured fingers working the buttons of his shirt open, and her earlier comment about requests was lent some more weight — added to when she went on about ruining his clothes. Forward. Perhaps even brazen, but he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.      Twisting around in her loose grip, he seized her chin firmly but gently and turned her head slowly from one side to the other, inspecting her, deliberating. She was clean, well-kept; her makeup and her clothes didn’t have a single flaw, and her hair looked healthy and was carefully styled. Why not?    “I don’t have a lot of time,” he reminded her, but… what were a few extra minutes? Another moment to not really think about it, and—

     “Above and beyond is always given to our most decorated Agents.” She purred, glancing back at him briefly before she approached one of the screens. Pausing, she turned, eyes narrowing as she made a size estimate, then spun back to punch the desired requirements into the machine. It only took a few seconds for images of shirts to appear and with a quiet hum, Camilla was satisfied, striding back over to Ulrich before shamelessly reaching for the lapel of his jacket to slide it down his shoulders. “I’ll make it quick.”

     “Unless you end up having any other requests.”

     The dark-haired saleswoman went for his blazer, and he let her, shifting his arms so it slid off without catching.

     He was hot; even hotter in person than any screen or publication could do justice, and so it made it impossible not to flirt, especially when Camilla was so prone to the activity in the first place. Carefully, she removed her blazer, elegantly draping it over her arm before folding it neatly on a shelf behind the counter. Beneath was a white, lace camisole that complimented the tanned shoulder she looked over to glance at him.

     “Follow me. We have a VIP section for just these occasions.” She led him to a glass door, made opaque by a metallic purple hue, and when she placed her hand on the console beside it, it slid open, leading into a dressing room with a platform in the middle, not completely unlike the one in the main boutique. Only this stage was gold, deep red carpeting covering the floor, and the walls weren’t lined with racks of clothes, but rather screens that had columns of options in pink rectangles. “Are we looking for an exact match?”

   “No.” Amusement lingered on his features as he followed the woman into an elaborate dressing room with a podium that he probably would’ve enjoyed seeing himself atop on any other occasion.

     The boutique was nearly closed with Camilla perched behind the counter, twirling dark strands around her index finger while her other held her phone to her ear. “You are the best, Corbin Inman. Plan you’re amazing worked and I have the perfect thank you dre—” Her back had been toward the store and when she turned around, she noticed a particularly handsome gentleman standing in front of her. “I’ll call you later,” she finished up, tapping the screen to end the call before placing it screen down on the counter between them.

     And that’s when she really noticed: it was Ulrich Falke. Ulrich Falke looking about as fine as he did in every editorial she’d ever seen him in. Hadn’t he also been shot for some designer’s new line, too? Camilla was never starstruck, and she wasn’t about to begin now, despite the way her body became energized, electrified in his presence. She straightened her posture, wetting her lips before her smile took on a demure silkiness. 

    “How can I help you, Agent Falke.”

   “Then you have your answers.”

     Ulrich breathed a laugh as the elevator slowed to a stop on the ground floor. She hadn’t told him a single thing, but that was all right. Non-answers were information, too.

   “Ah.” Bryce didn’t say anything else, stepping into the elevator when the doors slid open. Sounds awfully familiar.

   “I don’t work off-book, Agent Falke. Get the board’s approval on whatever you’re planning and maybe I can help you.”

   “I wouldn’t dream asking you anything of the sort.” He followed her in, positioning himself next to her.