bubblegum bitch

     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.

   “Thanks for your help.”

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

   “Just ring me up. I’m late.”

     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.

   “Good.” He checked his phone, dismissing a curt message from Reiser asking after his whereabouts. “Now go get my shirt.”

     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.

     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.

     Reaching out, he offered her a helping hand, tugging the fabric of her underwear aside, slipping his middle and ring finger into her, allowing himself another smile at how wet she was. At the sweet sound of her moan. His palm covered her fingers, and he felt them moving, quicker and quicker as he pushed his own fingers in deeper, curving them back toward himself before pulling his hand back a little, then repeating the motion. He liked the little furrow that carved itself between her eyebrows; the way her lips parted when she moaned — pink, and still a little glossy.    “Come for me,” he said, his tone soft and patient, his hand pressing down against hers, his fingers curling inside her once more.

     Devotedly and with passion she inched him closer to the edge; her tempo, her tongue, the tightness of her lips, her mouth, and to reward her for her efforts, he let slip a couple more hints — another sigh, and then a quiet moan. She echoed him, and he could see the way she pressed her legs together, squirming, yet still submitting to his order not to touch herself. She deserved more praise. Soon.      He shifted his hips forward in time with her movements as the pleasure started to build to a peak, a slow thrust as his hand finally grabbed proper hold of her hair, keeping her in place as a shiver ran through him and he came. Not that he didn’t trust her to stay put — he just enjoyed the control.      When she sat back a moment later, he watched her throat until she swallowed, the smile returning to his face as he buttoned his pants back up.    “Good girl,” he complimented her again, then lowered himself to a crouch in front of her, meeting her craving gaze. “You can touch yourself now.”

    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.

     Not only compliant; the girl was eager — excited to please, and he liked that, too. A short, low hum was the next and only hint he gave her that she was doing even remotely okay, and he could be quiet, if he wanted to, but he urged her on, his hand tightening a little in her hair.    “Listen to me.” Ulrich didn’t increase his volume when he spoke, expecting her to pay attention without pausing what she was doing. “When I come, you’re not to waste one drop.” He enunciated carefully, making sure she heard him. “You’ll swallow all of it. Hum if you understand.”

     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. 

     He saw her little show, another stir of excitement as her fingers danced around the hem of her panties — but watching her touch herself wasn’t what what would bring him the most satisfaction. She was meant to be focusing on him, not on herself, so when she looked up, he shook his head, slowly — almost imperceptibly — the faintest upturn of the corners of his mouth still visible in his expression. Seeing her obey him was a wave of gratification and arousal three times as strong, and when she took him in deep again, Ulrich sighed, tipping his head back a little.

     Please. A smile curved Ulrich’s lips as he met her big, brown eyes; ringed with dark lashes and black liner, looking up at him with the most doe-like stare he’d seen in ages. It was a pretty picture. His thumb shifted to caress her cheekbone, a whisper of a touch, the smile lingering on his lips and in his eyes.    “Good girl,” he crooned, letting her sit for a beat, watching her, then: “Go ahead.”

     Again he took hold of her chin, but this time it was so his thumb could glance over her lips — soft — then in between them, before he pressed it down onto her tongue. He watched her closely, feeling a stir in his abdomen, feeling himself grow harder, when her lips closed around it.    “Get my belt,” he said, still watching her as she did — as she unbuttoned his pants, tugged at his underwear. He shifted his hand to the side of her head. “Use your mouth,” he instructed next, threading his fingers into her hair without grabbing it, “not your hands.”

     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—

   “Down,” he commanded, letting go of her chin to unfasten the rest of his buttons. “Get on your knees.”

     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. 

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

   “I think we’re good,” he told her, smiling. “I hadn’t planned on ruining any more of my clothing tonight.”

   “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.

   “Just a shirt. As much as I appreciate the above and beyond, I have somewhere to be.”

     “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.”

   “I need a shirt.” Ulrich tugged at his dark maroon blazer, revealing a small, but bright red spatter on his otherwise pristine white shirt, near the left side of his abdomen. When he let the fabric slip free from between his fingertips, the stain was hidden once more, but he had a meeting, and he didn’t plan on showing up with blood on his shirt; it was unprofessional. With no time to go home and change, he’d been fortunate to spot a small boutique on his way — and he was immediately recognized, a sign that already counted in the place’s favor.

     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.

     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. 

   “Call it a friendly warning.”

   “You’re safe in here, but… have your ride come straight to the door.”

     “Hm. Right, friendly.”