#arkham!verse

As with every disagreement between you and your employer, you approached it tentatively, but with glee. Edward Nigma was fiery when enraged, and it didn't take much to get him there. And while you normally delighted in riling him up for the sake of it, this time you were arguing because you believed you were right. After all, he was still Edward. He could argue until his pallid face became blue, or more likely bright red, but you couldn't imagine his claims were anything but fabricated and egomaniacal delusions. No one who willingly named themselves The Riddler could be quite as well-versed sexually as he happened to be stating as fact. And given it was such a personal point of contention, you knew you could get some joy out of seeing him scramble to convince you.

"I hate to be insubordinate, b-"

"But you will try your best to persevere."

Eddie interrupted you with the casual, quick witted cruelty that came so naturally to him, and you rolled your eyes as you continued in spite of his comments. After all, his dismissive attitude had only encouraged you to keep going, dead set now on engaging him, and refusing to back down from the argument. Especially if he was going to be so childish.

"But! If you'll let me speak. I hate to be insubordinate but I will be. Since I know how much you hate that…" The sarcasm spilled forth so easily, your own specialty, the familiar tone you took in any disagreements the two of you had as you worked together. You gave it as good as you got from him. It was likely one of the few reasons he kept you employed, because as much as he liked to be right, he loved an argument so much more. "But. I will have to argue with you here, Eddie. I just don't picture you as… Like… That kind of guy."

He remained focused on his work, his eyes never moving from his tools or his hands, only a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth a sign that he was still listening, smiling at your inability to find the right words. So you continued, desperate to hook him in.

"I mean, you're just… You're like… Not the opposite, exactly, but… I've just never seen you with anyone. So I always figured you were kind of inexperienced. Which isn't a bad thing of course!"

Now you had him. Hook, line and sinker. Eddie had actually put down his tools and had turned his entire body to face you, wearing a scowl on his face that shifted the goggles he wore above his forehead into a slant. It was no longer idle chit chat, no more a playful argument that he suspected he would win eventually either through his determination or your lack thereof. Your belief that he was simply bragging falsely about his skills in an attempt to boost his ego or confidence had bruised his ego, insulted his reputation. The rage was to be expected, and as much as you knew that getting him into that state would result in a long-winded lecture, you had continued to tease him anyway. And now you would suffer the consequences.

"Oh, you poor misguided creature. Do you think if I had any guests around that qualified or quantified my experience that you would know about them? My personal life is none of your business. Surely I remind you of this frequently enough for it to have settled into the surface level, minuscule ridges of your otherwise smooth brain, no?"

"You say that, but here you are, trying to convince me th-"

"It's not as though, within the boundaries of this one particular argument, that I am divulging every single physical or sexual encounter I have ever had!"

Eddie's teeth fell together, upper jaw gritting against the lower as he tried to calm himself down. He knew all too well that become frantic and loud was a sign of desperation, and he wanted to convince you without making a fool of himself. So with a deep breath and a renewed focus, he continued at a lower tone.

"I am simply stating to you that I am exceptionally skilled in all areas, including those matters. In everything, I am studious and practised. You have seen me take on tasks fresh and new only to become adept and expert in them within seconds.

The desperation in his voice had risen once more. He couldn't help it. You were so frustrating, so irritating, so ignorant to all evidence to the contrary to be able to suggest that there might be something out there in the world that he wasn't good at.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that when it comes to the particular art of cunnilingus, that I might be sub-par!?"

Eddie was furious now, frothing through his clenched teeth as he raised his voice which had, much to his chagrin, taken on a whining and frantic tone as he became more determined to convince you. And the fact that he was behaving in such a manner over something you viewed as trivial, perhaps even inconsequential as far as you were concerned, was a little bit funny. So much so that you couldn't help but giggle a little as you spoke, trying to keep your answer light in order to relieve some of the tension. You offered him a shrug as you offered up your reply, watching as his face turned a light shade of pink.

"Maybe because you call it cunnilingus…"

Your found your own comment hilarious, having to purse your lips in an unnatural manner to hold in your laughter. Eddie, on the other hand, did not find it amusing in the slightest.

"So, because I am formal and educated, that means I can't be good at something? A million academics worldwide might disagree with that."

"You're not an academic though."

Now you were hitting him where it hurt. His status amongst those he refused to call peers was always a source of contention, a particularly soft spot. Eddie could argue all he wanted that he didn't require formal certification or recognition to know he was smarter than everyone else, but knowing some of his fellow criminals had a title, held doctorates, did rub him the wrong way. But that was an argument, regretfully, for another time. He had to stay focused.With a furrowed brow, he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath, releasing it with a growl.

"And what would you rather someone like me called it, then? Hm?"

As always, he had you cornered. His intellect was hard to beat. You were caught short of an answer. Or maybe it was more that saying the words you would usually use but in front of Eddie seemed like breaking a rule or crossing a line. You could feel yourself cringing in embarrassment just from thinking them in his presence even. Silence filled the space between you as you prayed that he would move on from this, but he never was one for letting things go.

"Oh, now it seems you're suddenly short on words? Nothing to say? Cunnilingus isn't an appropriate term for you, but you can't think of a good enough replacement? A shocking lack of foresight or your own argument, but I shouldn't be too surprised."

Heat flushed over your skin as he stepped out from behind his desk and took one solitary step towards you. Under any other circumstances his repetition of such a ridiculously formal term might have elicited either immature giggling or no reaction from you at all, but hearing Eddie now enunciate each syllable sent a shiver through you, and you could feel yourself tensing to try and avoid the warmth of arousal settling in. Futile, ultimately, as he continued.

"Shall I help you to come up with some alternatives? Do you need me to assist you in this, as well as everything else I ask of you? Perhaps you would rather me say that I'm an expert in 'eating someone out'? That I can 'devour pussy' better than anyone else who would claim to? Or I can profess that there isn't a chance that my skilful tongue couldn't conjure an orgasm from your wet, eager cunt?"

Each sentence was underscored by a few paces closer to you, the genuine filth he spewed for the first time since you'd met him punctuated by the decrease in space between his form and yours. Leaning back against the desk for support was your only option for stabilisation as you felt your body weakening, in resolve and physically. Your clit throbbed, a jolt that tickled through you, and you pressed your thighs together as though that would stop your juices from spreading onto your underwear anymore than they already had. But there was no hope for you, as Eddie was now standing before you, a cruel expression worn on his face, giving him the look of someone who believed they had already won before the fight had truly started.

"I propose a solution, my dear. And while normally I don't feel like I have to provide any kind of evidence to my skill set, I suspect it might be the only thing to make you cease this imbecilic insistence that you know all. Said solution would be to show you. To provide you with concrete proof."

Nerves began to bubble in your chest, bile rising in your throat as your body considered whether throwing up might be a reasonable response to what you assumed Eddie was offering you. It seemed like the kind of thing you might have blearily imagined, dreaming it up out of the confines of your deeply buried and lust filled desires. Hearing what you wanted to hear, and not what he had actually just said out loud in the real world. Instead of nervous retching, you decided to play stupid, hoping to buy yourself some time. Because embarrassing yourself by seeming like an idiot was far better than embarrassing yourself by seeming eager to take up an opportunity that wasn't actually being offered.

"H-how would you, uh, show me?"

Eddie smiled, a cruel grin that spread into his gaunt cheeks, wider and wider as he relished in your obvious fluster and the clear fact that you so badly wanted his demonstration.

"Don't force an act of stupidity, dear. Especially not when it comes so naturally to you. You know precisely how I would achieve a display of my skills. And do you see any other suitable subjects around? Am I expected to go up to the surface and find a potential victim to waste my energy on when I have a perfectly willing one right here?"

He spread his hand outwards, fingers fanning open in your direction, like he was showcasing you as a prize on some insane post-watershed game show.

"Is this a trick? Am I supposed to say no so that you can say I have no proof that you're wrong? Or do you actually… Want me to agree? Or is it that I say yes and then you-"

"I want you to believe me. I want you to know that I'm right, as always. Whatever that takes. Whatever I have to do. That's what I want."

"Fuck." You clasped your hand over your mouth, hoping the meaning behind the outburst wasn't too obvious, but from the sinister smirk Eddie wore, you could tell he had you figured out. So you stumbled over your words, not wanting to give him a second to be able to fluster you further. "OK, so… You do… that… to me… And I'm guaranteed to think you're the best? It settles the argument?"

A deep, withheld chuckle slipped out so delightfully through his throat and over his lips and you felt it change the steady beat of your heart's rhythm.

"If you give me even just five minutes to work at your dirty, desperate hole, I will show you something so extraordinary you'll never think of another person again. It will make you ache for me for the rest of your pointless life, and you will chase the high with no success of replicating the feeling I can give you. But it'll be definitive proof of my skills, at least."

"Fuck." There was no point in pretending anymore. No reason to hide your shock. "Well… Where do you want me?"

Eddie raised his eyebrows, surprised at how quickly you had come on board, but he maintained the upper-hand as he uttered yet another phrase you would have sooner believed had come from a dirty paperback than from the mouth of The Riddler.

"I could shatter your entire belief system anywhere and under any circumstances. So please, cater to your own comfort. The desk, the floor. I'll even happily take you upstairs to my bed if you so choose."

You had already begun to shake your head before being able to speak. Not his bedroom. That would be too much in one day. Having Eddie doing his best work at your cunt and seeing the environment in which he slept? That was far more excitement than you thought you could take.

"The desk. The desk is fine."

"As you wish."

More than a few awkward moments of pure silence and stillness passed between you both before you excitedly, and somewhat clumsily, hopped up onto the desk behind you, hauling your body up on arms that trembled under the stress of wanting to make sure you kept yourself desirable enough for Eddie to follow through. And then another minute ticked by, oh so painfully slowly. You didn't know what to say or how to start things off. Truth be told, you expected Edward might do that since this was his idea and he had claimed to be the experienced one. Luckily, he did eventually break the tension by spitting his next words at you, irritated yet again by what he believed to be your bad habit of appearing thoughtless, gormless even, in the face of what for you was great difficulty.

"You will have to take off the clothes on your bottom half. Your underwear too. I'm exceptional, but not a magician. Or were you waiting there so lazily, expecting me to do that? Perhaps if you lay back and let me take care of everything my efforts will be worth a few more points in your books?"

"You can if-"

"I was being facetious, dear. I insist you do at least some of the work involved. This isn't solely about giving you satisfaction, though it is ultimately the end goal. It is more important, however, for me to be proven right, thank you very much. So do the bare minimum and present yourself to me."

Your heart rose up into your throat, but at least with that statement you could consider permission now secured. And so your nervous hands moved to the front of your pants, fumbling with the button and zipper under Eddie's watchful and impatient eye. When he let out a long and deep exhale from his nose, you gave up and instead began tugging at the waist to slide them down over your form, past your thighs, your knees, and then to your ankles where you let them pool on the floor at your feet. A quick step to the side followed by a gentle kick and you had moved them out of the way. Now you had to face the scary part. Taking off your underwear. It felt like it was the true point of no return. He would see you, nude and exposed. From the waist down, at least. And there really was no other reason to be naked in his presence, to have your underwear off in Edward Nigma's work room, except for what was certainly going to happen once you were finally free of your clothes. It sealed your fate. It was definitive.

Trembling fingers that no longer felt like they belonged to you teased at the elastic band of your panties before your thumbs hooked under it and took hold, easing them down not too slow and not too fast, but definitely with the distinct air of overthinking an act that truly would requite no thought under normal circumstances. And the whole time, Eddie watched you, admittedly a little unsure of what he should be doing with himself in that moment. Looking away might make him seem prudish, or even rude. Or, worst still, could be misconstrued as an admission of his interest beyond the argument. On the other hand, staring too intensely could prove to be off-putting, discomforting, sleazy. It upset him to think he might not have the right answer, but at least he knew his brain was firing adequately even with your distraction to provide him with all the potential solutions and outcomes.

In the end, he settled on making a concerted effort to look at your hands, then to your legs, a quick look to the left of your face after that in an attempt to avoid eye contact but to provide the illusion of it, and finally back down once more to your hands. It was all an act, though. He could fix his eyes, his whole head, in any direction, never once directly facing what you were revealing, but in his peripheral he could still see you exposed to him. Your sex, hidden for so long but dreamt of so frequently, something he would deny wholeheartedly even to himself. Now, though, it was harder to pretend that he wasn't the least bit keen on seeing so much of you. As he stole glances at your mound, he could feel saliva pooling in his cheeks, his lips parting with a silent breath as he watched you nudge your underwear over by your pants. His fingers tensed, closing into a fist and then relaxing quickly, surreptitiously, as he studied the way you leaned back on your hands outstretched behind you, hips jutting ever so slightly forward and pushing your core towards him.

Trying to swallow the accumulating saliva without his Adam's apple bobbing too violently and giving his hunger away, he was suddenly aware of the fact that he might have been even more into this than he thought he was. There was something in the control of it. You were allowing him to prove himself, yes, that was a mutual understanding. But he was the one who told you to remove your clothing, and you had done so dutifully without question. And now there you were, presenting yourself to him. But he had to remain focused on the task at hand.

With a quick self-chastising, he was back on form. But the lingering knowledge that he was so desperate for you, wanting to taste you, keen to please you, did make him wonder if he might be giving himself even more of an edge than he believed himself to have in the first place. Desperation, after all, could easily win him over. Pleading? Begging? If he was on the receiving end of that kind of pathetic display he would find his ego stroked and his mind swimming. It made sense to assume that you would feel the same to know how keen he was. Not that he intended on giving too much of his desires away, but perhaps a little flavour of how he could woo you might tip the scales even further in his direction.

He'd mused over it long enough now. He had to get on with it. Before the nerves could settle in and he made a fool of himself for his earlier proclamations of expertise.

Taking on the brunt of this experiment finally, now that you had done all you could, Edward finally moved closer to you, settling himself directly in front of your body. From the close proximity where he stood you could feel the warmth of his breath, the stale scent of coffee behind it. The scent of his body was strong, the tang of deodorant used as a replacement for a shower that morning, an attempt to cover up the smell of his sweat rather than get rid of it. And you considered it lucky that the musk of his own odour was still identifiable. And luckier still, when your eyes drifted to his, you could see he was now laser focused. No amount of nerves were going to get in the way of him doing what he had to do. Without even realising it deeper than on a primal, natural level, you knew you could let him take over. And he did so without much more hesitation.

Edward's hands were on your knees first, his palm resting against them for a few seconds as he assumed it was a good idea to let you adjust to the notion of there being physical contact between you. It was an astute assumption for him to make, obviously, as the moment the surprising warmth of his palms touched your body, you twitched. And as much as it was clear on the outside, internally you were freaking out even more. Of course, not for any negative reason. It was only because he genuinely had never touched you in any way before, and certainly not bare skin to bare skin. Pathetically voracious, you felt another surge of hear from your cunt, warm and wet immediately from nothing more than what could have been an accidental graze against you under any other circumstances. That pule of excitement rang through you, and recognised it, knew it so well. Sharp, but dull. Sweet, but stinging. The kind of sensation that flooded your nervous system, every inch of you on high alert resulting in your skin prickling and hairs standing on end in anticipation of more, more, more.

It was so hard to believe this was happening. Months of restless and highly ambitious pining, directly in contrast to his cold, stoic indifference towards you had brought you to the conclusion that to him, you would be nothing more than an irritation that knew how to make his coffee well enough that he kept you around. And while he might only be doing this to prove a point, you would have taken the opportunity under any circumstances, as miserably pitiful as that made you seem.

As you let your mind wander, hoping the distraction would keep you from reaching your climax before he'd even done anything to you, Eddie was centred, immersed entirely in the present. With complete understanding of what the act would do to you, and hoping for a dramatic scene to play out in front of him as a consequence, he pushed your legs apart, forceful and commanding, spreading them slowly. He was keen to get a better angle at you. And, just as he expected you would, you moaned softly in response, a sound you had no intention of making and weren't even aware of until far too long after it had escaped your throat so breathily. You whipped your hand up to cover your mouth, snapping it tight over the offending orifice, embarrassed entirely that you were already so receptive, so sensitive, and so wet. It was desperation, clear and simple. Despite him expecting it, the sound still surprised him. It was sensual, light on his ears and deeply indulgent, and it inspired a rumble of appreciation in his own chest that he suspected was low enough you couldn't hear. Though he wouldn't allow himself to make a sound, not quite yet, he did revel in a wicked smile, mean and teasing, as he looked into your eyes to offer a sincere but light-hearted reprimanding.

"Do not stifle any sounds. I consider them to be important feedback, without which this whole affair could be considered adulterated, debased even. I forbid you to withhold anything from me, as it is a requirement of the performer to know what pleases his audience. As such, I expect to hear every single moan, every whimper, every pleading, howling scream for more. Instructional as they are, they also serve as physical evidence to support my argument. Understood?"

You wanted to speak. He wanted you to speak. It would have brought him so much joy to hear you utter an agreement to his terms, to know you were happy to obey his rules. Perhaps, even, to hear you say his name, exhaling it on a sweet breath.

"Yes, sir, Mister Nigma. Of course, Eddie. Whatever you want."

Unfortunately, all you could conjure up in place of a verbal response was a weak nod of your head, mouth open in a silent gasp of shock at the way he was speaking to you, paralysed by the fact that his eyes had yet to move from yours.

In a sudden shift from his position of hovering over you, Edward moved slowly, carefully, to his knees. It was a thought out manoeuvre that told very little of the care he had to take at his age, but which let you in on it just a little. Now below you, he looked up with keen eyes. He craned his neck forwards, taking a painfully slow start to his process. Eventually, you felt the heat of his breath hitting you, the cured warmth of his lips as they came into contact with your thighs. A soft, surprisingly gentle kiss placed against your skin. And then another, this one pressed just next to the one that came before it. Another, and another, the trajectory of their journey suggesting that soon they would be getting closer and closer, moving temptingly near to your cunt. He was right there, just about to reach it, close enough for your entire body to become prickly with heat, and then he switched to the other thigh. Back down, closer to your knee, placing a kiss there to parallel the other side. Another two minutes of those slow, almost sinfully teasing kisses on your bare, quivering thighs. This time, as he got close once again to your core, he leaned in, loose strands of his greasy and unkempt hair tickling as they brushed against your mound. In response to the surprise stimulus, you let out a hissing breath.

The interruption made him pull back, and you worried for a moment that you might have thrown him off his game. But it seemed in reality to have served as nothing more than a reminder to him. he reached one hand up to the top of his head and pulled off his goggles, tossing them carelessly to the side. He couldn't let anything else get in the way, not again. That same hand pushed his hair back, fingers spreading through ti to make sure it combed itself into place, in his usual messily swept back style. And then, with no hint of the same tenderness he had held before in his previous, slow building of tension, Eddie's head fell forward against you. He pressed his nose to your mound, the first physical contact he'd had with your sex, and breathed in deeply. His inhale offered him your scent, and he could almost taste you in the back of his throat and across his tongue as he took it in, letting out one low and slow groan of satisfaction when he could no longer hold that tantalising breath. You were aching for him so thoroughly now, bravely resisting the urge to push his head into you, to wrap your thighs around his neck and shoulders and keep him there. Before you could act on that impulse, however, he had pulled his head back from you, almost as though he were pre-empting your desperate clawing for his attention.

You wondered how much of this was his regular performance and how much of it was tailored as a sort of punishment, teasing that was dedicated to you specifically. Cloying tension meant to make you grateful for the experience when it did arrive. Surely by now he had realised how badly you wanted, or needed, him. He was The Riddler, after all. There was very little doubt in your mind that forcing you to be in a position of only savouring each moment and letting it build up to astronomical levels of greedy, spoiled want was part of the pleasure for him. But it was a mean spirited approach, one you were certain he was well aware of. It seemed cruel even by his usual standards.

Just a short of a total temper tantrum, ready to demand that he get a move on and start before you decided to fire up the argument again, you were silenced into a choked gasp. Eddie had brought his thumbs to you, a firm pressure held to you in the most delicate of places. You were surprised to feel the touch of his hands against the sensitive skin of your folds, expecting him to only use what he needed to. Mouth, lips, tongue. Using those specific tools and no other to get the job done. Instead, he brought his digits into the mix, using them to spread your folds, opening you up to him. You leaned your head back, trying to avoid letting him see the way your eyes were widening, how your mouth opened in quiet glee, how sweat had begun to form on your brow already. Eddie himself could feel his mouth water in response to this new view.

Then, as if he were exploring you finally now that he had the chance to do so, he pressed a finger into your already wet and more than welcoming cunt. Only up to the first knuckle, a tentative step towards more, making sure that his presence was accepted before he went any further.

"Oh… Ooooh, my…"

If this was just the beginning, then you couldn't imagine how you would be able to last through the whole event that was about to begin unfolding before you. Obviously, you didn't want him to win too easily. But if he kept things going the way they were, the fingers prodding, his thumb reaching to pull back the hood above your clit so he could tap at it with a free finger, his hot, panting breath warming flesh that was already scalding with heat, you weren't sure you would last more than another single second. One firm press against your swollen lips, your twitching bud, and you would be cumming on his fingers before he had even gotten to show off the skills you were supposed to be testing. And you weren't sure how forgiving he would be if you were to succumb to his touch so quickly. You could end up lucky, being offered another orgasm, surprised to find that Eddie was kind enough to keep going in spite of your obvious weakness just to prove the argument in his favour. Or you could be entirely unlucky, as you suspected was more likely. He might call the whole thing off. You couldn't risk that, so you did your best to relax your body, willing it to cool down, focusing on trying to stave off the inevitable.

But, as if he knew you were struggling, Edward suddenly leaned in, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit this time and pushing against it. he was giving himself a better angle from which to press his tongue out against you once he'd achieved the perfect one. He let one long lick of the protruding muscle trace up your slit, then back down halfway where he allowed it to delve further, pressing it deeper between your lips. He pushed his tongue forwards, deeper, as he worked against your folder. Up and down with firm, rigid posture, never quite reaching your clit with the languid laves, until he surprised you by flitting his tongue quickly over the frayed bundle of nerves. He kept this going, back and forth, fast and erratic. The way he worked at you, with seemingly no end in sight to this one particular motion he seemed to have perfected, had you reaching for the edge of the workbench, fingers clenching, painful on your tips and on the joints as you held on with strength you hadn't been aware of having.

Then he stopped, taking the sweet movement away and leaving you with a craving for a fresh, new addiction. To make up for it, and in a somewhat romantic move that stunned you, Eddie placed a soft kiss to your clit. The gesture left you breathless as it moved from closed lips to open ones, his mouth closing around your clit, taking it between his lips to be sucked into his mouth. His tongue was flat against it, moving, writhing, as he consumed your taste in total ecstasy. Flagrantly ignoring all notions of needing to remain somewhat coy or distanced in this, nothing more than a display of his skill, you leaned your head back in a gasping moan and let out exactly how you felt.

"Oh, fuck you, Edward Nigma… Fuck you… You knew…"

And he did. Of course he did. He knew all too well that he was going to win the argument. he knew you wouldn't have stood a chance. And it was your fault for not recognising that, for not seeing the constant pattern in being proved wrong or stupid or thoughtless by him time and time again. You could feel the vibrations of his self-satisfied laugh against your cunt as he bathed in your pleasured irritation. It was gold plated hatred, violent desire and self-flagellation to let yourself be so easily tricked into letting go of your inhibitions, to allow him the satisfaction of not only winning, not only proving, but of knowing now how certain your desires for him were.

The chuckle fell into a constant droning sound as Eddie hummed around your clit, and he let his teeth graze over the stiff ridge, tracing down your hood, only letting go briefly, long enough to offer another kiss as an apology, in sympathy for what he'd done and what he was still intent on doing. The kiss against your bud was followed by another against your heat, wet, swollen lips that were sucked up into his mouth with an eager groan. His jaw dropped enough to take you in entirely, and with his mouth clamped tightly around your core Eddie pushed his tongue forward. It was loaded with saliva, and he let it drip onto you and into you, evidence of the way he was savouring you now coating you completely. He worked at your pussy with exactly the kind of expertise he had claimed before, his tongue wiggling as he breathed heavily against your body. He was growling now as he ate you, devouring you, animal more than human. It was a hunger you'd never seen him exhibit before. Normally, you would never see him eat a full meal, and as you felt him now you wondered if this was actually how he satiated himself. Because no other person had even seemed so feverishly intent on getting deep into you, on inhaling you, ingesting you, tasting you at the back of his throat as he swallowed to greedily and gratefully.

His tongue was pointed, moving quickly against your clit in between bouts of lapping at your insides, deep enough to tickle your core. The muscle was firm, focused and determined, and felt like having a vibrator pressed against you. Better even. Definitely.

"Eddie… I… This is…"

He paused, stopping his ministrations against your sopping wet cunt only to utter a smug response, a tone that was far less affirming and caring than his actions, the kind of sharp and pointed words that didn't seem like they could come out of a mouth that behaved as generously as he'd shown his could.

"I know, my dear. No need to say it. I can already tell."

When he returned to your sex he commenced his acts against your cunt with the same fervour, if not more. No drop in enthusiasm or effort. In fact, he seemed to be getting more erratic, more joyful. Sloppy and careless, as though he's lost all notion of what this was really about and was instead giving into his own desires. It worked all the same, if not to a greater effect. His chin moved up and down, his whole body joining in on the movement eventually, as he let his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, and now his nose and cheeks, drag themselves to and rub themselves against whichever part of you he wanted to feel.

You twitched at the sound of him as he began to moan, louder and louder, a long, droning note that vibrated on your skin and seemed to fill you. The sensation had your whole body trembling, and Eddie managed to remove himself from the fountain of flavour your cunt had become to him, only enough to allow you to catch some of your breath. He'd only left you with a second with which to bring yourself back to the reality of the room before he slipped a finger inside of you. At the very least, you were glad it wasn't his tongue. For all that it spent every day spitting horrid rhetoric and insults at you, working in sarcasm and insults only, it truly was the best you'd ever had. You knew another few seconds of his devilish mouth delivering such contrasting sweetness would have had you cumming, sweat dripping, ace flushing with heat, unable to speak, laying there weak as he delivered a final and self-satisfied 'I told you so.'

But even that one finger, which had felt like such a reprieve, was only him testing the waters, to see how hot and how warm, how adaptable you were. He was seeing how you responded, and given that the response in question was a hip rolling, limbs squirming, breathy moan, he slipped another digit in alongside it. He noticed the way you were holding the table now, your fingernails clawing at the underside, hands shaking, arms not fully capable of supporting you with how limp they now were. He clocked how badly they trembled under the weight of the pleasure he gave you. Your obvious satisfaction brought a lump to his throat, a hunger trying to escape, to push him on. It was a strangled howl that longed to come out.

With a growl, he dove back into you. His fingers remained there, inside, pumping in and out, fucking you in a not-quite-perfect imitation of the want that now danced in his mind. And he took your clit between his teeth once more, hungry for you, desperate. The prize he was chasing was no longer bragging rights, or the satisfactory, egotistical conclusion of being right. Now it was something worth so much more. Now, if he could get this right, he wondered if you would let him show you more. Wondered if you might be willing to return the favour?

It seemed as though his question was answered immediately, as you let one hand free of it's white-knuckle grip on the workbench and instead laced those same tense and tired fingers through his hair. You were taking the reins, trying to claw back a little control over your impending climax, not wanting him to move himself away from the apex of your needs before you were ready for him to. You seemed to be lost in lust, nothing holding you back from demanding what you wanted, and Eddie felt a shiver of anticipation of what might come in the future fall over him. It was enough to have him grunting as he pressed his face into you. And with grated teeth, you expressed the sentiment he was looking for, pushing him deeper, meeting his efforts in the middle.

"I hate to… huff… admit it… But you are a fucking pro…"

Eddie was practically giddy with lust, your praise expected but nonetheless sending him over the edge into the feral nature he'd been attempting to hold back. He drew himself from you, fingers still thrusting, twisting and curling inside of you, his mouth taking a break. He licked his lips, collected his saliva, and spat onto your cunt, following it up with a groan that came through his clenched jaw. he pressed his forehead to your thigh, his free hand on the other, and spread your legs wider. The hand that gripped his hair had loosened, but he looked you in the eye and demanded you resumed your attempt at what he knew was a false sense of control.

"I'll allow you to push me. Show me you want more. Prove me right, by all means. I'll have you showering me in the evidence of your incorrect assumptions soon enough."

You clenched your fist at the root of his dark hair, biting down hard on your lip to stifle the whine that was most definitely working it's way out of your throat. You tried to move him, but he remained still, impervious to your weakened strength, taking the moment of resolve to tease you further.

"Or is that too vague for you? Too wordy? Too flowery? Should I say that I'll have you creaming? It's more visceral, after all. More accurate, I expect. Or cumming? Hard. And wet. And loud. Let's find out how my victory will sound, shall we?"

Edward removed his finger from your body and opened his mouth. He placed it inside with a low hum, dragging it along his tongue and savouring the taste of you, as though he hadn't just dined on your sinfully wet cunt for what felt like hours. Then, once he was finished with that particular display of filth, the act of licking you from his skin certainly feeling like such to you, he wiped the digit along with his palm down the front of his vest and turned the attention of his hands to your thighs once again. That same touch that started it all, your legs still tingling with the memory of where he'd touched you before exactly. Now, they pressed into the meat of your body, far less gentle, as he felt his stomach rumble. He hungrily returned his mouth to your cunt and began slurping, his tongue firm and hard as he started to fuck you with it. The protruding muscle dove in and out of you, enough to have you squirming under him, and he sighed against you. This was it, the final round, the last lap. He was sure he had already done more than enough to prove himself, so now he could let loose and stop focusing only on the win, allow himself to indulge just a little more than he was already permitting.

His nose was practically inside of you as he tried to get closer and deeper. And his chin was wet and dribbling with your juices as he shook his head from side to side like a wild dog, lewd sounds echoing in the room, popping and sucking and wet smacking as he literally munched at your pussy. Your inner thighs and wet, dripping lips were beginning to burn from the friction of his stubble, and his moans were only growing louder, seeming to fill your ears like cotton. You could hear them, only them, despite the fact that your thighs were clenching so tightly around him that they should be muffled. But they were audible, physical. And that spelled out the end. The vibrations. The novelty of hearing him so loud and joyful, not holding back, not forcing composure. It was all over for you. There was literally no chance you could hold it in any longer.

Before you could warn him to pull back from you, it was too late. You were cumming, hard. Slick spread to his lips, in his mouth, and all of it lapped up by his tongue and swallowed down his slender throat. Eddie moved with you, even as you raised yourself off of the table and began to shake uncontrollably. His lips remained firmly suctioned to your dripping cunt as you came back down to rest, orgasm rolling over, slowly but surely dissipating from a quaking hold to a dull pulse, leaving you with only the warmth of satisfaction coursing through your veins. And even then, he kept going, only slowing down and coming to a stop once your body had ceased trembling and he was sure you were completely finished. It was far from what you expected from him. He didn't tease. He didn't laugh. He didn't stop to brag, as much of a terrible winner as he was.

When he eventually pulled away, however, you could see his smile. Even through your blurred vision you could make out how irritatingly smug it was. And possibly, behind that, was a hint of ecstasy of his own. As much as he'd seemed like he was definitely enjoying himself, however, you couldn't quite convince yourself of it. Your mind kept questioning your lust-addled beliefs. It told you that his grin, the enthusiasm, was all part of the show. You wanted so badly to believe that this wasn't just a one-off. That perhaps he might have developed a taste for you, or that he'd satiated a desire he'd been trying to hide so hard for so long. But the thought seemed far too good to ever be true, so instead you basked in the glow of knowing you'd been allowed to experience what was surely better than heaven at least once.

Eddie finally stood up as you let yourself relax into gratefulness, the rush of painful clarity subsiding as you allowed almost pathetic level of gratitude to sweep it away. Your eyes followed his, staring at him intensely, unable to do anything but watch him. You'd always held a little bit more than just admiration for him, always thought of him as oddly attractive, strangely charismatic, clutching a crush to your chest and never admitting it even to yourself. Now, though, he seemed to different. As though you'd unlocked something new. The inability to view him as anything other than a deeply sexual being. A shrill, piercing realisation that working alongside him would be so much harder now rang through your body. And it would be especially difficult if it were unrequited, as hard as that was to commit to believing given what he'd just done to you.

But as you finally broke your gaze away, not wanting him to be able to see through you into your thoughts in the way he so often did, you happened to catch a glimpse of a slight stain at the front of his pants. That sudden rush of louder groaning on his part made more sense now, and you could finally entertain the thought that he definitely had plenty of fun proving his skills to you. That damp spot was the evidence you required. He was just as weak, just as needy, just as human as you were.

Not realising that you had spotted the mess he'd made of himself, the telltale sign of his own climax spreading and darkening on the front of his pants with each second passing, no doubt warm and sticky against his skin, Eddie attempted to collect himself as casually as he could. He stretched his back until it cracked and then maintained his straightened posture, puffing his chest out in pride. He was smug, pleased with himself beyond reason, even, and satisfied with what he wrongly assumed was his own secret orgasm. His forearm wiped across his mouth and he licked his lips, coughing before he made another sound, trying to regain composure despite the fact that the lingering taste of you on his lips had him twitching and threatening to stiffen again already. He was surprised by that reaction, as much as he'd been surprised at his ability to cum entirely hands-free just from the act of pleasing someone else. At his age, it seemed like another notable skill worth bragging about that he could add to his growing repertoire, though he expected a lot of it had to do with you. The flavour of you, the feeling of you, the way you sounded exactly as he'd imagined you would on the occasions he'd allowed himself to indulge in those fantasies.

Sensing that he was getting carried away again, he focused on the point of this brief change of schedule.

"Ahem… I believe I proved my point effectively. If not timely. But you can hardly fault me for that. I take pride in my work, after all, as any expert would. Now… I would like you to get back to work, although I will allow you ten minutes to go and wash yourself off. You're no doubt sweating and… sticky…"

Eddie's eyes drifted back down to your cunt, to your plush thighs where he'd made his mark, eyes widening, cock thickening.

"Ah! I… I have to go. I have some things that I have to take care of. Elsewhere."

He wasn't stealing your things. Technically, he paid your salary, so anything you bought was something he paid for. So they were his things. And if you wanted to be really pedantic about it, he'd been kind enough to let you rent out a dingy little room in his underground lair, so you were under his roof. And you used his appliances, his energy, his water to-

"I'm not going to argue this. Even with myself. I have a right. I have the right. I can do what I want, and I defy anyone to out-logic me and- …That's not a word." He scrunched his face up in exasperation, letting out a little grunt of frustration at his own baser instincts surging ahead of his usually impeccable self-control. "You're not thinking straight, Nigma. Get this out of the way and everything will be fine. Until the next time the insatiable urge comes crawling to you."

He held his hands out in front of his face, taking a long hard look at the cause of his current frustrations. Greasy, calloused fingertips clung to the waistband of your underwear. Not clean, but collected from the laundry basket outside of the room he had been kind enough to let you sleep in while you assisted him with his work. He called it a benefit of the job, and he supposed that this was potentially the benefit of him having to suffer your distracting presence.

For the shortest of seconds, he considered tossing the underwear into the trash can at the side of his desk, not even bothering to give them back to you. He wanted to be rid of them. Of the feelings associated with them, with you. But he was smart enough to know that was never going to happen. There was no satisfactory conclusion, no answer to this particular riddle, that could be found without some effort on his part.

So, clutching them in fingers that were growing pink at the tips from the pressure of his grip, Eddie slowly but surely let his hand deliver the fabric to the tip of his nose. And then, out of desperation just from getting the faintest whiff of your scent from them, he buried his face against the soft fabric of the crotch. He could feel you there, the fabric slightly damp from your sweat or your slick or whatever, given you'd only abandoned them a short while before he'd procured them. So the smell of your body was strong. A familiar musk to the one he could pick up on as you sweated in the heat of the work room alongside him, a hint of your perfume, your natural scent, the tang of-

"Oh my- Oh…"

The front of his pants strained as they tented with his growing erection, cock firm and throbbing as he inhaled you, imagining how it would be to seek this sensation straight from the source. Of course he'd never ask you for that, and he wasn't cruel enough to just take it, either. For now, all he had was the memory of you, left on your underwear. It felt good to be bad. That was, after all, why he'd chosen to take the path he walked. Taboo was tantalising, scandalous behaviour that shocked others was how he found himself, how he knew who he was. Their reaction to his acts of criminality secured the way he thought that others viewed him, too.

He wondered how you might react, then, if you caught him. His face buried into your underwear, tongue tentatively pushing out to taste them, but unsure of whether to commit to that new level of depravity. It would be unfair for you to be too upset about it. After all, you were the temptress, here. You smelled divine at the best of times. A surface level of sweet that he now knew was covering something much deeper and darker and delicious. Perhaps if you weren't constantly playing on his mind, doing your best to make sure you were lodged there, he wouldn't feel the need to correct the feelings you gave him, to relieve himself of them for a moment of reprieve where he could focus on his work.

Edward's appreciation of your form had never been much of a secret. Even before he had given into the temptation of you, it was painfully obvious that he sought the warmth of your large figure. He would argue that he wanted to use you, to mould you around him for his pleasure, and you would be more than happy to agree. In fact, you'd been willing each time he'd suggested that he might take your body like a stress toy and sink his fingers, his tongue, his cock, into whichever part of you he reached first.

This was a new experience however. For the first time, he'd requested that the rolls and lumps and curves of your front were out of his view. He wanted to see you from behind, wanted to try something new.

Typically, Edward was prepared, organised. His first entrance into your ass had been smoothe, careful. And the ensuing thrusts were taking hold of you both as you deighted in the way he stretched you. But then there was a stutter in his hips, a pause.

You wondered why he had stopped, but then he began to speak, and you realised that true to himself he had decided that what he had to say was far too important to play second fiddle to any kind of physical satisfaction you received at his hands.

"I do have to admit, while you are only a facilitator to the pleasure and not a factor in it by any means, I am finding myself enamoured by the contribution of your form to the level of my enjoyment."

Between your huffing breaths, struggling to get the words out in this brief reprieve, but knowing you had to give back just a little of what you were receiving, you managed to find your words.

"Eddie... In English... Yeah?"

The next buck of his hips into you as he started back up again was slightly firmer, less careful than the others, as though he felt like punishing you with a thrust between your cheeks that might cause some pain would adjust your attitude.

"I mean... heh..." He spoke as he picked up the pace, unable to maintain the eloquence and condescension in his sentences while he felt his cock being stroked by your tight hole, reserved, it felt, only for him. "...It is far more pleasant to press myself... up against... hah... something so soft... mmm... and forgiving..."

In truth, Edward hated moments like these. Where the passion of his desires got caught in his throat, struggling to get out, replaced by lewd imagery and words he deemed far more refutable or excusable. Not that he wasn't one for allowing himself to indulge in the filth of lesser people every now and then. That, in fact, was far more favourable than what he wanted to say. The words of praise, adoration, confessions. Those were, to him, the biggest taboo.

"… Far better than… Something hng unforgiving and cruel… Like myself…"

His work sat unfinished in his peripheral, and he marvelled at the fact that something, finally, seemed to be able to lure him away from it. There was a distraction he was happy to have, one he couldn't resist. It was new and unfamiliar territory, scary even, but he was brave enough to allow himself the experience. Besides, someone like him deserved a reward more than anyone else. And nothing seemed as rewarding as having you bend over, spread your cheeks, and present your tight asshole to him like he owned you. Like he was inherently entitled to it. Which of course, he believed he was.

And though he tended to pride himself in his ability to maintain composure regardless of what was in front of him, it was pointless to do so with you. You'd seen him tearing his hair out after a riddle gone wrong, seen him shuddering with rage after being defeated by Batman. So it was only fair that you would get to see him losing himself over the way you moved around him. Your wet, slick cunt swollen with arousal as he let his fingers reach around and tease at your folds. His hands moving to slide up your back, fingers tickling over your rolls as he traced back down over your curves. The desperation you could sense as he gripped at your thighs and your stomach, using the ample flesh as a means to pull you down on to him harder. The way your ass moved, jiggling and rippling each time he pushed his cock back between your cheeks.

Your fingers reached out to the wall, almost as though it required a tactile exploration to understand what the scribbled words and numbers meant. Although, it was obvious to you that it didn't matter. Whether or not you could begin to comprehend the complicated screeds of problem solving and planning that decorated this abandoned space, you knew one thing concretely. You were fucked. Of all the places to accidentally stumble into, you'd managed to 'stupid' yourself into a villain's work in progress. And not just any villain. You'd stumbled into his.

As you stroked along them, the bright green paint stuck to them, still wet. The realisation struck you like a punch to the gut. He could still be here. Your heart fluttered a little, akin to the way you had felt approaching Jack Ryder's table to express how much you enjoyed his report on the Deacon. Like you were meeting someone famous.

It wouldn't be as pleasant as that quick interaction with Ryder, though. That was plainly obvious when you felt his hands on your upper arms, turning you around. The heel of his palms on your shoulder blades as he pushed you backwards. And then his strong, dextrous fingers curling around your throat. But there were still butterflies swirling as he grinned oh so menacingly towards you.

"If I were you, and I could talk through your choked gasps for air, I would be very grateful that I looked as stupid as I clearly was. I won't mistake you for someone who intentionally found me. But that only means I will kill you quickly and without the arduous task of torturing you to find out what you might know. Since, I expect you know very little."

As he continued his self-satisfying tirade against you, you could feel yourself getting hot. At first, you expected it was the lack of adequate breath, the heat of your skin prickling in response to your inevitable demise. But you could feel it only in your cheeks, as they blushed in response to the way his finger tips pulsed against the sides of your neck. And then, as you found yourself caught in his intense stare, steely blue eyes holding you as easily as his hands had physically restrained you, you could feel the heat spreading in your stomach, your abdomen, between your legs, which you pressed together with a whimper to try and keep your composure.

A futile effort, obviously. Nothing got past him, he was The Riddler after all. And when he noticed your body's unfortunate response to what was supposed to be a threat, he leaned in, his nose almost touching you, the scent of stale coffee on his breath, you whined. Your mouth flooded with saliva, drooling at the delicious notion that this might be how you died. One final hurrah indeed. Past the struggling gasps for air, you managed to almost whisper the words "my god" as he lifted one hand from your neck and used one pointed finger to wipe the strand of your drool from the corner of your mouth.

"I see. This threat appears to be having almost the complete opposite intended effect. Perhaps... there are other ways that I can buy your silence. One that might not warrant me cleaning up your pathetic corpse afterwards."

Your vision pulsed with a black aura on the peripherals as you attempted to nod, desperate to live, but more than a little bit upset at the notion that he might remove his hands from your body.

"What a pathetic, whoreish little cretin you are. And yet, so lucky! Because if you weren't so embarrassingly aroused by the threat of death, perhaps you would have been murdered far quicker."

His hand tightened, then loosened, repeating the action, giving you a slight taste of air, oxygen, clawing breaths, before taking it away and watching you tremble.

"Now, can you promise to be quiet? Because I can easily find out where you live, and the next time I get my hands on you it will not be as pleasant as this seems to be for you."

With all of your remaining concentration, most of your mind focused on the way your slick was spreading as your thighs squirmed, your clit throbbing, threatening to send you over the edge of orgasm without so much as a slight touch, you nodded in agreement to his terms.

"Well then. It appears that for the act of finding my latest project, you will be leaving here with a reward instead of a punishment..."

He looked you up and down, a look of pity and disdain on his face as he rolled his eyes at the state you found yourself in. Knees collapsing, the wet of your slick visible on your clothes, your drool collecting on your lips once more.

"Must be painful for you, having to ask for help."

"And it might be painful for you to suffer the consequences of your insolent tone."

You lifted your hand up, holding the handle of the very old fashioned razor blade between your fingers and dangling it in front of him.

"And it might be even more painful for you to suffer the consequences of your own shitty attitude if you don't behave."

With a playful smile, you pressed a finger below his chin, lifting it up, noting the smile that curled slightly on his lips, one he was trying to suppress in favour of remaining stoic in your presence.

"You know, Eddie, if you would take proper rests between working on your projects you wouldn't make so many mistakes."

The blade was close to him, not close enough that it made contact with him, but enough that he was lucky you pulled it back quickly enough when he lifted his head once more.

"I don't make mistakes! I have suffered a minor injury to three of my fingers, a consequence of poor tools. It's difficult to source higher quality material when you're a known and wanted entity."

You gently tilted his head back once more, nodding along to his rants, knowing by now when it would be a futile effort to argue with him. And by the time he had finished rambling, you were ready with the blade and the shaving cream, both in hand as you stared him down, patiently waiting for him to be quiet.

"Well? Are you going to get on with it?"

He barked the question at you, and you prepared yourself to begin, stopping short as he raised a hand.

"Hold on. I don't want you to make a mess of my shirt."

He shrugged the green, paint stained, short-sleeved shirt from his slender torso, leaving him in just a low cut, torn vest.

"You're very clumsy."

"Eddie. Clumsy enough that you're worried I'll ruin your already disgusting shirt, but not so clumsy that you'll trust me with a sharpened blade against your throat?"

For a moment, you had him stuck. He didn't have an argument, any words, you seemed to have caught him. But instead of replying, he simply sighed and waved you off.

"The texture of these fresh hairs on my face is far more annoying than any potential nicks, life-threatening or otherwise. This shirt is the only one I own, and it's to the exact fit I like it after the years of wear."

"Your priorities are interesting."

"I'm interesting."

That was his rebuttal, and he was satisfied with it. So you began your work, carefully placing your palm against his cheek. A soft touch, a careful caress, a gesture of reassurance. You cared for him, despite the playful teasing, the insistence on his part that you were only a disposable assistant. You went above and beyond, in awe of him, unable to resist the urge to worship him. You wouldn't let harm come to him by your hands, that's what the touch meant.

And the fact that he seemed to trust you, regardless of whether that was pushed onto him by the circumstances, meant the world in return.

As the razor made it's first pass over his skin, he seemed to raise himself up slightly, a natural reaction to the cool of the metal. So you laid your hand on his chest, pressing him back down and keeping it there. His heartbeat was steady, skin clammy against yours, a brush of soft hair coating his chest.

While you weren't able to detect any change in Eddie's demeanour, he was worrying that you could. The moment you touched him he had felt his blood run cold. The threat, the imminent danger, the possibility that you could, at any moment, take his life. But the odd certainty that you wouldn't. It was all swirling through his mind, picking up flecks of the ill-timed arousal as it went.

Each teasing touch felt like it made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and under the foam on his upper lip. His body grew warmer, worked up in response to the intimacy, the delicate, tender way you handled both him and the potential weapon. And then it happened.

He squirmed slightly, hoping to adjust himself in a way that prevented his growing erection from becoming obvious. If he could keep your focus on his face, on the job at hand, then he might be able to calm himself down before he embarrassed himself. But the more you touched, the more aroused he became, hard against the front of his pants, and then, disaster occurring as his precum leaked out, staining a tiny mark on the front at his crotch.

Eddie's mind quickly flitted through the catalogue of quick excuses he could think of. He could play this off as a natural reaction. An expected response to someone touching him and being this close to him. Nothing to do with you or his deep attraction to you.

He could admit that the intimacy was exciting, allow a sliver of vulnerability to show as he confessed that it was one area that he wasn't all that experienced in.

Throw a curveball? Tell you that the danger was far more arousing that he imagined? That could backfire though, as he was well aware of how irritating he was, and inciting, or inviting, violence might not go as well for him as he hoped it might.

And finally, the ridiculous notion of proudly displaying the effect of your touch flashed through and was quickly stomped out. There was no way he would be able to play it off with any amount of confidence or charisma, and it would take a considerable amount indeed. But now it was in his head, the idea that you might be encouraged, enticed, by his arousal. Enough that it would strike a chord within you, making you as hot and needy as he was. That you might let your hand trail down the front of his shirt, fingers skimming over the growing, throbbing bulge, offering, perhaps, to shave there too. To finish him off with a flourish. To hold him, touch him, until he-

"Edward?"

He snapped his head towards you, cheeks flushed and pupils wide as he came back down to earth from his flight of fantasy.

"Edward, are you alright? You didn't answer..."

"I'm fine. my mind was elsewhere. You know how it is being a genius, or... you don't actually. But if you did, you'd know it was difficult to stop your brain from rattling through equations and plans and world changing ideas. So forgive me if I automatically reverted to paying attention to that instead of you."

Deciding to meet him with his own attitude, you tossed a towel towards him as you walked towards the sink, dropping the razor in as you spoke.

"Well, if that's a close enough shave you can wipe the foam off now. And maybe use the towel to clean yourself up further down too."

You had noticed. And you were teasing him.

Your fingers reached for Edward's wrist, clinging with an animalistic desperation that seemed to come from your soul itself. Nails creating tiny crescents in his skin, finger tips smudging the grime, palm pushing hard enough to bruise. You needed him to stay there, to finish the job. This was the third time he'd brought you close to the edge, in view of your orgasm, able to see it there on the horizon, before he had snatched his dextrous fingers away from your aching, red and swollen cunt with a smug grin, satisfied with your vehement and concentrated need.

But he was strong, surprisingly so, and he slipped from your intense hold with an ease that made him chuckle cruelly. Sliding his fingers out of your soaking wet, tensing cunt, muscles contracting to try and keep him within you.

"Ah, ah, ah... Where would the fun be if I let you off now."

"Eddie... please. I'm begging you, just-"

He smirked, a choked, derisive laugh echoing around the room as he brought his fingers to his mouth and placed them against his tongue, letting the flavour of you dance along it as he groaned.

"Perhaps we could try a new method? See what kind of effect that has on how quickly we can have you whining once more?"

Dropping to his knees, Edward pushed himself between your legs, which opened willingly for him as you felt yourself bucking your hips towards his open mouth. And then, as cruel as you knew it was going to be, you were pushing your fingers through his greasy hair, gripping it between your clenched knuckles as you pulled him into you. His nose flitting from side to side over your clit, each bump against it sending a shockwave through your nervous system, as his tongue wormed it's way inside of you. Ferocious and violent in his exploration of your cunt, feeding on you as he sucked with a satisfied groan, his own fingers digging deep into the skin of your thighs as he held tight.

Your body began to tremble, and he could feel it, delighting in the way he could so easily bring you to the dangerous point of no return. But before he would let you get there, he withdrew himself, your grip on him tight enough that you took some strands of hair with you as he retreated. And you watched in pained disbelief as he grinned wide.