#kinkspiration

Shaw’s eyes dart from the new plaything on the bed to Root and back again. She twists her fingers together, just a little bit. If Sameen Shaw were capable of trepidation, it would be trepidation colouring her demeanor right now, Root decides.

“That depends, sweetie.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you can be good for me.”

“Oh.”

Shaw swallows a few times. She’s not nervous. Not really. Ok maybe a little. But a good nervous, a titillated nervous. This is new. She’s going to feel something she’s never felt before and frankly, after twenty odd years of being a very active participant in the bdsm scene, that’s pretty much a rarity.

“I left you a little list of things you need to do to prepare for tonight. It’s in the bathroom.”

“Prepare?”

Root giggles and it’s positively evil.

“This is going to be so much fun! But first I have to go stop a train from derailing. I’ll be back around eight, I want you on your knees for me. Kiss kiss.”

And with a jingle of keys and a playful squeeze, Root is out the door, leaving Shaw alone in the apartment with their new toy and a belly full of anticipation.

“Fuck,” Shaw breathes, “fucking Root. Never gets old does it?”

The light over the stove blinks twice and her phone buzzes in her pocket.

“That was a rhetorical question.”

Buzz again.

“What, no kiss hello?”

Root, toting a large purse, steps from nowhere into your personal space and puffs a hot breath onto your freezing nose.

“Naughty assassin,” she says, tapping said nose firmly with two leather-gloved fingers.

You catch her wrist easily. New leather gloves, fitted, very sexy, already a powder singe on one thumb. Careless nerdling.

You catch her eye. She holds your gaze as you grip her wrist.

You have yourselves a little stare-down. The staredown says “at this juncture in our relationship, I expect a kiss hello” and “so don’t smack my nose like that” and “if you ever want me to smack you anywhere again you’ll stop acting like you’re bummed out to see me” and “you were gone for eleven days” and “well you spent six of them kicking ass” and “but i wanted you” and “you have me now” and at some point the staring evolves into actual words and you tell Root she owes you steak and scotch.

“And eleven orgasms.” You add. “I had to make my own while you were gone and now I want the good stuff.”

Root doting-smiles at you and hands you a small black box, about the size of a shoebox. It’s heavy-ish but it makes no sound when you shake it.