#sub benedict

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God he just couldn’t stop thinking of her, The Lady in Silver..

He lay in bed awake with only her on his mind for what seemed the 100th night in a row, replaying those same moments in his head over and over.

The way she gazed at the chandelier like she was purely mesmerised by it, god she looked like an angel when he first saw her. And it was all a blur before they were on the terrace, him in her arms.. her body against his.

She kissed him, before she ran away. Before she left without even letting him see her face. She left him wanting. She left him imagining, imagining to fill in the gaps of what he wanted to know, needed to know.

And so he lays: him, his imagination, The Lady in Silver.

He imagines what her kiss might be like if she had only more time, if she could take her time with him. Would it be the same as the one they had already shared, hard and full of longing? Or would she make an effort to be softer, draw it out so when they finally parted he would be left gasping, only wanting for those heavenly lips to trap his once again, to hold him hostage.

Would she allow herself to embrace him for at least a moment longer, would her arms constrict tighter round him, would she grip him with all that she could while kissing him?

He tosses in his bed.

The Lady in Silver.

Oh how lucky he was that she never came back for her glove, for he would never know if she was just his imagination, filling in gaps for what he longed for.

What would her person be like, if she had allowed him time to know her better? That night on the terrace she seemed timid, innocent, even if she didn’t mean to show it. But all the nicest ones have a dark side, don’t they? Perhaps it was a show, to lure him in, to leave him wanting more. To leave him thinking of her, her, her, The Lady in Silver, in the times he’s truly alone, late at night, left to his own imagination.

And if they were alone, would she want more with him, need more with him?

Would she be the type to risk her reputation for just one night..?

He tosses once more.

He wouldn’t like to think that she would.

The Lady in Silver.

He wouldn’t like to think that she would hold him down while she took what she wanted from him, doing with him as she pleases.

He wouldn’t like to think that as she shoved him to his knees she would make him look into those dark eyes of hers through her mask, to humiliate him all the more.

He wouldn’t like to think that as she struck him in the face for a touch he just couldn’t resist, she would apologise.

The Lady in Silver.. an angel so irresistible it hurts, hurts so good. An angel he was made for.

He passes a hand over his face, letting pass a shaky sigh. A guilty hand reaches down, a hand he wishes wasn’t his own.

Would she start slow and work him up, teasing, always leaving him on the precipice, never giving permission? Or would she start fast and overwhelm him, never allowing him to catch a breath in between?

He takes himself in hand, already leaking.

He imagines she would chastise him for it.. already so wet for her, and she hasn’t even touched him yet.

He moans into his hand as he strokes himself with the other.

What else would she say, would she be all degrading, or would she prefer to praise him too? Tell him.. he’s doing such a good job, taking what he’s given with such gratitude.

Would she want him to say anything back, beg for her to just keep going, more, more, ever more. Or would she like for him to keep quiet, would she keep him quiet? Would she clasp her gloved hand over his mouth like his own is doing now, desperate not to make another sound for someone could hear him.

His breath becomes ragged, each exhale from his nose bringing with it another strained noise from his throat as his hand quickens over himself.

Would she want anything more from him, make him please her too? Or would she be pleasured enough just to watch him lay there and take it, watch him tremble and squirm under her touch? He imagines she would lean in, tilt his head back, and suck dark marks into his jugular. Maybe she wants him to know who he belongs to every time he looks in the mirror and sees a part of her she left behind, peaking out from the top of his collar, a gentle reminder.

Would she tilt his head back lightly, with a tip of his chin and a smile? Or would she weave her fingers through his hair and pull, making him gasp in pain and pleasure?

He was close, so close, just a bit more.

Oh God please, please keep going- I’ll do anything, anything you need me to, just don’t stop please just don’t stop—!!

He spills over his navel, body stiff and head thrown back as if in pain, hand slowing down to ease him out of it.

He knows what she would think of him now, pathetic. Disgusting even. What man would have the audacity to think of a woman, a lady, in such a position?

Oh, The Lady in Silver..

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