A companion piece to "Predictable" which I wrote in Sherlock's point of view. Both fics can be read alone, it's your choice. This one is in Irene's. It's actually more of a character study than a one-shot, but it's definitely Adlock in every sense. I hope you enjoy as much I enjoyed writing this!
A true dominatrix takes and takes with very little giving.
Most people would feel scandalized just by being in her presence. The word dominatrix seemed so sexually provocative to most. It was almost always equated to prostitution of some sort.
Perhaps that was true in a way. She did appeal to her clients' wishes and desires for money and protection, but it was never about sex.
In fact, sex had nothing to do with it. Sex was just a very powerful and efficient tool to bring them quickly to their knees before her. She barely gets aroused in her sessions while they writhe on the bed.
No, for Irene, it was the power. A dominatrix should be able to wield her clients and let them see their own desire, most of which they never even knew about, until they begged and begged for more.
The sheer amount of power she had over them, even in the small amount of time, was something she relished. It was as if she had whipped her riding crop hard enough to crack open their hearts and let them show her their souls.
And she takes them all. Information. Scandals. Secrets. Anything that could be useful to her.
As much as what others have perceived of her because of her profession, she had rarely taken part in intercourse. Her clients surely wouldn't have the pleasure of doing so. Of course, she had occasional lovers as well, but she always breaks them before they could even try to make love. In the end, she'd still be taking over and continue to take everything.
One could say that she was a very selfish woman.
But so was he.
She'd always believed that she liked being in control especially in his equally dominating presence. It was one of the things that drew her to him. There was an air of arrogance and dominance around him that somehow matched hers.
She liked it, she admitted, and had lost count of how many times she had won or lost.
In fact, it didn't really seem to matter that much. Not when he was trapping her body with his strong arms around her waist, pressing their bodies flush, as he devoured her mouth. A wave of desire and want washed over her and threatened to push her over the edge of her self-control.
He pressed her on the bed with his own lean body, tightly pinning her wrists above her head as he kissed her hot and hard. She rolled her hips against his hardness, and he responded by ripping his lips from hers and finding that spot beside her ear that made her lose control more. His swollen lips slowly traced her jaw as his other hand ripped her clothes apart.
And suddenly he was everywhere. His lips were pressing soft wet kisses in her neck. His tongue drawing out small circles on her skin. His hand gripping both of her wrists tightly, her pulse pounding against his palm.
Irene Adler, the infamous dominatrix, was losing control under the scrutiny of one (the only) Sherlock Holmes, under the hard planes of his body, under his hands both pinning her on the bed and wandering around her body.
Under his control.
She had always been the one in control, especially in the bedroom where she moved with utmost ease and skill. And now there was this. Now she was literally pinned down, feeling almost helpless under him.
The thing was that she liked it.
Even more so when his skillful fingers finally touched her, his mouth and tongue on her. She couldn't feel. She couldn't think. All she felt and knew was the man between her thighs as he brought her down to her knees with another flick of his tongue. Her orgasm ripped through her, white and hot and, oh, so delicious it left her gasping for air and gasping for more.
Begged. Irene Adler had begged. Once? Twice? She would not dare admit it but she had lost count.
By the time, they joined, her control was barely intact as he played her like his violin, his fingers pressing onto her on the right places, his mouth muttering melodies of pleasure and sentiment, his body cradling her with care and primal desire at the same time.
Though she had tried to right things by rolling on top of him, she still found herself dizzy in the feel of him under her. His hands found her wrists once more and pressed them to her back as he moved his hips against her. Something flared within her and she did something she had very rarely done, perhaps only in his eyes.
She let go.
And instead of breaking him, he had cracked her open in vulnerability. Words that did not make sense fell out of her mouth as she grew more breathless against him. Her moans and sighs echoed inside her own head. The mask that she wore shattered into pieces as her emotions bled through the cracks. Desire. Pleasure. Sentiment.
"Irene..."
And she didn't understand. She didn't understand why but the sound of her name from his swollen lips brought her to the peak. His voice had awoken something deep within her that made her chest tighten in a way she could not comprehend.
"Irene."
The sound filled her head as it echoed endlessly in the midst of pure white ecstasy. Her body and mind soared and soared until she fell back down to him, her body collapsing against his heaving chest.
She was supposed to be untouchable, she thought as her heart refused to calm down at the feel of his arm around her waist. Her profession required her to be untouchable. She liked it, liked being on top of them all under her heels. And here she was, falling so deep into this man.
"Stop thinking."
She wasn't really sure if the command was for him or for herself. Perhaps it was for herself.
After all, tonight did nothing but bring more clarity to the growing turmoil in her heart. It was indeed clear that she had been tamed, brought down to her knees, she thought as she buried herself deeper into his arms and warmth.
The untouchable dominatrix had finally been reached.
Sherlock Holmes had her.
Her body.
Her mind.
Her heart.