Jim Moriarty strode through the halls of his upscale London flat, whistling a jaunty tune. It had been a good day. Three people had died, he'd made another 20 million pounds, and it wasn't even 2pm. Oh yes, it was a grand day indeed.
Moriarty was thinking pleasantly of a nice, relaxing bath when he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned deliberately on his heel and walked back to the dining room door. There, lying casually on the floor, was a partially dismembered body, slowly leaking blood onto the brand-new Persian rug.
Moriarty's eyebrow twitched. Only one person would leave a corpse lying around the flat.
"Celia dear! Daddy's home!" he called in a sickly sweet voice.
"Welcome home, dear!" a woman's voice rang out from the attached kitchen. "I'll be with you in a moment!"
"Oh no rush," Jim smiled, casually making his way into the room. He gave the body a brief once-over before leaning against the heavy mahogany table, steepling his fingers. Jim listened for a few more moments as Celia rummaged around the kitchen before the rhythmic clacking of her heels heralded her approach.
"Hello, Jim!" Celia beamed. The curvy blonde had a large butcher knife clutched in one perfectly manicured hand. "How was work?"
"Oh, the usual," Moriarty dismissed, still smiling. "Nothing of any real note. And how was your day, dear?"
"Uneventful," Celia smiled. "A bit busy, if anything."
"I noticed," Moriarty commented wryly as Celia plucked at the dead man's hand, examining his fingers one by one as though deciding which to cut off first. "Tell me, Celia, what did you say the other day about bringing work home?"
"Oh this?" Celia gestured with the knife. "This isn't work. This was personal."
"I see." Moriarty moved to stand over the crouched woman. "Well, that comepletely makes up for you RUINING THE BRAND NEW PERSIAN RUG!" Moriarty roared.
Celia had the decency to glance guiltily at the blood-soaked rug before smiling apologetically up at the enraged consulting criminal. "I'm sorry, love. I'll buy us a new one."
"This was a new one. I liked this one."
"I'll make it up to you." Celia crawled forward on her knees, a small smile playing across her face. She grasped Moriarty's hips and pulled them towards her. "Just tell me how," she breathed.
Moriarty smiled dangerously. "Oh Celia, you've been a naughty girl. Naughty girls need to be punished."
"I have been a bad girl," Celia smirked, tugging playfully at Moriarty's belt buckle. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
Moriarty didn't respond. Instead he seized Celia by the shoulders and drug her to her feet. He pushed her roughly against the table and crushed their lips together. Celia responded eagerly, running her tongue over Moriarty's lip and moaning wantonly. Her hands clawed at his crisp suit coat. At that Moriarty growled, shoving Celia further onto the table. They stared at one another, both panting heavily. Moriarty straitened, cracked his neck, and tugged his jacket back into place.
"It's a Westwood, darling. You know how daddy feels about you mussing them up." He shook his finger at her, and Celia pouted, ruining the effect by wiggling her hips in anticipation. Moriarty regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before removing and meticulously folding his suit jacket. He made a show of placing it over the back of a chair and loosening his silk tie before returning to his expectant girlfriend.
Celia eagerly spread her legs to accommodate the man between her thighs. She was careful not to touch him but that did not stop her from unbuttoning her own blouse, Moriarty tugged her hands away and held them down as he ravaged her mouth again. Soon he released her hands, finding purchase on her shoulders as he nibbled his way down her neck. He stopped at her collarbone to bite down, sucking a purple bruise to life.
Celia gasped. Unable to keep herself still any longer, she grabbed her lover's tie and drug his closer, pressing her heaving breasts against Moriarty's chest while she wrapped her legs around his waist. She wiggled and pressed against his hardening erection, her breath hitching as he found her clit.
"Eager, aren't we?" Moriarty choked out, trying to control himself. His hands shook as he ripped Celia's blouse the rest of the way open, buttons scattering across the floor. Her pencil skirt was shoved up to bunch around her waist . Her slipped a finger under her lacy panties to stroke and tease her lips and clit. Celia shivered, kissing and biting her lover's beck and jaw. She tugged lightly at his belt again, wordlessly asking for more.
"Not yet, love," Moriarty breathed. "I want you begging first."
With that he yanked Celia's panties down. Her bra came next, exposing her creamy breasts to an assault of tongue and teeth. She arched her back, grinding her hips more firmly against Moriarty's now straining cock. She clumsily struggled with the buttons of his shirt, and this time Jim allowed it. Celia made quick work of the garment. Grinning in satisfaction, she raked her nails down Jim's toned back. She felt him smirk as he kissed her, right before she was shoved fully onto her back.
Moriarty's belt was undone and his pants and underwear on the floor in a flash. Kicking free of shoes and trousers, he climbed onto the table after Celia. He pressed her hard against the unyielding surface and ground his dick against her slick, swollen folds. Celia moaned and swore, sinking her nails deep into Moriarty's flesh. Blood blossomed in little half-moons. Celia whimpered loader and bucked up.
"Beg for it," he whispered.
Celia bit her lip, another moan threatening to escape. She smiled defiantly up at her lover. Moriarty didn't respond. Instead he renewed his assault on her body with increased ferocity. His hands pinched and stroked every inch of her skin while his tongue ravaged her desperate mouth. He continued teasing her entrance with his throbbing dick, rubbing it around and over the moist opening but never quite entering.
Celia was a mess, bucking and moaning indiscriminately on the table. "Take me!" she gasped.
"What was that?" Moriarty asked with feigned sweetness.
"Take me, Jim. Take me now!"
"I'm not sure you really want it."
Celia cried out in frustration. "Damn it, Jim! Please!"
"Please what?"
"Please just fuck me already!" Celia moaned as Moriarty bit down on one pert nipple.
"That's my good girl."
Moriarty plunged into her. He didn't stop; he set a relentless pace, relishing in the warmth and wetness of Celia's tight heat. Celia matched him thrust for thrust as she clung to him. Finally she tensed, her legs squeezing Moriarty's middle even as her walls clamped down on his member. She threw her head back in a scream of pleasure as she rode out her orgasm. The sight of his lover so impassioned was all it took for Moriarty to lose his last shred of control. With a heady moan he came, spilling forcefully into her. He thrust once, twice more before collapsing.
Everything was quiet save for the lovers' heavy breathing. At length Moriarty withdrew from Celia and lay down beside her instead. She curled up against him, trailing her fingers across his sweat-soaked skin. Moriarty watched her for a moment before chuckling lightly. Celia looked up at him questioningly, and he brushed a stray hair from her face.
"You still owe me a new rug, you know."