Our kisses leave no space for words. Our lips and tongues and hands tell a story far more real, far more true, than we could ever manage with speech alone.
I might not trust her, I might not have figured out exactly what it is she wants of me (beyond the obvious debt, the deal we made), but I know Katherine.
And she knows me.
Her fingers slide over my sides, slipping under my thin vest to find the bare skin beneath. I shiver at the touch, my breath quickening a little as she skims one hand up over my stomach until it rests just below the curve of one breast. She traces circles with her thumb, but she doesn't move her hand up any further. Not yet. Her other hand moves around to my back, fingers splayed, applying just enough pressure for me to feel her nails as she draws them lightly over my skin.
I wonder if she's going to mark me (again), my stomach fluttering at the thought (conflicted feelings), but her touch remains gentle, barely there at all.
(From the look in her eyes, I hadn't been expecting slow and gentle, but then, as I said: she knows me.)
My own fingers find the buttons of her shirt, undoing them swiftly and surely by touch alone until the garment hangs open. I'm a little more impatient than she is, brushing my palms over her breasts in their lace and wire confinement, cupping them through the thin material. She gasps softly against my lips, her kisses becoming more insistent, more demanding. I stroke my thumbs over her hardening nipples, unaccountably pleased by the way she shudders, the way her hands curl and flex on my skin.
There are still too many layers between us (clothes and otherwise, a distant, assessing part of me notes), so I reluctantly release her breasts to reach for her open shirt, starting to slide it over her shoulders and down her arms. She obligingly moves to help - I feel strangely bereft to lose the touch of her hands on my skin - wriggling free of the shirt and then taking it from me to carelessly toss aside. Now she grips the hem of my vest, breaking the kiss to pull it slowly up over my body, over my head... only to stop there, leaving me effectively blindfolded.
The light brush of her lips on mine silences the almost-protest that's on the tip of my tongue. Then her fingers are on the exposed parts of my cheeks, brushing my jaw, stroking lightly down the sides of my neck, trailing down, down, down. My breath hitches a little in anticipation, and then again in frustration as her hands move sideways at the last, lightly settling on my upper arms.
I know she's watching me. I can imagine (remember) the look in her eyes as I stand there, exposed to her gaze.
I feel my lips curve and twist.
Well, if she wants to watch...
I take hold of the waistband of my sleeping shorts, sliding them slowly down over my hips, swaying perhaps a touch more than is truly necessary as I lift one leg through, and then the other. Then I throw the shorts down at her feet, cocking one hip in a challenge.
Now I really am naked before her.
She laughs, the sound low and delighted. I start to reach up for the vest still bunched up around my eyes, but she catches hold of my wrists and, gently but insistently, tugs them down again.
"Katherine," I breathe, the word barely audible, even to me.
"Elena," she murmurs back. "What do you want?"
I open my mouth to speak, but the words won't come out. What I *want* is to say that I don't like being blind. That I want to take this makeshift blindfold off. That I want to *see* her. But I don't. Because...
Because.
There's something about this, standing here before her, unable to see, not knowing what she's going to do. I feel...
It isn't just unease that prickles my skin and makes my stomach tighten.
(Even though I never would have admitted that before, not even to myself. Not before Katherine. But then, before Katherine, would I even have known?)
But Katherine is waiting for me to answer her question.
"Are we just going to stand here all night?" My voice is low and rough, my attempt at composure giving it an edge I don't quite intend. "I thought we were going to go to bed."
Katherine lets go of my wrists and steps back.
Silence.
I don't know where she is. Is she still watching me? Surely she can't have just left. I strain my ears, turning my head this way and that.
Still nothing.
I take an uncertain step...
Fingers curling around my hip; the gentle press of lips against the nape of my neck. She's behind me...
But as soon as I think that, she's gone again.
"Feeling impatient?" Her voice comes from somewhere to the side, the words low and amused. I turn towards the sound, even though she's almost certainly already moved.
"Feeling cold," I improvise. It really isn't all that chilly in here, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her have this point. Her low chuckle (from somewhere in front of me) says she's less than convinced, but it's the principle of the thing.
"Poor Elena." The whisper comes from right by my left ear, so close I can feel her breath on my skin. She follows it up by kissing her way down my neck, starting just behind my ear and ending at the junction of my neck and shoulder. (Just like I did to her earlier this evening. It could be a coincidence, I suppose, but somehow I don't think so. It rarely is, with Katherine.)
She starts working her way back up my neck. I lean into the kisses, feeling, rather than hearing, the hum of her chuckling under her breath. She presses her body against my back, wraps an arm around my stomach, holding me in place. (Not that I was planning on going anywhere.) Distracted as I am, her hand on my breast makes me jump a little. When she teases my nipple with expert fingers, it sends a jolt of electricity arcing through my body. I tremble in her embrace.
"You *must* be cold," she says, mock sympathy syrup-sweet in her voice. "Look how you're shivering." The arm wrapped around my middle loosens, her fingers trailing over my hip, across my belly. "Maybe I can help to warm you up." Slowly, so slowly, her fingers dip lower. "Maybe..." She plays with a curl of hair. "A blanket!"
And she's *gone* again!
"Katherine!" The protest bursts from my lips without conscious thought, the word almost a growl. It's almost enough to make me want to stamp my foot in sheer frustration.
I listen, but no reply seems forthcoming. I'm not sure I like this game. (I'm not sure I want to like this game.) I reach up to uncover my eyes, but I've only just touched the flimsy material when my wrists are caught again. This time she isn't quite so delicate when she forces them back down.
"Hey," I say, more in mild protest than actual objection.
"I know that didn't hurt." She says that like a statement of fact, sure and certain. But she releases me without being asked, bringing each wrist to her mouth in turn to lay a kiss over the pulse point before letting it go.
She's right: she didn't actually hurt me. But I feel the urge to rub at my wrists anyay, just like I felt like I had to make some kind of protest at being handled roughly. I make myself resist this time, letting my arms hang loosely at my sides. Poised and alert, my senses straining to try to pin down her location (because of course she moved again as soon as she let me go), I wait to see what she's going to do now.
"I won't stop you again," Katherine says, conversationally. Her voices comes from somewhere up ahead and to the right.
"Huh?" Eloquence is a little beyond me right now.
"If you try to uncover your eyes again, I'm not going to stop you." From the left now. She lets that hang in the air for a moment or two, and I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's smiling as she says the next words. I know exactly the smile, as well. Secretive and sly, wickedly amused, like she's laughing at a joke known only to herself. "The choice, as always, is yours."
To my right again. She's clearly circling me, stalking me. I imagine her gaze trailing over my bare skin like a caress, and feel a shiver run the length of my spine.
Damn her.
Why is she doing this to me?
(Why am I letting her do this to me?)
I digest her words as she circles, circles, circles me. My hands twitch a little, but that's just reflex, not choice.
"What if I take it off?" I ask softly.
"Then you take it off." I picture the shrug that goes with the careless, artless tone. Languid and liquid, feline and graceful, taut muscles rippling under firm, supple skin.
Apparently I'm not picturing her clothes.
Damn her.
Why does it feel like this is about more than a stupid piece of cloth?
But I already know the answer to that question.
Limits. Boundaries. Choice.
I could say this is about trust, but it isn't, not really. At least, despite the way it seems on the surface, it's not about me trusting *her*.
It always comes back to choice.
And I've made mine. I mean: what the hell? I'm kind of curious to see what she's going to do.
Whatever it is, she'd better do it soon. I'm not exactly feeling at my most patient right now.
I'd roll my eyes, but she can't see them. So I sigh heavily, crossing my arms and tapping one foot against the floor in an exaggerated (but not *that* exaggerated) mummery of impatience.
"What, are you painting a picture? Do you want me to strike a pose or something?"
Katherine laughs like I've said something hilarious. "No, that's alright," she murmurs. "I like the view just fine as it is." Her hands are on me again almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth; stroking, caressing, teasing. "Although," she continues, her voice a low purr. "It's much better close up."
It feels like her hands are everywhere, like *she's* everywhere. My breasts, my ass, my back, my stomach, my thighs...
Everywhere but the one place I want - need - her to be.
"Katherine," I whisper, and to my own ears it almost sounds like a plea.
"Elena," she breathes, and kisses me, exploring my mouth with her lips and tongue as she explores my body with her hands. I whimper a little, clutching at her back, my hands spasming as her fingers linger on my almost (but not quite) painfully sensitive nipples. She hisses as my nails dig into her flesh, and my mental image of the sheer hunger in her eyes is so vivid that it's as if I can actually see her. I want her so badly I can practically taste it.
I'm distantly, vaguely aware that she's shifting us around, walking me backwards one trembling half-step at a time, but that doesn't seem important.
I run my hands down her back, growling in frustration as they reach the waistband of the jeans I'd forgotten she was wearing. I try to slip my fingers inside, but they fit her like a second skin, and there's just no room to manoeuvre. I fumble with the buckle, trying to work it loose, but just as I'm starting to make progress, she lifts my hands away.
I make a low warning sound in my throat, pulling back a little from the kiss to say: "You're wearing too many clothes." I make an effort to enunciate clearly, but need, urgent and raw, almost makes the words a snarl.
"No, I think I'm fine for the moment," she replies, airily. "After all, you wouldn't want me to get cold, would you?"
"I'd warm you up," I promise.
"Later," she says, pronouncing the word with great relish. "For the moment, I have other plans." The backs of my legs hit something hard. With a little 'help' from Katherine - she pushes me while I'm off-balance from the unexpectedness of the obstacle - I sit down with a thump, landing on something soft and yielding. "I distinctly remember," she says, punctuating the words with kisses and light touches, "mentioning something about retiring to bed..."
"Yes," I reply, feeling a little lightheaded. "I believe I recall something of the sort."
"Well, here we are."
"But I'm the only one actually on the bed," I point out, with what I think is an admirable attempt at keeping my voice level and reasonable. I reach up and take hold of her upper arms, pulling not-so-gently in case she fails to take my oh-so-subtle hint.
"Why Miss Elena," she says, winsomely. "Are you inviting me into your bower?"
I have to laugh at that, but then one of her hands dips between my thighs and the sound turns into a moan. She strokes a fingertip lightly over my clitoris, once, twice, three times. I reel, only held upright by her other hand behind my shoulders. Back and forth, back and forth...
And then she... pauses. Her finger hovers there in the lightest of touches, only just making contact. It's *maddening*. I bite my lip to keep back a wail.
"Why don't you move back onto the bed a little," Katherine suggests. "We'll have more room to play with."
"You seemed to be doing just fine right here," I grind out. But I do as she asks, turning slightly so I can swing my legs up and then sliding back until my head is on the pillows. All the while, she keeps her hand where it is, more or less. If I wasn't so... *tense*... I'd probably be impressed at the skilful way she shifts and moves with me to maintain our relative positions. As it is, the bulk of my attention is focused on willing her to continue what she was doing.
"Comfortable?" she enquires.
"Prefectly," I reply.
"Good."
By the feel of it, she's stretched out alongside me, probably propped up on one elbow. I reach out with the hand not trapped between us, groping blindly around until I find the swell of one breast, hissing my displeasure when I touch material, not skin. I'd forgotten she was still wearing her bra.
"Although I'd be more comfortable if this wasn't in the way," I murmur, brushing my palm over the lace.
The mattress dips a little as she leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. "Why don't you just lie back and relax," she breathes.
I can't help a smile. "Relaxing is *so* not on the cards right now."
"Well, maybe I can help with that..."
Huh?
"What do you-" I break off mid-sentence as the mattress is suddenly free of any weight but my own. "Katherine?" No reply. "Katherine!"
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she reassures me.
She climbs up back on the bed again, this time swinging one leg over mine and settling back so that she's straddling my thighs. Her jeans are rough against my bare skin. I start to push myself up on my elbows, the better to confront her, but she takes my wrists and slides them up the bed. Her grip is light, the movement slow - I could easily stop her if I chose.
But I don't.
I have an idea where this is going, and I honestly don't know how I feel about it. So for the moment, while I try to sort out my conflicted feelings, I just let it happen.
Katherine releases my wrists When they're roughly level with my head, the backs of my hands resting against the bed frame. Even after she lets me go, even though she was barely applying any pressure at all, it's like I can still feel her handprints on my skin. Paralysed by indecision, I don't even try to move, straining my senses to try to figure out what she's doing back there.
I hear the faintest whisper of fabric - perhaps running through her fingers - and then I feel something soft and delicate brush over my stomach. Katherine shifts her weight a little on my thighs, trailing the thin material upwards, over my breasts - lingering a little over my nipples so that I shudder and gasp - my collar bone, one shoulder. All along the length of one outstretched arm it goes, that featherlight touch, until it reaches the end, when she simply drapes it over my wrist.
Anticipation makes me twitch a little, but she confounds my expectation by sitting back again, letting the material - some kind of scarf? - go. Another rustle, another length of fabric trailing over my skin, and soon both wrists are covered.
A moment after Katherine lets go of the second scarf (or whatever it is), the first one tightens against my wrist, like she's taken hold of both ends and stretched it between her hands. I wait, trepidation and excitement prickling across my skin.
I wait some more.
I frown.
"Katherine?"
"Yes, Elena?"
I consider how best to phrase this, settling on: "What are you waiting for?" It comes out more hesitant than I'd like.
"For you to tell me this is okay," she says, simply.
Oh.
Oh, of course.
I.. have to think for a moment or several, still conflicted. *Is* it okay? Am I okay with this? With letting her bind me? It isn't like these flimsy pieces of material could actually stop me if I wanted to break free.
But then, this *isn't* about trust.
Limits. Boundaries. Choices.
"Yes," I breathe, then a little louder. "It's okay."
"Well, okay then," she murmurs back, sounding pleased. "Just hold still a moment..." And with a few deft motions of her hands, my wrists are bound to the bed frame. When she sits back again, I cautiously test the bindings, seeing how much they give. I wouldn't want to rip them accidentally.
"We should have enough slack to play with," she says, adding: "I wouldn't want you to break free accidentally, after all."
It's almost like she's reading my mind. Or something.
The sensation of a third swatch of material being trailed over my skin takes me completely by surprise. "Close your eyes," she instructs me.
"What?" I gasp, arching my back as she does something exquisite to my breasts. "Why?"
"Because I want to do this properly," she says, like it should be obvious. I'm still a little confused - in my defence, I'm very distracted right now - but I dutifully do as I'm bid. "Are they closed?" she asks.
"Yes."
Almost before I register the movement, she pulls off the makeshift blindfold and replaces it with the length of soft fabric, winding it around my head and - I assume - tying it off securely.
"There," she says. "That's much better."
"Well I'm so glad your standards of propriety have been satisfied," I deadpan as best as I can.
"You should be," she purrs, her voice low and sinful, smooth as molasses and twice as dark. "Because now I can do this..."
She leans forward and kisses me, forceful and demanding. I meet her passion with her own, automatically starting to put my arms around her until I'm jerked to a stop by my bonds. Katherine laughs softly at my frustrated hiss, nipping at my lower lips with her teeth. It stings a little, but she takes my mind off it by cupping my breasts in her hands. As I gasp and shiver, she slowly kisses and nibbles her way down my neck. I almost cry out my disappointment when she moves her hands. I do cry out for different reasons when she replaces them with her lips and tongue. Her hands move to my belly, to my waist, sliding around and underneath so her fingers are splayed on my back. I feel them flex and curl against my skin, feel her nails dig in a little, and then a little more.
"Not so hard," I protest, a little unsteadily.
"Sorry," she says, not really sounding very sorry at all. But the nails go back to fingertips, with which she gently caresses over my skin. "Did I hurt you?"
I start to say yes, then stop and consider for a beat before saying: "Not really, but it was on the edge."
"Duly noted," she murmurs, then puts her mouth to work again. She trails her tongue over my stomach, nipping gently here and there. Her hands move lower, stroking and squeezing my ass, and I suddenly realise that at some point she's repositioned herself. No longer straddling my thighs, she's now kneeling between them. As that knowledge filters through my pleasure-hazed mind, she slides her hands around so that her palms are pressing down on my inner thighs, and her fingers...
"Ah!"
Her fingers come to rest just between, sliding easily over the slick skin. I shudder helplessly, thinking 'finally!', but she doesn't *move* them. Instead, she seems content to just leave them hovering where they are for what feels like an eternity. Without a conscious decision on my part, my hips start to twist, start to press my sensitive flesh up against her fingers, but she leans her weight onto my thighs, holding me in place.
"So impatient," she says, sounding amused.
Of *course* she's amused.
"Katherine!"
Her only reply is a wicked laugh... and to slide her hands further down my thighs, taking away even that light contact. I draw breath to curse her, but then she pushes my legs apart, and repositions herself.
And then her mouth is on me...
Oh god.
Her *mouth*.
Her lips and tongue, stroking, caressing, exploring, sparks flying from her every touch. Finding a rhythm that seems to make my whole body pulse to her tempo.
Growing heat between my legs, muscles tightening low in my belly, nerve endings afire with sensation.
Pressure building, building, building...
And breaking like a wave, crashing over me and sweeping me away.
*Oh*.
I think I cry out. Maybe I call her name, maybe not. I don't know. (I'm not sure I want to know.)
The world disappears for a time as I'm lost in sensory overload.
When awareness starts to filter back in, I'm dimly aware that I'm arching my back. The world is shuddering, or maybe that's just me. My hands spasm and claw, the bindings pressing against my skin. In some far part of my mind, I'm obscurely proud of myself for not losing control and simply ripping free of them.
An instant, an eternity, an endless moment later, the waves of pleasure start to ebb.
I sink back into the bed, panting.
"Ohhhhh," I breathe.
"I take it that was... satisfactory," Katherine says, her voice low and pleased.
I smile lazily, languidly, stretching as far as my bonds will allow. "Couldn't you tell?"
She laughs. "You did seem to appreciate what I was doing." As if to illustrate her point, she slides a hand up my thigh, strokes lightly over my clitoris so that I shiver and gasp, sending lesser waves - aftershocks - rippling through my body. Swift and sure, with just the right amount of pressure, she brings me to the brink again and sends me hurtling over.
(I'm pretty sure I call out her name this time, and I'm not sure I want to think about what that means, or doesn't mean.)
(But then, I've never had to trust someone to care about them.)
When I fall back to earth again, when the ripples fade, when I can focus beyond the boundary of my own skin, a new fire pools within me, a new need. Although I can't see, I turn my head in her direction.
"So, are you going to untie me now?" I pitch my voice lower, weighting my next words with promise. "Because I'd *really* like to return the favour."
"Oh, Elena, Elena," she whispers, her hands moving over my sweat-slicked skin. "I haven't finished with you yet."
And further speech is right out of the question.
*Oh*.
Later, when she's done taking my body to its limits (and, a few times, beyond), Katherine finally lets me go.
"There. Free at last," she proclaims, sounding utterly, disgustingly pleased with herself. Not that she doesn't have reason to be, I suppose. I sigh and stretch, taking the opportunity to confirm exactly where she is relative to me and to the edge of the bed, figuring out angles and trajectories and other such things.
Yep, this is do-able.
With some difficulty, I stop myself from smiling. (It would be sly and wicked, and I'm sure she'd appreciate it, but it would kind of give the game away, and I want to surprise her)
"Are you falling asleep there?" she wonders, and then I'm moving. Up, grab-and-twist, roll, and then I'm pinning her beneath me, using my own body to hold her in place. I rip the blindfold from my eyes with enough force that it actually tears.
(I feel a little bad about that, actually. I don't know if the scarf is one of mine or if she brought it with her, but it seems kind of wasteful to just ruin it. But I can worry about it later. For the moment, I have other things on my mind.)
I gaze deeply into her eyes, letting her see the need I'm sure is all-but blazing from my own.
"You," I say, enunciating my words clearly and precisely, "are wearing far too many clothes."
"Is that so?" she replies, wriggling a little beneath me.
"It is," I say. I lower my mouth to hers, kissing her thoroughly for a while before breaking free to murmur: "Luckily, I have a solution to this problem..."
Slowly, I make my way down her body, lingering here and there with a bite, a kiss, a caress. I get a little distracted by her breasts, cupping and stroking them through the material of her bra until she says:
"I thought you were going to solve the issue of clothing." Her voice is a little breathless. I smile, nipping at the skin of her stomach so she hisses and trembles.
"It's on the list," I reply.
I move lower, drawing my fingers down over her skin until I reach her jeans. Bending to kiss her stomach, I loosen the belt, sliding it through the buckle. I trail my tongue over what I know is a sensitive area just inside the curve of her hip, kissing, then nipping at it lightly. Despite the way she writhes, I make short work of the button and zip. Slowly, I peel the denim back and slide the jeans down her legs, pausing every once in a while to kiss the now-exposed flesh. When I reach mid-calf, I have to move off her, kneeling to one side so I can slide the inconvenient clothing all the way off.
It's only when I'm pulling the jeans over her already-bare feet that I realise she must have taken her boots off before she even let me know she was here. Which, now I come to think about it, explains why she didn't seem taller than me when we were brushing each other's hair.
Apparently *someone* was already planning ahead.
I throw Katherine's jeans in the vague direction of the chair in the corner and kneel by her feet, stroking my nails lightly over her soles.
"I see you figured on getting undressed at some point," I observe.
"Maybe I was just making myself comfortable," she replies airily, her casual tone belied by the way she gasps as I press just a little harder. Releasing her feet, I stretch out alongside her body, running my hand up her thigh until it rests on the front of her little black panties.
"These should probably go," I muse, sliding my hand between her legs and stroking my fingers over the thin material.
"Mmmm..." she breathes. I think that means she agrees. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric, which is wet with the evidence of her arousal. I press my fingers in a little, entranced by the low moan she gives, by the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth. "Maybe I should just take them off," she pants, starting to do just that. I withdraw my hand and smack the backs of hers lightly.
"I've got it," I say, firmly.
She laughs, the sound a little ragged around the edges. "Is this revenge?"
"Maybe." I smile at her, and she draws in a sharp breath. "Now turn over."
I'm actually a little startled by how... commanding I sound. I don't know whether or not Katherine is surprised, but if she is, she doesn't show it. She just quirks an eyebrow at me and does what I say. I lean over to unhook her bra, flinging the ends to either side of her but not bothering to try to pull the garment from beneath her body. This is fine for the moment. I kiss the nape of her neck once and then slowly draw my nails down her back, enjoying the way she shivers and clutches the pillow. I do it again just because, a little harder this time. I'm a little more forceful than she was, earlier, but then I know she has a far higher threshold than I do.
Her soft, almost startled-sounding "Oh!" is music to my ears.
Another pass with my nails and then I slip my fingers under her panties, stroking and squeezing her ass with one hand while I pull the underwear down her legs with the other. She obligingly draws her legs up so I can pull them off without having to move from where I am.
That's awfully considerate of her.
"There," I say, sending her panties the way of her jeans. "That's so much better."
"I'm glad you approve," she murmurs, her voice a little muffled by the bedding. "Does that mean I can turn back around and avoid being half-suffocated by your duvet?"
"If you'd let me finish undressing you earlier, then you wouldn't have to cope with such indignity," I point out. For emphasis, I swat her playfully on the ass.
And Katherine moans, deep in her throat.
Oh. That's... interesting. Although, now that I think about it, not entirely unexpected. Experimentally, I swat her again.
She shivers. "Harder," she almost growls.
Okay. I can work with this, I guess. Raising my hand a little, I bring it down sharply, wincing a little at the sound it makes.
"Harder!" She does growl the word that time. I feel a little uneasy about this, but I smack her ass again, this time hard enough to make my palm sting and leave a faint pink mark on her pale skin. "Ah!" she cries out, throwing her head back so I can see her open mouth, her fluttering eyelids.
I bring my hand up again, but hesitate. She's clearly enjoying this, but I feel... Honestly, it feels kind of weird. Not necessarily *bad*, exactly, but definitely not something I'm comfortable with. (Not yet, a still, small part of me whispers.)
But she does seem to like it...
"It's okay, Elena." I look up to see her twisted around, watching me. As our eyes meet, she smiles, rolling over onto her back and holding out her arms. "Come over here."
I smile back, feeling almost guiltily relieved.
"Well, since you ask so nicely..." I cover her body with my own, nudging her legs apart and slipping my hand between her thighs. She gasps and clutches at my back. "Now," I murmur, circling my thumb and starting to ease a finger through the slick folds. "I believe I said something about returning a favour..."
And then we don't need to say anything at all.