Fringe Benefits

Warning: This chapter includes an explicit sexual scene. Those who might be offended are advised to skip this chapter and move onto the next chapter. This chapter is a strong R.


Gasping, she broke away, wanting nothing more than to laugh. "I thought we weren't kissing."

"I changed my mind. I do that," he chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief as he sealed her mouth with his again. She settled her arms around his neck, crossing them lightly at the wrists and enjoying herself a while before pushing bodily against him until he, obligingly, lay out on his back. While kissing and running her fingers down to where they wanted to go was fine for the immediate present, the very real problem of too many clothes began to impress upon her.

"King," she gasped, pulling away for air. He didn't stop, kept moving down her neck again, no help at all and entirely too distracting. It made the problem worse, not better. Frustrated, desperation building, she squirmed free of his embrace, shoving herself up and away as his hands slid to either side of her breasts. That got his attention. "King."

"Yes, Abigail."

Possessed and triumphant, she rocked backwards on her heels, springing up with her hands at her ankles. She had chosen well for tonight, and she wanted him to know it, see it. But she was no longer content to draw this out. New urgency ran through her body, so she went for the practical. In one move, she drew her hands up the sides of her legs, thumb and index fingers pressing together around the metal of the zippers. King's jaw dropped open as the long unzipping continued straight up to her knees, and he choked off a cry when she kept going. As the two sides of her crimson leather pants fell away, he found his voice again.

"Whistler, I'm beginning to suspect you planned this."

"Does that surprise you?"

He shook his head. "No, but I like it." His eyes stayed fixed on her legs, moving upwards, checking back with her from time to time to beg for permission. She granted it by allowing her mouth to tick up in the corner. When he reached her underwear, sheer black nylon mesh in a low-riding bikini-style cut, chosen as meticulously as the rest of her outfit, he let out a rush of breath. "Wow."

"Like what you see?"

"You'd know if I didn't."

"I bet," she worried her lip, some of the excitement wavering under his piercing examination. Seeming to sense this, he rolled up into a sitting position again. First, she gloried in the every twitch of those fabulous muscles of his, then she lost herself in the achingly tender touch of his rough fingers moving up her bare legs.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Are you kidding?" She could not control her mouth; her body spoke for itself, stepping into his touch as his hands came up and around the elastic of her underwear, just below her waist. Her eyes fell closed as his lips came down on her abdomen, rough and hot tongue working at the soft skin above her underwear and below her belly button. The bizarre duality of sensations, the massage of his tongue and lips, the pricking of his beard, robbed her of breath. His thumbs hooked under the strings at the front of her bikinis. When he paused, she opened her eyes, glaring down her body at him.

Visibly surprised and wary of her expression, he pulled away. "I do something wrong?"

"Jesus, King," she rolled her eyes. He sounded almost sincerely insecure. What was his problem? She was definitely giving him permission, and if he didn't take it, she'd have to take care of it herself. Holding his gaze, she hooked her fingers in the underwear elastic and looped it around each of his thumbs once. "Pull," she ordered.

"Yes, Abigail."

"And stop that."

The false modesty and fear fell away from his face. His eyebrows leveled, his mouth fixed itself in a determined line, his tongue poking out at the side, the study of concentration. His fingers slid under the fabric and around her hips until she could feel him curl them over the top of her underwear at the small of her back. Expertly, with the scant cloth tangled around his large hands, King eased her panties over the curve of her ass, accepting her assistance only once he'd dragged the material down as far as her knees. She daintily stepped out of one leg hole then the other. As she steadied herself onto two feet once more, she noticed he wasn't paying attention to her. Instead, he was staring at her discarded bottoms. On the inside of the black satin, a coral colored square of plastic shone even in the dark warehouse.

"You really come prepared." There was awe in his tone, and it excited her, frustrated her even more with his distraction. Now was not the time to admire anything that wasn't her.

"I don't do anything half-way," she agreed, grabbing his chin and directing his attention where she wanted it. Obediently, he came up onto his knees, hands braced on her hips.

"Thank God for that," King said before leaning forward into her center. The shock of sensation rendered her temporarily mute. Her brain could only barely register the gasps and strange gurgles of air escaping her throat. The noises she made amused him, and the tremor of his chuckles against her sensitive folds aroused like nothing else.

"Mmm," was the first semi-coherent thing she could manage after a full minute of reveling in the teasing, maddening rhythm of his hungry, invading, questing tongue. Her body tensed as his hands cupped her ass, kneeding into her flesh roughly as she thrust her pelvis forward into his face. His head dropped back, panting.

"Need...to...breathe..."

"Sorry," she giggled, twining her fingers into his thick hair.

"I'm not," King wheezed, darting towards her at the same time he pressed her forward with heavy hands on her ass. As best she could, Abby kept up her scalp massage as his mouth devoured her, his fingers spreading her wide for better access. Erratically, she ran her hands down the back of his head, clawing at the knot of muscles there and keeping herself from flying apart by focusing on the feel of him, so alive, under her fingertips.

Time dilated and expanded forever, no longer existing as she guided him and he responded. No words were necessary; the bodily clues were enough. His mouth was occupied, and she wasn't much of a talker anyway. Idly, between electric peaks, she tried to remember the last time a man had done this for her. Years, maybe, back before she got into this business for real. The last one--what was his name?--hadn't ever gone down on her. None had ever done it with her standing, and her appreciation for King's not inconsiderable talent skyrocketed as she enjoyed the new position. Then again, a man who gave his mouth that much exercise had to have the game to back up the talk.

A heavy groan escaped her, rising up from her gut and slipping out of her seized windpipe. Frantic, she could not move enough to alleviate the tension, so she stayed still, freezing up. Not enough, not enough. Then, one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction, it was too much, too much.

"Goddamn!" Perhaps not the most delicate way of phrasing the warmth that seized her, overtook her, overwhelmed her, but it didn't even begin to touch how she really felt. That was what she'd been lacking, among other things. But, as the blood surged and her chest heaved, while her eyes blinked away rushes and swirls of color in the dingy warehouse, Abby was acutely aware of a need still unsatisfied. She staggered away, seeing King smiling, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Just as he took a breath, no doubt to make some wise-ass remark, Abby came back to herself, the need crystallized, and the solution presented itself. King got off an, "I--oomph," before she tackled him, lips coming down on his, tongue in his mouth as they fell against the sheet. His response was instantaneous, hands grasping and squeezing her waist, thumbs rubbing the sensitive skin of her stomach and working upwards, tickling her ribs beneath her top. Gracelessly yet expertly, he pinched her nipples over the fabric, but she stopped him when he tried to remove it.

"No time," she snarled, groping around without looking for her underwear. There was no time. Condom, now, now, now, her body screamed, each rub of her hips against his feeding her haste.

King looked up at her, tucking one strand of her hair behind her ear. The innocent expression on his face, the strangely intimate gesture, jarred her from her urgency. His darkened, dilated eyes searched her face, enjoying her confusion and pause. "Looking for this?" Her eyes flicked to his free arm, bent up at the elbow. The pink square package that had been tucked in her underwear was pinched between his index and middle fingers. She tried to snatch it away, but he held his arm out, the condom out of reach.

Astounded, infuriated, Abby gaped at his easy, contented smirk. How could he be so calm? "You want to get laid or not?"

"Is that a loaded question," King drawled, lifting his hips upwards as an answer her question. Then what was the problem? Dumbfounded, she stared as he caught her hand with his, depositing the condom into it. She had to lean forward a bit more, and he raised his head to kiss her soundly. Stupidly, she stared at him when he released her lips. "You may resume where you left off, Miss Abigail." His eyebrows jumped suggestively, and, suddenly, it made sense. Ah. Clasping the precious package, she walked down his body again, reacquainting herself with and rekindling her appetite for the body beneath her. Here and there, she nipped at him, this time tasting the fine layer of sweat coating his body. "Whistler," he moaned, as she dipped her tongue into his belly button and rubbed his nipples with her thumbs. More tongue, more taste, more moans. A positive feedback loop of desire.

Without realizing it, she hit the elastic of his boxers with the back of her tongue, moving down from his abdomen. Angrily, she sat back on her heels, tapping her fingers on her hips. "King."

"Yes?" His eyes were obsidian, deep, intent. Anything she said, he'd do.

Wantonly, she traced the solid cut of muscles above his pelvis, thumbs continuing the trek over the fabric of his pants and boxers, fingers curling over the elastic. She tugged on it playfully a couple of times as she worked at his body with her thumbs. He licked his lower lip, his expression clouded and anticipatory. "Up," she murmured, eyes flashing, and up his hips came; she jerked his boxers and pants down together. Freed, his erection bobbed, promisingly, waking still more desire. Perfunctorily, she tore the condom's seal with her teeth and one hand, the other closing over him, teasing him.

Barely in control, she managed, somehow, to work the condom on, unrolling it down his shaft. Nodding, satisfied with her work, Abby recognized control abandoning her entirely.

"Like what you see?" In the dark, his eyes twinkled. With all cares thrown entirely to the wind, she dove for him, taking him into her, bracing herself against his bent knees.

"You'll know if I don't."