NB. Perhaps a bit more edge-skirting before that rating change
"My intentions?"
"Yes, you do have them, don't you?" asked the agent earnestly, "or is this you operating without a plan?" She was still holding the author's hand and squeezed it playfully to punctuate her question.
The Cheshire cat in Helena grinned and her sly, wanton look was not lost on Myka. She meant whatever she was about to say and the agent leaned in so that she could savor every word.
"My intentions are to ruin you for whoever has the misfortune to be next, darling."
Helena pulled Myka to her again, exactly as she had in the driveway, and kissed her so that the agent forgot her own name. The Englishwoman was as good as her word and Myka was already having a difficult time imagining how she would ever again equal this experience. The author's hands were tracing her edges while her form pressed against the agent's and heated her nearly to the point of discomfort. Myka found her own hands again at the buttons of Helena's flowing shirt and it was only a moment before she had her prize: she was gazing at an expanse of alabaster which made her feel like Pygmalion standing before his living statue. She inhabited the role of sculptor gratefully, bringing her lips down to inspect the curves of Helena's collarbone again and allowing her fingertips to slip beneath the silky material and encourage it down the arms of the woman before her.
"Is this alright?"
Helena stifled the arch comment, reminding herself that she was in love with the brunette standing in front of her. Instead she nodded and resumed the searing connection which Myka had interrupted to inquire about her comfort. When the two reluctantly separated again, she spoke.
"Darling, you don't have to ask me. I am yours irrevocably. Do with me whatever you will. But I have to tell you," Helena paused to tighten her fingers in the curls at the base of the agent's neck and pull them so that she could breathe into Myka's neck and ear as she continued, "that you are making it very difficult for me to control myself. I am too used to being at the helm, shall we say, and I'm afraid that I will not be able to contain my passion much longer. I don't want to frighten you."
Myka gave Helena permission as explicitly as she could. She wasn't afraid.
"I want you to touch me."
"Very well then," smiled Helena, "let's start right here." And no sooner had the words left her lips, Helena's hands were at Myka's midsection, dragging the plum colored shirt off her without hesitation. A fair amount of appreciation, yes, but she was too focused on her goal to pause for a longer time. When Helena dropped to her knees, Myka finally understood what real domination was. Not that she felt in control at all, quite the opposite. She imagined that this must be how men felt with a beautiful woman kneeling in front of them: enthralled and completely captivated. She had always assumed that they must have experienced an unparalleled rush of power. How wrong she had been. Like her erstwhile brothers, she was a puppet incapable of thought. All else was pure bravado—this was real subjugation.
She owns me.
Helena was pressing kisses to her midriff and lower but as Myka reached for the night-black tresses, her hand came away empty. The Victorian had already bent over the agent's boots, unzipping them. When she had finished, she nudged the taller woman. Off balance and unprepared to defend herself, Myka fell back onto the bed with a laugh, reaching up to pull the object of her affections down to her. Helena was only too happy to oblige and, owing to Myka's quick reflexes in mid fall, found herself lying roughly on top of her intended prey. The soft laugh blunted the apprehension Myka still felt at being so close to the other woman, making it easier now to be playful.
"How is it that it's taken you so long to get me into your bed?" she asked the author pointedly as she swept the soft black curtain separating them to the side of Helena's face, pinning the locks more or less behind her ear. She was so close.
Charmed by Myka's attempt at levity, Helena simply shrugged and cocked her head to the side.
"I blame the bronzing, darling. It has slowed my reflexes."
The Cheshire cat again. She stroked Myka's hairline and mused, "I do so worry that you'll be disappointed in my shortcomings because of it."
Helena knew she had little to fear in that way but wanted so much to put the other woman at ease with their closeness. She needed desperately to show Myka how she felt about her. Especially after the long and tortuous wait she had inflicted on them both. The agent had pulled her back from the edge so many times it felt like abandoning her duty not to return the favor. And it occurred to Helena, as she thought, that it might be fun to push the agent over an edge or two as well. Push, coax, wheedle, cajole, beckon. Whatever it took to get Myka to fly into the flame with her.
Myka saw right through the façade. Helena was nervous, despite the sheen of command. She knew the other woman—every corner of her psyche—and saw immediately the insecurities about where they stood with one another. Helena was not just looking for a good time with the agent. She wanted a deeper connection. She wanted to make solid and real what she believed they already had and had been circumnavigating for the past two years. She wanted proof that she wasn't crazy. That she was worthy.
She needed to hear it.
"You know," Myka stage whispered, trying to maintain the lightness in her voice, "maybe I'm just old fashioned, Helena, but I don't sleep with people I am not in love with. So you can't disappoint me."
Her admission brought tears to the inventor's eyes. It was the response she didn't know she had been hoping for. But she was facing a different problem now—she was in danger of destroying the mood by allowing herself to be overcome. Letting Myka watch her dissolve into tears was not an option she wished to exercise at the moment, so she put aside her emotional response in favor of a coy reply, sure that Myka would recognize it as the misdirection it was.
"How very 1800s of you, darling."
Myka offered a coy rejoinder of her own, smiling mischievously up at the woman she wanted as much as she loved.
"Now, where were we?"