Raymond and Rosalie collapsed exhausted and panting several hours later, the sheets crumpled haphazardly about their spent forms. A soft sheen of sweat shone on their skin, left raw and flushed by their passionate endeavors. They had yet to leave the bedroom, preferring to spend the entire night alternating between rambunctious bouts between the sheets and curling up together in sated contentment.
Red now lay on his side, one leg entwined with his lover's, an arm wrapped about her curves to trail lazy fingers along the supple skin of her torso.
Rosalie's hand cradled his head to her shoulder, fingertips carding through his soft, short hair in soothing circles.
Their attachment and affection grew with every touch, every stroke, every word uttered in quaking pleasure under the golden sun which still refused to set on their lovemaking.
"God…Raymond." She swallowed, trying in vain to catch the breath which had been stolen from her.
A deep groan of agreement could be heard from the vicinity of her chest, making the woman sigh melodiously.
The pair were turning out to be extremely compatible bed partners, each meeting the needs of the other before a plea could even leave their lips.
A minute aftershock rippled through Rosalie as her mind drifted to the man in her arms.
Raymond Reddington had delivered, in every aspect of the word.
He had taken her, moulded her to his heavy cock and the plush bed to which he pinned her, bringing her to trembling ecstasy again and again until the woman could want for nothing. She shattered into his waiting embrace, gladly taking him with her into trembling bliss.
The pair shivered as the room rapidly began to cool their burning bodies.
"We should get up soon…" mumbled Rosalie, barely able to keep her eyes open.
"Later." Red yawned, tugging the blankets over them and pulling her into a tight embrace before he too was lulled into a deep sleep.
Raymond awoke much later when the woman in his arms stirred, wriggling from his grasp.
"Where do you think you're going?" He grumbled sleepily, reaching to tug the warm bundle back into his sphere.
Rosalie giggled as she was forcibly dragged back across the spacious bed. "I'm going to order us supplies, we will have to eat sometime this week, you know." She teased, turning to pepper his cheek with kisses.
Red leaned into the gesture, humming his enjoyment before pointedly cupping the valley of her thighs, an eyebrow quirking suggestively.
"Oh, well keep that in mind," Rosalie purred, pupils dilating slightly. She kissed him once again before rolling onto her stomach, away from his arousing influence.
Raymond yawned and stretched, a relaxed grunt rumbling from his throat, born of the sated ache in the man's body. Their amorous activities had engaged long forgotten muscle groups, leaving a delightful soreness in its wake.
Rosalie was a thrilling lover, eloquent and inventive in her lovemaking. Raymond had watched her in awe each time they fell into a tangle of lips and tongues and trembling limbs. He had watched as her body sought him, possessed him, relented to him, how she had left no inch of the man unexplored. She had met Red's passion ounce for ounce, inundating his very bones with rapturous pleasure until he could do nothing but follow her into euphoria.
A devilish smirk crossed the man's features as his eyes traveled to the beautiful dip of the woman's back, bared from the top of her shoulders to the base of her spine for his viewing pleasure.
She dialed her associate, a heavy-sounding Norwegian lad answering the call.
Without hesitating, Red leaned to drop his lips along the plains and valleys of the woman beside him, nuzzling her silky skin to his heart's content.
Gentle hands moved to trail up and down Rosalie's body, keeping her mind distracted with what was waiting for her the moment she hung up the phone. The woman sighed her enjoyment, lips curling into a smile around the request for a small order of kitchen staples and two extra sets of sheets and linens. She added a mysterious order for a box 'BOR13S' with a barely contained mew as Raymond's warm hands continued to move languidly over her.
Red had always prided himself on his formidable self control and endless patience in strenuous negotiations. It was one of his strong suits as a fugitive, being able to keep a cool head until the perfect moment arrived to unleash his plans.
This personality trait, however, did not seem to extend to his engagement with the enticing blonde beneath him.
He watched in resigned amusement as his traitorous hand reached out of its own accord, all strategy gone, grasping the sheet covering Rosalie's prone form and pulling it down slowly to reveal the swell of her naked posterior inch by magnificent inch.
He'd had the best of intentions, truly. Raymond had merely sought to show his affection while she ordered their supplies.
His roaring libido, however, had different plans.
Really, he thought, who could blame him? There was a beautiful woman right there, perfectly within reach, barely covered and positively enchanting in the sun's golden glow. He couldn't be expected to control his baser impulses under such circumstances, not this early in the game. She was too enticing, the possibilities too arousing, his cock too damn hard to even consider behaving himself.
The loss of her only covering didn't seem to faze the woman at all, she merely arched her backside in open enticement. The wily creature turned and winked at Red, catching sight of his rigid erection and throwing a saucy little wiggle his way.
Raymond flashed a wicked grin and popped the smooth curve of her ass with his palm in response, issuing an incredibly satisfying smack, which echoed loudly in the tall room.
Rosalie quickly covered the receiver as a wanton squeak leapt from her lips.
"Behave." She hissed, casting him an admonishing glance. She received a wolffish smile in response, forcing the woman to change tack at top speed.
"Be a good boy, or I'll order those Belgian chocolates you hate."
The playful threat was met with a dark scowl from her counterpart, who, regardless of the fact he was still showering her in affection, issued a low noise of discontent. "Then I suggest you don't tease me with this tight little-"
Rosalie reached back, covering his mouth with her hand and barely containing her laughter. "Don't you dare finish that sentence." She growled, not wanting her associate to realize she was bedding one of her clients.
Red sniggered, begrudgingly allowing the woman a moment's reprieve from his more instigative antics. He had just brushed her hand away when his stomach gave an audible growl.
"Can I satisfy any particular craving?" Rosalie asked, tilting her head straight back and locking amused eyes with her hungry lover.
"Chocolates." Grunted Raymond in an impish undertone, placing his lips to her brow before kissing a searing trail down her back. "Not the Belgian kind." He insisted peevishly, swirling his tongue against the dimples at the base of her spine.
The sensation made Rosalie squirm and bite back a giggle as she dictated his wants.
"Wine…you know which ones I like." Red continued, running a broad hand down her legs and spreading them slowly apart.
"...Things I can eat off of you."
Rosalie couldn't hold back a squeal when she felt his teeth nip high up on her inner thigh. The action both surprised and aroused, forcing her to apologize profusely to her associate while Raymond's sultry chuckle filled the room. She made up a feasible lie about seeing a spider, ordering the remaining requests in a rush before blessedly ending the call.
"You are incorrigible!" Rosalie insisted, though Raymond could plainly see the bright smile illuminating her face before she buried it in his pillow.
The man let his weight envelop her, feeling the feminine frame relax into him. "How much time do we have?" He husked in her ear, enjoying the goosebumps which erupted along her body at the request.
Now Red stopped to think about it, he had no clue what time it was, if it was day or night, or even how long they had been there.
A quick glance around the room revealed a small clock, telling him it was shortly after eleven in the morning the following day. A broad smile lit the man's features as he realized they still had six days of blissful solitude awaiting them.
"About an hour." Rosalie sighed, turning so she could wrap herself around him. She beamed dreamily upward, taking in the arousing sight that was a disheveled Raymond Reddington. His normally debonair facade was deliciously ruffled, the aura of the towering criminal giving way to an alluring, boyish charm.
Rosalie could feel his broad frame, still as naked as she, resting between her thighs.
Red smiled fondly back at her, happy to hold still for her appreciative perusal of his person.
The woman reached up to card her fingers through his hair, recalling how she had done so over and over last night. A tinkling laugh left her lips, realizing the short locks stood practically on end from her playing.
Rosalie was quite certain her hair was faring no better, recalling how Raymond had seemed to love burying his hands in the teeming curls. Hour after hour, he had gently tugged them this way and that to expose more of her sensitive flesh to his wanderings.
The recollection made the woman blush, recalling how her lover's mouth had aggressively marked her throughout the night, and how she had voiced her pleasure with each and every one.
Though a couple marks could be seen on Red's neck and chest, they were nowhere near the array left on the young innkeeper. The dozen or so love bites which now riddled her hips, neck, breasts, and thighs stood out spectacularly against her slightly lighter skin.
Raymond was glad to see she was in such a good humour, that addictive little laugh pairing nicely with the pink flush flooding her skin as he raked burning green eyes over his handiwork.
Truthfully, Red wasn't entirely sure what had come over him last night.
Normally, a love bite here and there was only to be expected in the throes of passion, but this… This, he knew, had been quite deliberate.
Raymond remembered the words he had uttered like a mantra as the beautiful woman quivered beneath him, above him, beside him, marked from every angle she could be taken.
"Come for me, Rosalie, just for me."
Just for me.
Raymond considered jealousy a base emotion, a tell of insecurity. This possessiveness, he told himself, was born of a different emotion. Red had always felt the desire to shelter the woman beneath him, from the very beginning of their acquaintance. The need to protect her had been built moment by moment as their partnership became a friendship and their friendship became a relationship. Last night, Raymond had felt those same sensations combine with something wholly new, a desire for belonging. He wanted to belong to her and she to him, as completely as one could belong to another human being. With every touch, that belonging seemed to inch closer and closer to his grasp.
The call to claim her had been impossible to resist after waiting for so long.
Every moment of the previous night seemed to linger in the air between the two as they lay ensconced in each other's arms. Raymond's sensual baritone floated in a ghostly echo along the rafters, keeping time with a possessive corner of his soul which thrummed a steady pulse at the sight of Rosalie's pristine skin speckled with the bright red evidence of his desire. The sensation of her tender flesh in his mouth, the sounds which poured from her lips each time Red had felt compelled to mark her as his own, every second hovered palpably between them in the early morning light.
The flashbacks awakened the fire in Rosalie, who felt her lover's body stiffening in response to the feeling of her, warm, wet, and squirming impatiently beneath him. She wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling his lips to hers and kissing him with a quiet intensity.
A roguish laugh could be heard as the little minx shifted them, taking Raymond to his back and wasting no time in unravelling a condom onto his twitching shaft.
"Ride me." He commanded softly, guiding her heat to envelope him once more. A delectable little shiver raced up his lover's spine, followed by the sinful sound of her bare bottom impacting with his stocky thighs.
Rosalie gasped, catching her lip between her teeth and sighing her relief as Raymond arched to meet her.
Reddington watched his business partner in undisguised amusement as she scurried about the suite, hurriedly donning some clothes. Her property manager was ten minutes out, having called her once he entered the initial gate leading to the property.
The woman's legs were like that of a newborn giraffe courtesy of their impromptu quickie, and Raymond couldn't help but snigger to himself, seeing one of her thighs give a little spasm as she slid into an emerald silk skirt.
"Oh hush, you." She groused, giggling in the next breath as she gripped the nearby bedpost.
Taking pity on her rather charming predicament, Red stood, stepping around the bed to assist with the slippery garment.
"Why bother getting dressed?" He asked, guiding the silk up her shapely legs. Once the skirt was zipped, his hands continued their ascent, following the full curves of her waist and hips.
"Do you often greet your associates in your underwear?" Rosalie questioned pointedly, batting his wandering hands away. "I can't very well go meeting one of my property managers in a negligee."
A lewd chuckle resonated from Red's throat as he shook his head. She had him there. It was unheard of for him to be seen out of his suits, let alone in the state of undress Rosalie was currently sporting. He let her finish dressing in peace, opting to simply slip a robe over his bare torso and sleep pants.
The image caught Rosalie's eye as she was applying a touch of makeup in the vanity mirror.
"I love the new suit." She quipped dryly, a little put out that she had to get dressed while he was obviously remaining in his current attire.
Red's tongue prodded his cheek, catching the woman giving him an appreciative and blatant once-over. "He's not my associate." The man reasoned, swaggering off into the living area.
Rosalie nabbed her nylons and a pair of pumps before following him out into the space, seating herself on the ottoman in front of him.
Raymond had plucked a novel from the ever-present bookshelves, settling himself in one of the cushy armchairs for a bit of light reading. He thumbed through the pages, quickly finding his desired chapter.
Rosalie set about donning her customary stockings, ears pricked for the sound of a car pulling into the drive.
Red cocked his head, thoroughly distracted from his pastime, watching intently as the delicate material was slid up her toned legs. "What is it about thigh highs?…" He questioned, voice trailing off when the woman hiked her skirt to clip the garter straps.
She caught his roaming eyes with a smile, "What do you mean?"
"They're old fashioned," said Raymond, working to assemble a thought pattern which didn't involve him tearing the damn things off. "They're not particularly necessary, yet I don't think I've ever seen you without them. Why?"
"Why do you wear a three piece suit?" She countered, quirking a lone brow.
"Touché." He conceded with a smirk. He was just about to answer her question when a soft chime could be heard throughout the home.
Rosalie sighed, "That'll be him."
The woman slipped into her black pumps, bending to brush her lips against Raymond's. "Hold that thought, yeah? I'm more than a little curious."
"We'll pick up where we left off, as soon as we're rid of the interloper." Red promised, gesturing her toward the stairs.
The woman strode the length of the home, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt before she reached the doorway.
Raymond watched in fascination as her delicate shoulders settled into a straight line, her back elongated, and her chin lifted ever so slightly. The mask of the criminal settled neatly into place.
Clever grey eyes swiveled to his, the woman he adored glinting clearly within. With a quick wink, she descended the stairs to greet her associate.
A thousand new questions swirled in Red's mind as he watched her go. Even more than her attire, he was intrigued by what made her criminal side tick. The hidden and unexpected corners of her hovered like a puzzle before him, just waiting to be solved.
Rosalie and her associate ascended the stairs moments later with bags and boxes in hand.
Raymond stood, taking the parcels from the woman's arms, noticing there was something decidedly off-kilter about her body language.
She was fighting a losing battle with a radiant blush, and her voice was flat and clipped as she thanked him for carrying the items for her.
Her associate, a strapping red haired man built similar to Dembe and Horace, strode into the nearby kitchen with a boyish grin on his rosy face.
Red turned to Rosalie, an eyebrow silently asking the necessary questions.
She met his gaze, mouthing 'Later.' before following the other man into the kitchen. "Kenneth, this is Lucas, my property manager for the Baltics and Scandinavia. Lucas, this is Kenneth Rathers, he's a preferred client of mine."
The men shook hands, the younger seemed politely amused, the older, rather suspicious.
"Mr. Rathers," Lucas beamed, his mouth slightly obscured by a bushy red goatee. "I do hope you enjoy your stay here in Norway. You've lucked into one of the best sites in the network."
Raymond nodded amicably, though his green eyes held an intense scrutiny. A dozen scenarios for what had rattled Rosalie were flitting through his mind, most of which centered on untoward behavior from the cheeky-looking boy across from him.
Rosalie stared pointedly up at Red, shaking her head a fraction of an inch.
"Tell me, Lucas, what part of Norway do you hail from?" The older man asked, easily glossing over the awkward pause.
The property manager grinned, "Hedmark, though my wife and I now reside in Oslo."
The group made small talk for a respectable spell, the two fugitives relying mostly on Lucas's ability to talk about his family to fill the appropriate amount of time before he could be politely ushered out.
Handshakes were exchanged again before the fellow turned to his employer. "Should you need anything else, Frøken Øllegaard, don't hesitate to ask."
Rosalie smiled softly, "Thank you, Lucas, allow me to walk you out."
Red waited as the pair made their way down the stairs, listening closely as the safehouse door was closed and a truck engine started in the drive. The young innkeeper's heels could be heard in the entryway, then climbing the spiral staircase, halting for a moment at the ensuite before ascending into the living area.
The man didn't even pause for her to fully enter the room. "What on earth has you so flustered?"
Rosalie stood in the doorway with resigned expression. She could only look at the floor as she held aloft… her blouse from the day before.
"As bold as brass in the doorway to the bath." She grimaced, "There's no way he didn't notice."
Raymond tried in vain to hide a very smug grin, remembering, now, how they had left a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom like an age-old cliché. "Oh dear," he concurred, barely able to contain his mirth.
"I got dressed for nothing, and now an associate knows I'm sleeping with a client." Rosalie bemoaned, shaking her head and putting a hand over her eyes.
Her lover roared with laughter, gathering the sheepish woman in his arms.
She burrowed into his embrace, smiling in spite of herself as his deep laughter resonated against her ear. Warm, masculine hands roamed her back and shoulders, soothing some of her chagrin. She wriggled her hands beneath Raymond's robe, skirting her nails along his back and torso.
"There are worse things, Rosalie. But, you know, we can easily remedy this whole clothing situation." Red intoned, fingering the zipper of her skirt pointedly.
"Mmm…" Rosalie nuzzled deeper into his hold, "I need to unload the contents of those first." She grumbled, pointing at the offending items on the kitchen' marble island.
An amused chuckle met her ears, "We'll do it quickly," Raymond compromised, his chin resting atop her blonde curls. A firm hand dropped to pat her bottom, ushering Rosalie into the kitchen as he released her.
The man set about unboxing the kitchen supplies first. Staples like olive oil, vinegar, butter, and salt were packed neatly within. Alongside those were an assortment of other ingredients including herbs, proteins, and a colorful array of vegetables. Everything was wonderfully fresh, ensuring they would have delicious meals for the week. Raymond was already throwing together ingredients in his mind, eager to sample what Rosalie would come up with and hopefully show off his own culinary prowess as well.
While Red was filling the small fridge to capacity with their haul, Rosalie unpacked the requested linens, tucking them safely into the bedroom's dressers. Fluffy towels and a warm throw blanket followed after, the latter being draped over the sofa's arm.
One large parcel was left, the mystery box she had ordered.
"What's this?" Questioned Raymond, staring thoughtfully at the stark black labeling on the box's exterior.
"It's a box of our staples, specific to this house." Rosalie answered, continuing her march toward the bath, the stack of fluffy towels in tow.
His curiosity sufficiently piqued, Red popped the lid on the mysterious package. Within the box was an assortment of his most favored items.
A jar of wildflower honey was nestled beside his preferred bath products. The chocolates he requested were nestled alongside several bottles of Châteux Margaux in varying vintages, as well as a smaller bottle of his favorite scotch. Along with a few of the stolen Cubans from the Castro debacle, a deep blue robe was nestled inside, framed by staples Red recognized as belonging to Rosalie.
The man grinned as he saw her smaller robe in a pale grey cashmere, two tubes of lip balm she was notorious for leaving behind, a small bottle of her preferred gin, and a variety of other accoutrements specific to her.
"Box BOR13S." Chimed Rosalie from the doorway, seeing the man had already broken into the treasure trove.
"What does that acronym stand for?" Asked Red, unloading the exciting bounty.
"The first and last letters correspond to the type of home and the season, respectively. B for blacksite, H for safehouse, the letter at the end is S for Summer, F for Fall, etcetera." Rosalie explained, taking the liquor to the nearby bar cart. "The number corresponds to my master list for blacksites. If this were merely a safehouse, it would have the street name or nickname. The letters before that, O&R, indicate the last names of the occupants, in this case, just you and I."
"And if we had Dembe and Horace with us?" Raymond asked, putting some of the small batch Ecuadorian coffee beans he so enjoyed in the nearby grinder.
"Then there would be a Z and a J in that grouping as well." She said, picking up the tall bottles of Château Margaux and carefully storing them in the wine fridge, already set at the appropriate temperature for the vintage.
"This is how you do it, catering your homes to your specific clientele?" The man asked, pleased at unravelling of a portion of the maze that was her empire.
"That's the gist of it," Rosalie nodded slyly, "Though only my top tier clients get the full treatment. I can't cater to every Tom, Dick, or Harry."
Red glanced again at the O stamped on the box's side, a point of curiosity occurring to him.
"Many criminals go by a moniker or mononym of some sort. You don't. Why is that?"
"I've always considered such things to be earned or at the very least bestowed by the masses. Giving oneself such a name gives off a distinct air of fragile ego. I much prefer-" she halted her explanation, staring mouth agape at Reddington. "Um… Please tell me you didn't choose 'The Concierge of Crime'?"
Raymond nearly snorted with laughter, "No, my dear, I didn't choose any of the monikers I've been bestowed. I prefer to simply go by my name."
The woman relaxed visibly, glad she had not accidentally insulted him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously when a mischievous smile quirked at Red's lips. "What?" She asked.
"Nothing." He said, still grinning to himself.
Rosalie wasn't fooled, her gaze fell steadily on the man, willing him to fess up.
Raymond found the exchange rather amusing, truth be told. He finally relented with a snigger. "How about, 'The Ill-Behaved Innkeeper?'"
His counterpart laughed aloud at the suggestion. "Absolutely not."
"'Mistress of the House'?" He intoned, swaggering toward her.
She wrinkled her nose. "No."
"They could call you Mistress for short." He purred, popping the buttons of her blouse with a casual flick of his index finger.
Rosalie gasped as the swell of her breasts was exposed to him.
Red flashed a devious grin, slowly backing her into the bedroom.
"Madam Aubergiste?" He growled, the French lilt rolling delightedly off his tongue.
Rosalie mewed, arousal already pooling within her. "L'Aubergiste c'est ennuyeux," she insisted, reaching down to tug roughly at his robe. "Tell me more about this Mistress business."
An enticing growl could be heard from her captive as the woman took control, pulling the Concierge of Crime into a tangle of limbs.
Rosalie stood in the kitchen, tossing back water as though she had spent the past week in the Sahara. Something about the way she had been making the bed had awakened his arousal, resulting in a spirited quickie which had left her bent over the foot of the bed, spent and quaking from its intensity.
The damn bed still wasn't made.
Their antics had grown more rambunctious, more uninhibited as time passed in the blacksite. It seemed no surface was safe from their bouts of rapacious need.
Rosalie had become intimately acquainted with every piece of furniture in the home, to include the bedroom dresser and more than one of the enormous floor to ceiling windows. The woman giggled softly, shaking her head when she recalled how Raymond had delighted in having her assume the position against the glass surface.
Down the hall, the door of the master bedroom opened with a click.
The man in question prowled into the living space, seeking out his lover. He found her where she stood, glass raised mid-sip. Red's green eyes raked her with a bravado borne of seeing her come undone at his slightest provocation.
He knew, now, what made her wild, what coaxed the primal creature within her out to play. He knew what it took to make her tremble and shake, to cry out his name like he was the patron saint of her ecstasy.
Rosalie was caught behind the man's burning gaze, green orbs holding her paralyzed as the Concierge of Crime closed in on her.
"I'm not finished with you, pet." He crooned, reaching to cradle her sex lovingly.
Rosalie quaked, her over-sensitized nerves screaming their desire as two large fingers traced the outline of her swollen lips.
The woman's arms latched around Red's neck, pulling his mouth to hers as she was lifted to the nearby countertop. She reached between them and plucked the loosely tied string of his sleep pants. Her little hands tugged on the waistband, pulling her growling counterpart closer to her while loosening the garment's drawstrings.
The man eased the delicate straps of her negligee down her shoulders, watching with undisguised delight as the garment pooled at the dip in her waist.
Rosalie felt her breasts tighten under his intense gaze. "How is it possible for you to make me ache just by looking at me?" She wondered aloud, arching into the sensation of his warm mouth dragging along the plump mounds.
The woman tugged deftly at the man's bottoms, sending the garment pooling to the floor. A little mewl of arousal issued from her mouth as she felt his rock hard head brush her sex.
The unbridled feminine sound gave the man gooseflesh.
Raymond had preemptively donned another condom, confident she would be receptive to his advances. He let out a soulful groan as the tip of his cock breached the welcoming warmth, happy to be reunited with the tight, wet little alcove.
A firm hand pressed on Rosalie's sternum, urging her to lie back on the cool marble of the countertop. They had quickly learned the surface was the perfect height for activities not involving cooking.
Rosalie moaned throatily as his length worked its way into her tight heat.
Red watched in awe as the glistening shaft delved slowly into the sodden little hole, the visual combining with the incredible feeling of her quivering body relenting to his delightful intrusion.
"If there is anything more enticing than this, I'll eat my hat." He vowed, his eyes torn between watching the steady drag of his cock and watching the woman's hands, which were rolling and pinching her own nipples.
"Mmm…" moaned Rosalie, trailing slender digits down her body to feel where he was spreading her open. The small fingers brushed teasingly along the man's length with each stroke.
A mischievous little smile played upon her features as Rosalie looked coyly up at her lover. "I think you're obsessed with pinning me to things, Raymond." She teased, a high-pitched gasp tumbling from her mouth as he thrust sharply into her.
"How could anyone blame me…" Red grunted, lifting one of her slender legs to his shoulder, "when this is the view I'm afforded?" He gestured at her sprawled out form, his hand lingering in the area of her breasts, which were bouncing with each impact of his body against hers.
"Besides," he circled his thumb gently over her clit, "I think you enjoy a man who can stand and deliver." He quipped, the rogue comment bringing grins to both their faces.
Rosalie knew there was no argument for that accusation, she had been spurring her lover on every step of the way, instigating her fair share of their debauched escapades.
"Touché, lover boy." She conceded with a sigh, opening further to the pleasure he gave.
Raymond groaned, increasing the tempo of his thrusts and reaching forward to fondle one of her breasts.
A wanton cry reached his ears as Rosalie's back arched in pleasure. "Right there, huh, little dove?" He crooned knowingly, doubling his efforts against the sweet spot he had found.
Rosalie nodded desperately, a whimper escaping her lips as her toes began to curl.
Red held tight, keeping her feminine frame just where he wanted her as the sound of their bodies colliding filled the room. He turned to place a kiss to the leg draped against his shoulder. "I'll give you what you need." Raymond promised, thrusting steadily into her center. He continued to pound against her bruised depths until he felt her hips begin to buck and writhe against him.
"Please," she groaned, kneading one of her breasts in time with his thrusts. Her other hand dropped down to Red's which had been gripping her hip tightly.
The man threaded his thicker digits with her slender ones without a word, enjoying the intimate gesture as her vital young body wound tight around his aching cock.
"Give in, little dove." Raymond hissed, loving the ripple of pleasure pulsing through her sex. "There's no way I'm stopping."
The words took the woman easily over the edge. Hearing his loving, attentive words in that delicious, rumbling drawl made her legs spasm around her lover, who, to his credit didn't lose a single beat in his pleasurable pace.
As far as Rosalie and Raymond were concerned, it could have been three hours or three days since Lucas dropped off the supplies. Between the distinct lack of clocks in the house, their own amorous priorities, and the endless sunset pouring through the windows, the pair had little awareness of the outside world.
Neither one minded, finding they thoroughly enjoyed the lack of timekeeping and responsibilities. They followed the natural rhythm their bodies settled into, ate when they were hungry, slept when they were exhausted, and spent the remainder of their time enjoying each other's company.
Being natural night owls, they had managed to completely flip their sleep schedules in a short amount of time. They knew this because the sun followed a horizontal line across the house from left to right. The further right the sun was, the later it was in the day. Seeing the bright rays as far right as possible, they could deduce it was somewhere around midnight, and the cohorts had been up for at least a few hours.
Regardless of the time, they planned to actually venture outdoors, the beautiful Norwegian countryside beckoning them for a little outing. It had been Raymond's suggestion, after the man stumbled upon a wicker picnic basket in a hall closet. The idea captured both their interests, and the pair took to their plans with gusto, looking forward to an impromptu date outside the safehouse.
Rosalie was just finishing packing an assortment of culinary delights when Red strode out of the master suite in his standard suit, a sharp grey waistcoat paired with dark blue slacks, and a chocolate brown tie matching perfectly with his chosen fedora. He cut an impressive figure, striding across the home to nab a book from the shelves to take with them. The man tucked it neatly in the basket before lifting the whole assortment with a steady hand.
Rosalie took his offered arm, stopping to grab the large throw blanket from the sofa before following him out into the cool grounds.
Depending on the way they looked at it, it was either very late in the evening or the wee hours of the morning, meaning it was all of 50 degrees when they stepped out of the safehouse. This didn't seem to matter as the pair donned their jackets and hurried outside.
Rosalie led the way, taking them along a pebbled path in a wide arc heading North of the house.
They settled into a comfortable silence, enjoying the leisurely stroll.
As they rounded the curving trail, Raymond leaned to kiss her cheek, glancing appreciatively at the dress she wore beneath her leather jacket. It was a lovely warm taupe color, in a wrap style which hugged her figure nicely. The soft cashmere demanded Red's fingertips graze her curves, beckoning him with its rich texture. He stopped them in the middle of the path, an arm wrapping around the warm little bundle and pulling her close.
Rosalie beamed up at him, batting her lashes in a coy fashion before pressing her lips to his. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, warm and affectionate rather than the hot and bothered caresses they had been engaging in the past few days. The change of pace was appreciated by both, who sighed their enjoyment before continuing their walk along the property.
Twenty minutes later found the pair curled up on the large blanket beneath a lone towering tree. It was a curious looking thing, piquing Red's curiosity instantly.
"Is this a Harlequin Maple?" He asked, reaching to pick up one of the broad leaves, admiring its pale green border and dark emerald center.
"It is," nodded Rosalie, "The property is full of Harlequins, Crimson Kings, Birch, and Spruce, a few were naturally occurring, but I added many as I could get to grow when I first bought the place. Lucas is now in charge of making sure the local plant life flourishes."
Raymond settled with his back against the heavy trunk, setting his hat on the blanket along with his glasses. "You're quite the horticulturist." He commented, thinking back to several of the safehouses they had stayed in over the past year. Each and every one had native plants of some kind either out in the grounds or in elegant pots within the home.
"I'm an innkeeper, land is part of who I am, plus, I have a fondness for things that grow." Agreed Rosalie, settling the picnic basket at one end of the blanket before moving to curl up with Raymond. "My mother taught me how to tend a variety of plants. We had a little garden when I was young, a place to grow vegetables, fruits, and flowers during the summer."
Red pulled the woman so she rested between his legs, reclining serenely against his chest. "What did you grow?"
"Peppers, potatoes, garlic, squash, Momma did the tomatoes, I was pants at those."
"What did the tomatoes have against you?" He questioned, twirling one of her honey-colored curls around his finger.
"I don't know," She mused, "if I looked at them wrong they'd wilt and die. I think they did it out of spite, that, or the dog peed on them." A wide grin graced her lips when she heard Raymond's full, genuine laugh.
"You had a dog?"
"Of course we had a dog, some kind of Great Pyrenees mix named Ralph. Sweet as pie, but God did Ralph have a lot of energy. He used to chase the horses to blow off steam and my Dad would get so mad…" Her voice trailed off at the memory.
In their time together, Rosalie and Raymond had spoken very little about their respective childhoods, a piece here, a memory there. The woman's thoughts wandered back to her formative years, wondering if she and the man holding her would ever be in a scenario where they could tell each other the truth about who they had been and the lives they had lost to become who they were now.
Raymond's mind drifted off with her. A young Rosalie scampered about before his eyes, wild blonde curls fanning out behind her, all squeals and giggles as she ran through the soft grass after a lively little pup. Red could smell the scent of wet earth, see the stains left behind by the soil on her small feet. He watched in amusement as the turbulent grey eyes turned sullenly toward a withering tomato plant being coaxed back to life by a faceless blonde woman.
"…Did you ever have a dog?" Rosalie asked, glancing thoughtfully up at him.
Raymond shrugged, "We did. Though, I don't remember having him very long. My father wasn't particularly fond of pets."
The woman fiddled with his tie, her brow furrowing slightly at his response. "Was he kind, your father?"
A pointed silence met this question. Red thought of the man, a barely contained snarl tugging at his upper lip. He wondered how much he should tell his lover, how much he could afford for her to know. "Not particularly. He was a bit astringent, hard headed, not terribly affectionate." Raymond admitted honestly, deciding this bit of information wasn't too damning. He added, "I was much closer to my mother. She was infinitely kind, understanding. The kind of woman who made every insurmountable mountain seem like a mole hill, so deep was her love."
This soothed Rosalie greatly, a gentle smile warming her lips, glad for the knowledge his childhood was not without love and affection. The innkeeper turned and peered softly up at her counterpart, her fingers still absently stroking his tie.
A smile twitched at Raymond's lips, seeing her so pleased by what little he had divulged.
They nestled closer together, the cool breeze chilling them slightly.
Raymond leaned to pluck the book he'd brought from the basket. Settling Rosalie deeper in his hold, he flipped the book open and began to read aloud in his deep, soothing drawl.
They remained in this position for a long while, enjoying the simple pleasure of a good book in the outdoors.
Rosalie traced the knot in his tie until she could unravel and re-tie it in her mind, she then moved to his waistcoat, running her fingertips along the neckline and down to the breast pocket, feeling the outline of a small rectangle within. She wondered what it could be. Did Raymond really carry stamps? 'No,' she thought, 'it seems too big for that.' A ticket, perhaps, or some sort of business card?
Red could all but hear her mind whirring in the background, her intrigue regarding his attire resurfacing. He had forgotten about the small old photo which was usually tucked in his breast pocket. It was there moreso out of habit than anything, and he had been far too distracted of late to tuck it away for good.
It was not as though Raymond did not want to share this with her, it was simply too soon for her to know. He placed a warm palm over her hand, ceasing its movement while keeping it pressed firmly to his chest.
Rosalie's eyes flitted up to her lover's, a question being silently raised about the item in his pocket.
Raymond held her gaze steadily, communicating she was more than welcome to continue perusing his person, but the item she was currently outlining was off limits. "One day soon, we will talk about it." He promised, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand. "Just not today. That little square will raise more questions than it could ever answer, and I, for one, want nothing more than to spend these few precious days focused solely on us."
Rosalie searched his expression, finding it genuine. She understood what he meant, this uninterrupted time alone was extremely important to Raymond, as it was to her. This week was a rare moment to grow together, to solidify their connection, to play those games which only lovers played in the quiet sanctity of a space all their own.
The cold hard truth of the lives they had built for themselves was these times would be few and far between in their relationship. Though they would do everything in their power to make time, though they would be together day in and day out, would sleep in the same bed at night and wake curled together in the morning, they would have to contend with the world they lived in. They would have to share their precious time with associates, clients, allies and enemies, not to mention their ever-present security. There would always be something or someone to get in the way. There would come a day to discuss the past, to answer questions, to delve deep into the murky depths hidden behind them both, but it was not today.
These few days, passing in passionate hours spent together in an endless pursuit of the deepest intimacy and connection, these were the days which were fleeting. These were the ones which must be left undisrupted by the bitter winds of a long-forgotten past.
This time would be impossible to regain.
Without another word, Rosalie turned and placed soft, warm lips to his knuckles, quite content with his answer.
Raymond bent and nuzzled her delicate nose affectionately with his own, any anxiety he'd had sidelining her question soothed by the warmth and understanding in her eyes.
"We never finished our discussion about your suits." Rosalie reminded, giving him an avenue out of the conversation.
Red took it gratefully, "You're absolutely right. How forgetful we are."
The pair had gotten distracted amidst their teasing about criminal nicknames, which led to a very enlightening lovemaking session in which Rosalie learned Raymond quite liked her dominant side. They both looked amusedly at each other, the heated memory taking any remaining chill out of them.
The man set his book aside, settling into the task of satisfying their mutual curiosity. "Fire away, my dear."
Rosalie's expression lit with inquisitiveness, an arsenal of questions queueing up in her mind. "Why the suits?" She asked, leading with the most broad and pressing of her questions.
"Three reasons: practicality, perception, and preference."
The blonde's head tilted thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, how is a three-piece suit practical?"
"Easily," explained Red, "I need attire with several pockets, that's lightweight, and allows me to move. A good suit is incredibly comfortable when done right, and if you plan ahead, offer a necessary amount of practicality. I don't wear off the rack for this very reason. I have tailors on call all over the world to build these suits to my exact specifications. This isn't merely to suit my style, those fittings are where the built-in storage is planned out, any bespoke modifications are done on-site with my tailors. I've had everything from micro chain mail imbued waistcoats to poison-laced buttons."
Rosalie's eyebrows raised slightly, recalling the older gentleman who often showed up at the safe house in New York for Raymond's fittings. He was quite mild-mannered, it would be hard for anyone to believe he ran a side business specializing in poisonous suit buttons. She listened intently, however, the explanation touching on a point of curiosity for her which hadn't yet been sated. "All those layers, though, doesn't it make it more difficult for you to move, to stay cool?"
Raymond shook his head, "Like I said, not when it's done right. The layers are highly practical for regulating my body temperature. You and I have gone from the sweltering Moçâmedes to a snow-capped village outside of Zermatt in the span of a few short hours, having several layers makes me impervious to such movements."
Rosalie nodded her understanding. "Perception," she wondered aloud, "does your suit operate as a kind of status symbol?"
Red sing-songed his head, "Yes, in a way, the suit helps to confirm my standing in the criminal circles. As long as I appear to be wealthy and moving unrestrainedly, I am the kind of criminal society wants to do business with."
The woman found this notion reasonable, she herself had taken comfort in the man's attire when they first met. Rosalie recalled how the suit had somehow convinced her Raymond Reddington couldn't be a complete ne'er-do-well, as he had looked like the kind of criminal she would normally do business with. "It reinforces your reputation, the persona you bring into negotiations." She said slyly, catching on to the broader meaning behind 'perception'.
"Exactly." Agreed Raymond with a clever grin. "Each piece I don allows me to settle further into my role as the Raymond Reddington the criminal world knows and loves to hate. It's like armor, insulating me from the filth I submerge myself in every day. This compounds into a very specific physical presence which gets carried beyond every interaction I have. Before you know it, my reputation is preceding me, from the upper echelons to the lowly bottom feeders, and it has saved me a great deal of time, money, and hassle over these past few years. Loyalty is everything in our world, but reputation is a close second."
Rosalie understood his meaning, her own empire being built on this well-known premise. "Reputation, greater than any product or service, is the true stock and trade of a criminal." She agreed, catching Raymond off guard with her eloquence. "The criminal underworld doesn't exactly have a Better Business Bureau. Our work is nearly always perpetrated by word of mouth, especially for empires like mine, which work very hard to stay out of the limelight." She added, "When someone says they 'know a guy who knows a guy,' they're referring to people like me, and it is imperative I keep it that way."
Raymond grinned, "You've done quite well in that regard. There is so much mystery surrounding you and your operation, the criminal elite are flocking to your side in droves, certain you can disguise their movements as well as you hide your own. I have a feeling your attire, in a way, serves to add to your mystique."
Rosalie's brows furrowed, not sure if she agreed with the statement. She certainly didn't choose her wardrobe dependent upon mystery factor, or at least, she didn't think she did.
Red's eyes grew bright, the opportunity for them both to learn something about her, together, seeming to appear out of thin air. "Think of your most favored clothes." He supplied, holding her gaze with interest, "Whether you recognize it or not, you have definitive preferences."
Rosalie closed her eyes, mentally sifting through her entire wardrobe. "I also prefer layers." She began, looking to him for confirmation.
The man nodded, "You do, and you dislike summer for this very reason. You can't tolerate the amount and types of layers you normally prefer." His eyebrows flitted upward knowingly, waiting for her to recognize her own predilections.
A smile suddenly appeared on her lips, "I like a trench, on top of the jacket you gave me." She whispered, seeing the pattern for the first time.
"Pockets upon pockets and windproof to boot," Red chuckled, "And under that?"
"Cashmere, either a cardigan or sweater," Rosalie realized, thinking of the assorted colors of the garment she carried with her wherever she went.
Raymond nodded, stroking the warm softness of her dress. "This textile is your signature. I don't think you recognized your preference for it until now. Notice how you didn't even mention the plethora of lighter attire you've worn this summer? Whether you're in your standard uniform or winding down for the night, you prefer a touch of cashmere." Rosalie watched as the man's eyes grew slightly hooded, his tone dropping to a knowing murmur. "You dislike being places where it's hot because you don't have those layers protecting you the way you like. You have to settle for button downs and blouses, most often in silk. You like them but they also make you feel…exposed."
Those deep grey eyes blinked up at him, curiosity bright in their depths. "How did you know?" She asked, awed and yet slightly perturbed. The man had touched on the matter with such accuracy, it worried Rosalie. Was she really so easy to read?
"I spend every day with you, my dear." Raymond reassured her, "If I didn't notice these things, I would be concerned."
The woman still fidgeted, assimilating the fact that Stratos hadn't been embellishing when he spoke of Reddington. "He will learn you. Will know your every want, what it takes to win your heart, to earn your trust."
Raymond was learning her, and apparently had been doing so for quite some time. The thought warmed the young woman, assuring her the man before her carried no ill intent.
The man in question waited patiently for Rosalie to become comfortable with the information he had divulged. He was not abashed in the slightest for watching her so closely, for getting to know her every preference. Red was nothing if not thorough, especially when taking a lover. He wanted to know these things about her, he wanted to understand her, to be able to give her everything she needed, just as he knew she wanted those things from him.
Rosalie smiled fondly up at him, recognizing the specific desire held in his gaze. She had felt the same call from the earliest moments of their acquaintance.
They had finally reached the point where their curiosity was evenly matched, and Raymond was wasting no time in his pursuit of every facet of Rosalie.
The woman's nerves settled, a dark corner of herself opening to her lover before his very eyes. She chose her words carefully, outlining the pieces of her criminal persona as she saw them.
"My wardrobe is built upon practicality, perception, and preference." She quoted with a grin, "In different measures than yours, but similar principles all the same."
Rosalie nestled once again into his hold, resting her hand on his outstretched thigh and brushing her thumb back and forth. "Like you, I've found practicality in layers. Unlike you, my practicality, up until this point, has focused on stealth and versatility. You need the arsenal of pockets, the custom fits and materials, because your empire puts you in highly dangerous scenarios quite often. You need to be able to go into a fire fight at a moment's notice."
Raymond nodded his agreement, beckoning her to continue.
"Up until the past year or so, I had rarely ever been in the line of fire. I've worked from the hidden corners of our world, dealing quietly in the commodities of secrecy and anonymity. My attire needs to facilitate my ability to disappear, often with clients in tow. This means I can't strike anyone as odd or unforgettable whilst striking a deal or purchasing properties. For this reason, I've chosen a wardrobe with simple cuts and high end materials in classic styles. It's meant to blend into the environment around me, not giving off the impression of being from anywhere in particular. It also serves to blur my age. No criminal wants to put their welfare in the hands of another, much less a young woman. Dressing in a way which presents older has served me well, especially in my early years…"
Raymond listened intently, fascinated as Rosalie picked apart the reasoning behind her choices not only in attire, but in persona. She was forthcoming and open with him, trusting him at long last with this closely guarded corner of her criminal side. It was a huge step forward not only for her, but for their relationship.
Rosalie continued, the words flowing easily now the avenue was open to her. "I protect people. I give them access to my homes, places to hide in safety without feeling like they are in hiding." She sat up, to look Red in the eye, "This is the key difference between my network and any other. My homes don't feel like safehouses or blacksites. My clients don't feel imprisoned by the walls around them. Everything about me and my organization is built to support this impression."
Raymond beamed at her, immensely pleased by the awareness and cunning she showed. He led her further, "This is where perception comes into play."
"Yes," agreed Rosalie, easily taking up the new viewpoint. "I wear what is practical for me, but part of that practicality is what is suitable to my role. My attire must assist my needs and put my clients at ease." Every deal the woman had made flitted through her memory, creating a pattern of colors, materials, and styles she hadn't noticed until now.
"I've not made a single deal in a pair of pants!" She burst aloud, almost appalled at the realization.
Red let out a barking laugh, quite amused by the declaration. "Why do you suppose that is?"
Rosalie's brow furrowed and she stared thoughtfully at Raymond's tie before answering. "The overwhelming majority of my clients are men. More than eighty percent," she confided, "Skirts and dresses soothe the titans I work with, makes them more comfortable in dealing with me. It soothes the women, though, too, I become less of a competitor in their eyes. Regardless of the gender, my clients are less threatened by me when I'm in more traditionally feminine attire."
"Are you going on a crusade to land a big client whilst wearing pants?" Raymond teased, unable to help himself.
Rosalie giggled, shaking her head. "No, I actually prefer a skirt or a dress. For me, it's actually more comfortable and less restrictive. I'm just really quite surprised by the fact. The feminine style works wonders, though, with potential clients I'm courting or current ones with ruffled feathers."
The woman turned serious again as she discovered another truth. "The criminals I deal with are high on the food chain, and absolutely lethal if handled incorrectly."
Red's arms tightened ever so slightly. He had known this, of course, but the notion of her dealing with some of the more ruthless characters in their world made the man's whole body twitch involuntarily.
"I'm one woman," said Rosalie, "and before Horace, I was one woman without security. I found playing to my femininity an easy way to ensure I would have the upper hand in an altercation, because…" she trailed off, glancing up at Red.
"Because they would inherently underestimate you." He finished for her. "They would think you a small, fragile female, easily put into place. They wouldn't recognize the danger in you until it's far too late."
The woman nodded nervously.
"I made that very mistake in São Paulo." Raymond reminded, thinking of the altercation with the switchblades.
"You did, in a way." Agreed Rosalie, "I'm surprised, now, that you didn't see right through me."
"I knew something was off, I just couldn't pin the specifics, so I let the situation roll for a while." Red conceded, "I haven't been a criminal this long without being set back on my heels once in a while, that day being one of those times. I learned a valuable lesson, so did Dembe." He said this with a genuine smile, finding the tale rather amusing.
Rosalie felt the need to explain herself, "I didn't mean to pose a threat, it was just… You knew my name, and it scared the hell out of me. I desperately needed to gain an even footing in the exchange. I learned quickly in my work, warmth and vivacity are much better tools to keep me safe and help things move my way. More flies with honey than vinegar, you know?"
Raymond nodded, completely understanding her viewpoint. It would, of course, do no good for Rosalie's clients to suspect she could wield even half the lethal cunning she possessed. He had not been offended or put off by her tactics at their first meeting. Truthfully, the man had been damn intrigued and more than a little turned on by the swaggering criminal he had stumbled upon. Rosalie had mastered the perilous art of the femme fatale and utilized it to forge and empire.
The man's silence caused the nervousness in Rosalie to return full force. Her voice was rather timid when she next spoke.
"This is why I hesitated the other night, to let you see this side of me…" she whispered, "I don't ever want you to think…" She lost her nerve, the truth of what was worrying her rearing its ugly head.
Raymond pulled her close, holding her eyes in a dark, unrelenting gaze. "I do not, nor have I ever, thought you were using your feminine wiles to manipulate me." He stated emphatically, his soothing drawl carrying a low, gravelly note of displeasure.
"I know a femme fatale when I see one, Rosalie. I've seen an endless parade of those creatures in my life. You've mastered the art, there is no doubt in my mind, yet you are missing one truth that is absolutely paramount." His large hand reached to grasp Rosalie's chin so those grey orbs could do nothing but hold his own. "You can portray the hardened criminal, can walk easily in her shoes, but she does not become you. She is merely a mask you don to serve a purpose."
"You don't know that." Rosalie voiced her fear. How could he or anyone else she cared for tell the difference between the varied sides of what she had become?
Red understood now. She was afraid, afraid of never being known, of never being loved for herself, dark spots and all. His gaze softened with this understanding, his broad thumb moving to brush rhythmically along her cheek. "I can tell when you've stepped into her." He assured, "I can tell the moment you've donned the mask all of us criminals have to wear."
"The difference lies behind the eyes. A true femme fatale feels nothing, she can't exhibit the warmth and affection you radiate simply by being. Their eyes don't spark and dance with mirth, they don't darken like a sea in a storm when their passion is aroused. Their eyes are hollow, little dove, and you have never, ever looked at someone you loved like that.
"You can't know, you couldn't possibly-" she insisted, but Red cut her off.
"I can." He snarled, "The other day when you were going to deal with Lucas, I watched it happen before my very eyes." A roguish smirk tugged at his features, "Your shoulders straightened, your chin tilted upward, and you looked back at me with a devilish little wink…"
He cupped her cheek willing her to believe his words, "I saw the mask drop and yet you were there clear as day behind it. I've been able to see these many sides of you from the day we met, Rosalie, and I've only ever wanted to know them better."
Rosalie's dark eyes misted slightly, "You… you do?" She asked, unable to hide the hopefulness in her voice. She did not know why it mattered so much to her, but the idea of Raymond being able to see and understand this side of her, it was more than Rosalie had thought she could ask from a romantic partner. The woman wrapped her arms tightly around Red, burying her face in his neck.
Raymond could tell this meant a great deal to her, that it had been quietly weighing on her mind. He enveloped her little frame with his, holding her close and nuzzling her comfortingly, "I know you've had to cultivate these lonely corners of you, like every criminal who's ever lived, and you're wondering how anyone could ever love those dark parts of you. My dear, I'm telling you now, I positively adore your criminal side. The moment you dip into that deviant, the second those little ankles cross and rest against that damn headboard, I'm lost." He confessed, recalling in the days before they were dating, when Red would avoid walking past her bedroom, lest he be confronted by his weakness for the gorgeously inverted profile.
"These varied sides of you are comforting familiarity. Because of them, I can be with you without feeling as though I'm somehow leading you astray. They make me feel like you understand me, why I do… am what I am."
The pair recognized the deeper truth their conversation had unwittingly unearthed. They were both seeking understanding, to be well and truly known.
Words failed Rosalie at Red's confession. Her nerves quietened and an overwhelming feeling of stability enveloped her. She knew, now, there was no part of her she would hold back from this man.
They wanted, needed the same things, and were adamant on meeting those needs in each other.
A stifling passion crackled between them with the sudden intensity of a wildfire, coaxing Rosalie to crawl into her lover's lap, feverishly claiming his lips.
The man growled and pulled her snug to him, matching her intensity with ease. "This has been most enlightening, little dove." He purred, bunching the material of her dress upward to reveal her beautiful thighs, bisected as always by garter straps. "There's one last curiosity you haven't satisfied," he rasped, fingering one of the straps teasingly.
"Why these tantalizing, painfully arousing delicates?"
Rosalie mewled at his touch, rutting needily against the bulge in his trousers. "I genuinely like my lingerie," she uttered in that sultry little purr she reserved only for him. "It's a closely guarded preference of mine, it just so happens to reinforce that femininity factor we discussed." Her breath hitched as Red's lips trailed along her slender neck, "They're a practical preference, not unlike your fedoras."
Raymond was terribly amused by this, lifting his head from her nape. "The fedoras serve a purpose." He insisted, almost peevishly.
"You could wear any old hat, Raymond," she retorted, directing him pointedly back to his pastime, "instead, you wear very fine fedoras, a signature every bit as iconic as your suits, and I adore them. Just like those garter straps you so love to peruse and play with are iconic to my wardrobe."
"You said they were practical." He grunted, "What purpose could these little stockings possibly serve?"
"They keep my legs warm." Growled Rosalie, without missing a beat.
The pair chuckled merrily, unable to hold back their amusement as their exploring reached a fevered pitch.
"Let's head back inside." the woman all but demanded, squirming eagerly in his lap.
"There's no way in hell I can wait that long." Assured Raymond, sliding his roughened palms along her thighs and hips.
"I'm open to suggestions." Grinned Rosalie, her aroused intrigue quite obvious.
Raymond chuckled, "What happens if I pluck this bow?" He asked heatedly, twirling the cashmere tie of her dress around his finger in a lazy fashion.
"You'll get one hell of a view." Rosalie husked in his ear, "But I will expect you to make love to me, here and now."
"I accept those terms." Red growled, casually tugging at the bow. The impeccably soft material parted like the wrappings of a present before him, baring his beautiful lover from head to toe, only her stockings and delicates left to shield her from the elements.
Raymond issued a heated groan, his cock swelling with the view of her pert breasts tightening in the cool Norwegian air. That smattering of freckles he so adored speckled merrily up at him and her bra's lace cups did nothing to hide the taut, pink nipples straining against the nearly sheer fabric. The item's catch was blessedly in the front, allowing Red to unclasp the garment and release the perfect mounds to his ardent attention. His warm hands reached immediately to cup their heavy softness, circling the tight little buds with his thumbs and reveling in the woman's shivering gasps of pleasure.
Her small hands moved searchingly, desperate for skin on skin contact to no avail with her lover's suit perfectly intact.
Raymond pitched them both forward, laying Rosalie softly beneath him. His comforting warmth wrapped lovingly around her, keeping her nearly naked form sheltered against his.
Rosalie reached between them, undoing the man's belt as well as the button to his trousers.
"In my pocket," Red grunted, latching his mouth around a chilled pink nipple.
Rosalie whimpered, wriggling her hand into his pants pockets, finding a condom and tearing it open. Her soft hands gently sought him, pulling his aching shaft from the confines of his boxers. The appendage was hot and heavy in her grasp, garnering a desperate little mewl of longing from her as she stroked him, settling the condom into place.
Rosalie tilted her hips up in invitation, willing her lover to take her.
Red's eyes turned dark at the sight of her seeking him so openly. "That's it, little dove," he crooned, "Give me all of you."
His lover nodded, positively restless for his touch.
Raymond reached between them with deft fingers, pulling aside the soaked lace which covered her pussy.
She gasped when a whisper of cold air hit the intimate alcove, reminding her how very exposed she was. "Please, Raymond," she whispered, burrowing into his warm hold.
The man's hard length immediately sought out its favored sanctuary, parting the petal soft lips with his thick head.
The woman beneath him mewed, wrapping her toned legs about his waist and resting her heels at the base of his spine. His heavy cock nestled against her cervix as the man bottomed out, making her back bow in pleasure.
A thready gasp issued from them both as he slowly withdrew, only to thrust back into her in one long, delicious stroke.
"Oh, Raymond." Rosalie breathed in his ear, nibbling the man's neck as he seated himself once more in her slick depths.
There was no need for words as the ravenous pair sought their pleasure.
Raymond languidly roamed every inch of her naked frame, leaving a trail of goosebumps from her head to her toes. The sensation of her sodden lace panties occasionally brushing against his shaft made him moan raggedly.
Rosalie had only small portions of Red's bare skin available to her. As such, her efforts were focused on his neck, ears, and the firm cheeks of his backside. This suited her just fine as she kneaded the tight muscles rhythmically, urging her lover as far as possible into her tight heat.
Raymond snarled his approval, gripping the backs of the woman's thighs with rough palms and pressing them down into the blanket. With Rosalie's knees near her chest, his cock sank impossibly deep, giving his lover every last inch of him.
Both their mouths parted in a sensual 'o' of delight as Red's thick member was buried to the hilt within her.
The sensation of the man's hot hard length rocking a steady rhythm deep inside her core robbed Rosalie of speech as the angle stroked new sweet spots within her. "Oh, yes," she whimpered once she was able to utter a sound, "Right, right there."
Red felt her thighs give a little spasm, her orgasm bearing down on her.
The sensation of that lithe muscle twitching beneath his fingertips was absolutely sinful, enticing him to the edge with her.
"Come for me little dove, take us both there." Raymond husked against Rosalie's ear, pinning her quivering form safely beneath him as her body readily surrendered to his.
Their lovemaking mirrored the connection forged in the openness they shared… There would be times in which one of them would feel bare, naked and vulnerable, but they would trust the other to always be there to shelter them in the night.