[ there’d be no secrets to protect if she gave away nothing of herself, surrendered up no part of herself where anyone could see her. if she didn’t admit that she’d liked being looked at, would've liked it more being someone’s prize, kneeling at their feet where no one else would be allowed to touch her. she’s still trying to accept the fact that she even wants to let herself be owned in that way.
anyway, it’s easier to ask these types of things, be daring, when she’s not looking at him. the same way it had been easier to bare her soul in those letters to ash, more and more pieces gifted up like little offerings in the small hope that he’d read them one day. in words, she can say anything she wants, but there’s an immediacy to this that emailing doesn’t quite have. knowing that embry’s sitting on the other end as they speak, waiting for her reply. ]
It’d be a short list. Most of them were pretty sweet, actually. One even gave me his jacket.
[ she’s conveniently leaving one of them out, maybe even to see if he calls her on it. ]
clearly the answer is to go and be as stealthy and duplicitous as possible.
[ it's a joke, but embry might already be taking his advice to heart. it's not like he's attached to anyone — ash isn't here, and he doesn't fucking own him even if he was. and greer isn't his. she never has been.
a short list is still a list. he shouldn't be jealous, not when he's been on his knees at the glory holes with a stranger's dick in his mouth. he doesn't have the right to be jealous when he's the one circling his best friend's woman, making him the shittiest man alive by all accounts. and still... jealousy might as well be a knife jammed between his ribs. ]
[ for one, even if she were to try and blend in at a party like this, she's not sure she could act convincing enough not to stick out like a sore thumb. second, and more importantly, wouldn't embry be able to spot her, no matter how hard she attempted to hide? ]
And if I give you a name, then what?
[ why is the first thing that pops into her head the possibility of him tracking down this other man, trying to pick a fight? she doesn't have a name anyway, but the point still stands. ]
we could make a game out of it. where's waldo: greer edition. i get a prize of your choosing if i find you.
[ he already knows what he wants, but it matters more that she wants, if she wants any of this at all, or if it's just all in his head, a fantasy he's been holding onto that he can't move on from. she's happy with ash, so why would she still want him? ]
what, you don't trust me to behave?
[ but she's right not to. ash is the one always in control, never with a hair out of place. embry is a slave to everything he feels, including the rampant jealousy coursing through him. it's not an unfamiliar feeling — it prickles at him at every diplomatic dinner where he has to watch greer dance with other men who try to get a little too handsy, a little too close, and that wolfish, possessive part of him stops caring about the optics of perception and just wants to put his fist through someone's face. and ash isn't here to drag him back by the scruff of his neck. ]
i want you to have a good time. and i want you to be safe. if anyone's not letting that happen, then what kind of person would i be to just sit by and watch?
[ and a part of her thrills at it, finds herself idly squirming at the thought of them making this a sort of hunt — him searching the party for her, looking for her specifically while she does her best to hide, what he might do when he finds her —
she's tempered, somewhat, by his answer, by the notion that he is seeking to protect her. maybe that is really what she's looking for, rather than him striding up to the first man he sees get too close to her — someone he's deemed as having insulted her — and decking him or initiating some other form of tough-guy violence. ]
What if I was enjoying myself? Would you sit by and watch then?
i'm not interested in being ash. you're in control.
[ an unnecessary dig — she loves him just like embry loves him, but the difference is that a part of embry wants to defy ash at every turn where greer falls in line as his perfect submissive. she does it better than he does, which is why they're happy together, and embry is alone. it's as simple as a fairy tale with a perfectly moral ending, if morals involved spankings and ball gags.
but — shit. what if her rules do involve torturing him with the sight of someone else's mouth on her sweet cunt? what if she does want him to watch? as if he isn't already in this very specific hell, watching ash and greer giggle and laugh and kiss like goddamn honeymooners, twisting embry's brittle heart to pieces. both his first and second chance at love, lost. ]
order me to. better yet, cuff me to a chair and make me watch. i want to see what you're like when you're not with me.
[ she almost bites back a little too hard — of course he's not ash, no one could ever be ash, not for her — but in the same instant, she has the diametrically opposing thought of not wanting embry to be ash. she doesn't seek him out for the same reasons, doesn't want him for the same reasons, doesn't let her hands stray idly across herself when she's in bed alone for the same reasons. ]
Maybe I'm too selfish for that. Letting you watch. Maybe if I have you cuffed to a chair, I'd want to have you all to myself.
[ the images are fast and unrelenting — embry, his wrists bound behind him as she straddles him in that chair, indulging herself with a bit of personalized torment, denying him the right to touch her, kiss her, even as she uses him for her own pleasure, sinking down onto him, maybe even forbidding him from finishing until she's through — or from finishing at all.
it'd serve him right, she thinks, for leaving her to wake up alone that morning, with only his scent on her skin providing the coldest of comforts. turnabout is fair play. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ there’d be no secrets to protect if she gave away nothing of herself, surrendered up no part of herself where anyone could see her. if she didn’t admit that she’d liked being looked at, would've liked it more being someone’s prize, kneeling at their feet where no one else would be allowed to touch her. she’s still trying to accept the fact that she even wants to let herself be owned in that way.
anyway, it’s easier to ask these types of things, be daring, when she’s not looking at him. the same way it had been easier to bare her soul in those letters to ash, more and more pieces gifted up like little offerings in the small hope that he’d read them one day. in words, she can say anything she wants, but there’s an immediacy to this that emailing doesn’t quite have. knowing that embry’s sitting on the other end as they speak, waiting for her reply. ]
It’d be a short list.
Most of them were pretty sweet, actually. One even gave me his jacket.
[ she’s conveniently leaving one of them out, maybe even to see if he calls her on it. ]
no subject
[ it's a joke, but embry might already be taking his advice to heart. it's not like he's attached to anyone — ash isn't here, and he doesn't fucking own him even if he was. and greer isn't his. she never has been.
a short list is still a list. he shouldn't be jealous, not when he's been on his knees at the glory holes with a stranger's dick in his mouth. he doesn't have the right to be jealous when he's the one circling his best friend's woman, making him the shittiest man alive by all accounts. and still... jealousy might as well be a knife jammed between his ribs. ]
you said most.
so which ones weren't sweet?
no subject
[ for one, even if she were to try and blend in at a party like this, she's not sure she could act convincing enough not to stick out like a sore thumb. second, and more importantly, wouldn't embry be able to spot her, no matter how hard she attempted to hide? ]
And if I give you a name, then what?
[ why is the first thing that pops into her head the possibility of him tracking down this other man, trying to pick a fight? she doesn't have a name anyway, but the point still stands. ]
no subject
i get a prize of your choosing if i find you.
[ he already knows what he wants, but it matters more that she wants, if she wants any of this at all, or if it's just all in his head, a fantasy he's been holding onto that he can't move on from. she's happy with ash, so why would she still want him? ]
what, you don't trust me to behave?
[ but she's right not to. ash is the one always in control, never with a hair out of place. embry is a slave to everything he feels, including the rampant jealousy coursing through him. it's not an unfamiliar feeling — it prickles at him at every diplomatic dinner where he has to watch greer dance with other men who try to get a little too handsy, a little too close, and that wolfish, possessive part of him stops caring about the optics of perception and just wants to put his fist through someone's face. and ash isn't here to drag him back by the scruff of his neck. ]
i want you to have a good time. and i want you to be safe.
if anyone's not letting that happen, then what kind of person would i be to just sit by and watch?
no subject
[ and a part of her thrills at it, finds herself idly squirming at the thought of them making this a sort of hunt — him searching the party for her, looking for her specifically while she does her best to hide, what he might do when he finds her —
she's tempered, somewhat, by his answer, by the notion that he is seeking to protect her. maybe that is really what she's looking for, rather than him striding up to the first man he sees get too close to her — someone he's deemed as having insulted her — and decking him or initiating some other form of tough-guy violence. ]
What if I was enjoying myself?
Would you sit by and watch then?
no subject
you're in control.
[ an unnecessary dig — she loves him just like embry loves him, but the difference is that a part of embry wants to defy ash at every turn where greer falls in line as his perfect submissive. she does it better than he does, which is why they're happy together, and embry is alone. it's as simple as a fairy tale with a perfectly moral ending, if morals involved spankings and ball gags.
but — shit. what if her rules do involve torturing him with the sight of someone else's mouth on her sweet cunt? what if she does want him to watch? as if he isn't already in this very specific hell, watching ash and greer giggle and laugh and kiss like goddamn honeymooners, twisting embry's brittle heart to pieces. both his first and second chance at love, lost. ]
order me to. better yet, cuff me to a chair and make me watch.
i want to see what you're like when you're not with me.
no subject
Maybe I'm too selfish for that. Letting you watch.
Maybe if I have you cuffed to a chair, I'd want to have you all to myself.
[ the images are fast and unrelenting — embry, his wrists bound behind him as she straddles him in that chair, indulging herself with a bit of personalized torment, denying him the right to touch her, kiss her, even as she uses him for her own pleasure, sinking down onto him, maybe even forbidding him from finishing until she's through — or from finishing at all.
it'd serve him right, she thinks, for leaving her to wake up alone that morning, with only his scent on her skin providing the coldest of comforts. turnabout is fair play. ]