*This was supposed to be the end of the last chapter, but I felt like the tonal whiplash was too much, so I just made it its own thing*
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Cynthia's eyes snapped open and she sat upright in her large, luxurious bed, letting the high-threadcount sheet fall from her bare breasts as she stretched. She lifted the sheet and stood up on long, toned legs with the barest of movements in the mattress and an eerie lack of sound. She padded around the bed with the silence and grace of a cat, naked as the day she was "born", and crouched down to inspect the sleeping face of her partner for the night.
'I feel like I should apologize, but that would probably just make things even more awkward,' she thought as she traced the scar over his left eye so gently that the former Recon Sniper didn't even stir.
It had taken some doing to get him to do her, mostly in overcoming his hang-ups about banging his boss, but she was a woman on a mission. A mission to get banged. That usually meant a trip to a nice bar or nightclub, dolled up enough to keep any paparazzi from running stories, and keep egos in-check. After all, if they were chosen to have their world rocked by the most powerful woman in human history, who wouldn't sing it from the rooftops?
But then she made the "mistake" of doing one of her surprise lab tours with half of her mind bathing in the gutter. And when that half laid eyes on all six-feet, five-inches of Victor Simmons? Cynthia wasn't sure what embarrassed her more: how quickly she turned into a dick-seeking missile, or how she had gone for him purely off of stereotypes and preconceived notions.
Big, black, rugged, ex-military, master of the Resting Bitch Face; of course he had the pent-up aggression she was looking for, just waiting for a carnal outlet.
Then she got him home and he proceeded to play her like an antique instrument. Careful. Precise. Masterful. Leaving her partners ridden hard and put away wet was kind of her thing, but the man had turned her into a full-on pillow princess! All thoughts of merciless pounding left her head as she luxuriated in steady, relentless lovemaking and what she could only call a rolling orgasm.
Absolute bliss.
Cynthia stood up and backed away as the memories brought on pleasant tingles that started everywhere, but quickly coalesced south of the border.
If Victor had woken up at that moment, he would've seen a shapely shadow squeezing her thighs together and staring at him with hooded eyes quite literally glowing with lust.
Unfortunately exhaustion robbed him of such a vision. But maybe she would show him one day? It would be nice to have someone she didn't have to hold back on in the bedroom. Of course she would have to physically; while most men would wear the scratches bestowed upon them by a woman in the throes of passion with as much pride as any military medal, Cynthia very much doubted anyone would appreciate her fingers punching through their ribs and into their lungs.
She would make sure they survived it, but still.
'But would it be worth it so I could call my g-spot the "Doomsday Button"?' Cynthia thought as she quickly donned a silk robe and slipped out of the room so her snorting giggle wouldn't be heard.
No, Victor certainly wouldn't appreciate that. But perhaps he would appreciate things like a foot-long tongue that could earn a Scout badge with a cherry stem, or some cowgirl action on the ceiling. And the roleplay. Holy shit, the roleplay...
"Shit, girl, you JUST got laid four hours ago!" Cynthia laughed to herself as she turned on her PC, packed with hardware that wouldn't be on the market for another two months, for her typical pre-work pastime.
