#marble statue makers

[ssmoortiart11]

Bring Divine Dwarka Mai Marble Idol in your Home—Sai Shradha Moorti Art

Bringing home the Divine Dwarka Mai Marble Idol creates a spiritual and peaceful atmosphere in the house. Get the Dwarka Mai Statue from leading marble statue manufacturer in Jaipur at affordable rates. Sai Shradha Moorti Art offers marble statues and marble temples in different designs and sizes. Visit our website to see our beautiful marble art collection.

Contact us for custom-sized statues:+91-7976419167

Shop Now: https://www.saishradhamoortiart.com/dwarka-mai-marble-statue.html

[marbletemples]

A Guide to Ordering Marble Shiva Statue for Home by Fine Craftsmanship

[bhuvneshwarimoortiart]

How to Bring Lord Ganesha Statue at Home on Ganesh Chaturthi ?

This whole world of Hindus celebrates and does so in a very big way every year for the happy festival of Ganesha Chaturthi on the birthday of Lord Ganesha.

Learn more: https://bhuvneshwarimoortiart.wordpress.com/2024/07/19/how-to-bring-lord-ganesha-statue-at-home/

[agrawalmoorti]

Discover the Perfect Radha Krishna Statue for Your Sacred Space

Throughout the Hindu chronicle, Radha Krishna’s divinity has been celebrated. Having a marbleRadha Krishna murti at home or in your space helps to bring peace and godliness. Picking the right Radha Krishna statue consistently poses a challenge. No need to worry, as this blog contains all the details you need to know about the exploration and significance of Radha Krishna’s marble moorti in…

[marblemurti1]

Best Marble Buddha Statue Maker in Jaipur, India - Marble Murti Jaipur

If you're a connoisseur of art and spirituality, a beautiful marble Buddha statue can be a captivating addition to your collection. Among the various places known for their exceptional marble craftsmanship, Jaipur, India, stands out as a prominent destination. In this article, we will explore why Marble Murti Jaipur is the best marble Buddha statue maker in Jaipur and why their creations have gained recognition both nationally and internationally.

The Rich Legacy of Marble Artistry in Jaipur

Jaipur, often referred to as the "Pink City" due to the distinctive hue of its buildings, boasts a rich cultural heritage. The city has been a hub for exquisite marble craftsmanship for centuries. The artisans of Jaipur have inherited their skills and knowledge from generations past, making them masters in transforming raw marble blocks into intricate and awe-inspiring Buddha statues.

Expert Craftsmanship at Marble Murti Jaipur

Marble Murti Jaipur takes immense pride in its team of skilled artisans who possess a deep understanding of the nuances of sculpting marble. With years of experience and a passion for their craft, these artisans create Buddha statues that exhibit a perfect blend of traditional artistry and contemporary design.

Unmatched Quality and Precision

When it comes to marble Buddha statues manufacturer in India, quality is of utmost importance. Marble Murti Jaipur sources the finest quality marble to ensure that each statue reflects an impeccable finish. The craftsmen pay attention to every detail, from the facial expressions to the intricacies of the ornaments, resulting in lifelike and emotionally resonant sculptures.

Customization Options

Marble Murti Jaipur understands that every individual has unique preferences. Hence, they offer customization options to their clients. Whether you desire a specific size, pose, or expression for your Buddha statue, their skilled artisans can bring your vision to life with meticulous attention.

Embracing Eco-Friendly Practices

In today's world, environmental consciousness is vital. Marble Murti Jaipur recognizes this importance and ensures that their manufacturing processes adhere to eco-friendly practices. They prioritize the use of sustainable materials and techniques that have a minimal impact on the environment.

Global Reach and Customer Satisfaction

Marble Murti Jaipur has successfully catered to a diverse clientele across the globe. Their commitment to quality, reliability, and timely delivery has garnered them a loyal customer base. Testimonials from satisfied customers speak volumes about the authenticity and brilliance of their marble Buddha statues.

Competitive Pricing and Value for Money

While marble craftsmanship of this caliber is often associated with exorbitant prices, Marble Murti Jaipur offers competitive pricing without compromising on quality. They provide true value for money, making their masterpieces accessible to art enthusiasts with varying budgets.

Preserving Cultural Heritage

Owning a marble Buddha statue from Marble Murti Jaipur is not just acquiring a piece of art; it is embracing a rich cultural heritage. These statues represent the convergence of spirituality and artistry, a reflection of India's deep-rooted cultural tapestry.

The Symbolism of a Buddha Statue

A Buddha statue symbolizes peace, enlightenment, and inner harmony. Placing one in your living space or garden can create an ambiance of tranquility and mindfulness. Marble Murti & statues, with their eloquence and grace, hold the power to transform any environment they adorn. In conclusion, Marble Murti Jaipur rightfully claims its position as the best marble Buddha statue maker in Jaipur, India. With its legacy of marble artistry, expert craftsmanship, unmatched quality, and a commitment to customer satisfaction, it continues to create masterpieces that embody spirituality and beauty. If you seek a timeless and meaningful addition to your art collection, a marble Buddha statue from Marble Murti Jaipur is an excellent choice that will undoubtedly enrich your life and surroundings with its divine presence.

[avinashmoortiemporium]

Best Marble Moorti Manufacturer in Jaipur (मार्बल मूर्ति निर्माता)

Avinash Moorti Emporium is a leading marble moorti manufacturer in Jaipur with over 30 years of experience and expertise in the marble industry. We have established ourselves as one of the top-notch makers of Hindu god idols. Our statues come in various sizes, designs, and color combinations and are made with care to ensure the quality and design of the final product.

[satoriberry]

Higuruma Hiromi is a cat.

No. That's not the correct verb.

Higuruma Hiromi behaves like a cat. Occasionally. Well, it only happened once.

Higuruma Hiromi, a man who lives up to the reputation he doesn't even know he created for himself a while back, never ceased to amaze you. He amazed you a first time when he correctly guessed your favourite skittle without even knowing your name ("You have the face of someone who would enjoy grape skittles.").

He amazed you a second time when he technically won a case and managed to score his client a one-month house arrest instead of a decade in jail after proving her innonence with nothing but tax return receipts as his golden piece of evidence. He amazed you a third time when you watched him ride a mechanical bull and manage to stay still as a statue the whole ride - not even whobbling when he got off.

A few dozen (read: hundred) more shocks and synonyms of the word "wow" later, you found yourself cohabiting a cozy apartment with him, one that conveniently allowed him to dodge public transport and bask in the crisp morning air on his way to his firm, then lackadaisically gaze at the moon on the way back. Nevertheless, Hiromi didn't find himself any more chipper or excited about going to slave in an office than he was before.

It had been a while since Higuruma has done something major that made you ogle him with a mixture of fear and wonder, ergo, amazed you. It had been a while since he's wowed you, but that didn't make you love him any less. It may actually be quite the opposite: ever since you made the mutual decision of living together, you believe you've become even more charmed by the man. His painfully bland yet charged lifestyle was practically the whole reason behind you sighing dramatically with heart eyes whenever someone mentioned the first two syllables of his name.

However, Hiromi managed to update the surprise score you had in your brain just for him, and, for the first time in a while, made you wonder what exactly was he made of.

9:56 AM.

You stood in the kitchen, palms on the marble counter's edge and eyes drooping every few seconds as you tried to resist the urge to sleep, and the only noises that kept you somewhat awake came from the chirping of birds outside your balcony doors, the typical Saturday traffic and the faint sizzle produced by the waffle maker you had plugged in.

You chose to skip some sleep, that was now starting to sound much more appealing than it did previously, and cook up an elaborate breakfast to avoid the avocado toast and coffee combo you and him have been having out of convenience for the past 10 days or so. You were waiting for the waffles to be done so you could move on to the other food items.

You reached for the egg tray and held one in either hand, contemplating the cook that you were going to go for, then horror struck as you heard your shared bedroom door creak, followed by the sound of irregular footsteps against the wooden tiles. He was already up. Feeling a bit betrayed and looking visibly deflated, you replaced the eggs on the tray and went back to staring at the red light that indicated that the waffles were still cooking.

The footsteps became louder as Hiromi approached your figure, rubbing his eyes with the ends of his palms, completely mute aside from the "ouch" he let out after bumping the island.

"Morning sleepyhead," you greeted him with similar fatigue in your grin, enjoying the sight of him manouevring rather terribly. You didn't move, awaiting the back-to-chest embrace he made a habit of offering you every time the occasion presented itself. However, you didn't get one. You didn't feel two warms arms wrap around your midriff, nor did you feel a jaw being placed on one of your shoulders.

You simply felt a nudge on your neck. More correctly, you felt a series of nudges, pokes and nuzzling motions on the side of your neck, accompanied by his bedhair scratching your ear multiple times. You additionally felt him rub his boney cheek against your shoulder's exposed skin, uncovered by the baggy shirt you had on.

He was rubbing his face against you. Like a cat.

You were certain of that due to the familiar bump of his hooked nose jabbing you gently, and rubbing along the expanse of your neck in a vertical motion. All this with his eyes glued shut despite wiping the life out of them a few moments ago.

You breathlessly giggled at the ridiculousness of....whatever this was. "Hiromi, don't take this the wrong way but, what on Earth are you doing?"

He made a bizarre grunt, but no words came out of his mouth. He contently kept tilting and pushing his face into your shoulder, his body stiff and arms dead on either side. A few times, you felt him push the top of his head in the junction between your shoulder and neck, as if he was spreading his atoms all over you. The feeling of his somewhat spikey morning hair made you emit a perplexed chuckle.

After what felt like a century, he switched gears and began peppering light kisses that started at the cap of your shoulder and made a trail to behind your ear, where he placed a final peck before patting your head and making to the bathroom, croakily mumbling, "Morning angel."

Just as you were doing before, you stood in the kitchen silently, body still and palms on the countertop's edge. Yet contrary to earlier, you were gobsmacked, absolutely lost as to what the fuck your will-be husband just did. Your eyes didn't leave the spice rack that was in direct line with your vision, and your jaw was still floored by the feline assault you just went through. It wasn't until the waffle maker's light switched to green with a clicking sound that you snapped out of your shock-induced stupeur, and began moving again.

Scratching your head in a cartoony manner, you walked to the bathroom whose door was completely ajar and showed that Hiromi was almost over with his morning routine, splashing water on his face to rinse off the ridiculously priced cleanser you persauded forced him to get.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, he patted his face dry a couple times before looking up at you with a mocking grin plastered on his features. Throwing the towel away haphazardly, he placed a callous palm on your shoulder and planted a brief kiss on your forehead, then proceeded to let you know just how good whatever it is that you're cooking up smelled, before heading off, leaving you a second time with no answer to your question.

Higuruma Hiromi was a man with a myriad of tricks up his sleeves, but waltzing up to you and acting like a needy cat wasn't something you could have predicated.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

willow: and my favorite thing about explosions has to be just how pretty they are :). in a sudden flash everything around you goes up in reds and golds so bright it makes your eyes water. and when it shakes the ground you can feel it in your teeth and bones. like it goes overtop of you- like a wave, but hotter and faster. and when you open your eyes back up again its like you're in a completely different place. and its like. nothing else in the whole world exists but you, and everything that's burning down around you :).

wilson: wow willow that was. that was kind of nice. almost like poetry.

willow: no it wasn't. explosions are pretty because they blow people up. shut up.

i've said this somewhere before but i think willow's relationship with art- especially profound or professional art- is really interesting. she feels no need to understand or contemplate it, which is fine because she doesn't have to. but she also gives off the impression that something like that could never come out of her- or that it's beneath (or really in this case, above) her. which i personally believe is very false.

i feel as if you got willow distracted enough not to notice she could actually end up sounding really profound and craft some really nice verbal prose around stuff that she actually enjoys. i think the issue is though that if you pointed that out she would stop immediately. and maybe bite you.

[ultrainfinitepit]

I am contractually obligated as an angel pin maker to make a pin based on that one fallen angel painting. Let me know which color palette you prefer in the poll below, or you can suggest a palette in the replies.

[slyvester101]

Fuck it, I’m posting the first part while I finish the rest take it

Here’s God!Tucker au: Part 1

+++

Wash found Tucker by accident.

He had been traveling, trying to get back to Armonia in time for the peace talks, but he’d gotten sidetracked helping out a town with some trouble makers and then was delayed when the bridge that marked the border crossing into Chorus broke down, forcing him to go all the way around.

And then the storm rolled in.

By the time he found shelter in an abandoned temple, he was soaked to his bones, armor completely ruined by the wet that seeped into them. He guided his trusty steed in, mumbling a quick prayer of thanks for the shelter and please don’t strike me down for bringing my horse in here. I really don’t want to leave her outside in the rain.

Wash gasps when he enters, gazing in awe as he looks at the scenery around him.

The temple is large and open, beautiful columns of stone lining the whole room. Even with the flora that has seeped in, vines winding around pillars and across the ceiling, flowers blooming from their bushes, branches of a large unkempt tree escaping into the ceiling, it all has an air of elegance that has Wash holding his breath, like it’d be disrespectful to let the air from his lungs taint the marble and stone.

But the most glorious thing about this place, the thing that has Wash making his way deeper into the temple, is the giant sculpted statue on the back wall. It almost reaches the ceiling, the figure depicted kneeling as he reaches out with his hands cupped. Rain water fills it now, but Wash sees the glisten of gold coins as an offering sunken at the bottom.

The figure is surrounded by decaying gifts, bouquets that have long since eroded, food that is barely identifiable, and trinkets made of the finest metal and gems rusted and broken after years of neglect.

Wash thinks he understands why this god was so well-loved. His face is soft and kind, the curl of his lip happy and maybe a little mischievous, long locs fall over his shoulder and down his back, gold making up the beads of his lovingly carved hair. He looks like a dream, a figure Wash would’ve been more than happy to worship just to look at him.

He steps in front of the statue, carefully observing every detail. On the back wall, right above the figure, a single line of carved text reads:

Long live the god of giving

God of giving, huh?

Something rises in his gut when he realizes the name of this god has been left out, not a trace of it written anywhere on the walls or on the trinkets left behind.

It dawns rather suddenly on him as he tries to name the feeling, something oddly familiar about the situation of a god so beloved also being so quickly forgotten.

This wasn’t a god the people worshiped, this was a god the people used.

The decaying gifts ring hollow under Wash’s revelation, the statue, while still beautiful, humming with a new sense of entrapment and sadness. By the state of the temple, it seems like this god ran out of things to give, abused and rung out for all he was worth until he stopped being useful.

Wash has seen it before, watched people beg for favors, for miracles, for the impossible, only to ditch their god the minute they receive their blessing, never even giving thanks, only ever coming back to ask for something else. He’s seen temples be built, be full and then be torn down and left for ruin in a matter of months.

He usually doesn’t care, doesn’t pay enough mind to all the new gods coming and going. He really only prays and worships out of habit, a polite set of manners that have been engraved into his soul (and he doesn’t have a death wish. There are certain gods willing to kill if you disrespect their temple or their people).

But there’s something about this statue, about this god of giving, that makes Wash wonder if maybe he’s a spiritual man after all.

“I would’ve never stopped worshiping you.” He whispers to himself, slowly getting on his knees and reaching up to cradle the underside of the statue's hand.

“I would’ve given you everything. Lose myself by offering you all I am. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re gone because…

Because I think I would’ve given you all my love.”

“Is that a promise?”

Wash turns to face the voice, his sword already unsheathed and ready to cut down the intruder—

Oh. Oh shit.

“You— You’re—“

“Lavernius Tucker, god of giving. Pleasure to meet you.” The man smiles brightly, the same warm and mischievous one depicted on his statue.

Wash eyes widen as he snaps to look back and forth from the man and the statue and—

Holy shit.

He’s… smaller than Wash was imagining, not the same plump and soft figured man they carved into the stone. He’s got more angles to him, lean and thin without much mass covering his body. There’s a tired droop in his shoulders, eyes weary and slanted. Wash thinks he’s leaning on a pillar more for support than for seduction.

“Are you alright?” Wash snaps out of his daze, shaking off the shock as his blood bred need to help takes over. He steps towards him, dropping his sword without a second thought in case the god keels over suddenly.

The man—Tucker—seems surprised at the question, standing a little taller as Wash comes forward with the same energy as a mother hen. He lets Wash crowd him, his hands gently skimming over his body for injuries.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Just been a while since anyone has come here, especially someone as… sweetly devoted as you are.” He sways forward into Wash’s touch, his eyes fluttering as he soaks up the blessed affection.

Wash shuffles in his feet but doesn’t pull away. He’s never really met a god before, so he’s not sure what the proper reaction to a god showing favor is. It certainly doesn’t feel right since Wash just got here. “I— I haven’t

even worshiped you before.”

“Mmm, but I can practically taste it off you.” Tucker traces his hands over Wash’s chest until they hang gently on his shoulders, the touch sending shivers up Wash’s spine. “You may have stayed here to hide from the rain, but you didn’t need to say anything to me, didn’t need to pray or give thanks. But you did. You did and now I’m bound to you, my loyal little devotee.”

“Bound to me?”

He nods, giggling as he pushes himself closer to Wash to clasp his hands behind his neck. “You’re my only follower now, silly. You’re the one whose belief gives me power and with power…” He nudges his nose into Wash’s cheek and Wash can’t help but drop his head to meet him there, something deep in his bones singing as this gorgeous god seeks out his attention.

Tucker practically whimpers at him, resting their foreheads together as Wash moves to place his hands respectfully on his waist. He’s shaking, Wash notes, possibly from years left neglected and bound to this fragmented temple.

He breathes in deep and slow, savoring the feeling of being so carefully worshiped, something he’s never had in all his centuries of existence.

“With power,” He continues, “I can give you anything you want, just say the word.”

Right, god of giving. Probably thinks that Wash’s affections are an offering in turn for a wish or a miracle. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful to this fragile looking god. He deserves to be worshiped, to be loved and respected, his name sung in glory by all those who follow him.

Wash makes his choice.

“What if I just want you?”

Tucker startles at that, shock evident on his face. Wash keeps his face serious, not a single bit of doubt or hesitation to be found. He wants this, wants him, whatever that means.

His god seems to drop at that, like a puppet without its strings. He practically glows when he smiles again, something so much more genuine and happy then the one he had before, the one that’s immortalized on his statue.

Wash thinks that this is the Tucker that they should've worshiped all those years ago. Tucker kisses his cheek, a submissive little thing that has Wash heating from his cheeks to his shoulders, and proudly proclaims to Wash—

“Then I’m yours.”

Part 2

[ssmoortiart11]

Buy Best Quality Marble Statue of Shiv Parivar At Sai Shradha Moorti Art

Sai Shradha Moorti Arts has been a leading manufacturer, exporter, and supplier of marble Shiv Parivar statues for over 40 years and we have a single lord shiva statue.

If you are looking for any lord shiva statue at affordable prices then visit our website or you can call us:-

Website:- https://www.saishradhamoortiart.com/shiva-marble-statue.html

Call Now:- +91-7976419167

[marbletemples]

Reasons to Purchase a Marble Statue Directly from the Manufacturer

Here's why choosing a right away buy from a marble statue manufacturer in India may be a wise choice...

Read more: https://sites.google.com/view/marble-artifacts/blog/reasons-to-purchase-a-marble-statue-directly-from-the-manufacturer

[bhuvneshwarimoortiart]

5 Essential Factors When Choosing Your Perfect Marble God Statue!

Here we are presenting some essential key factors to purchasing marble god statue. These will help your complete regarding carving stone, finishing, material, care, and many more.

[marblemurti1]

Buddha Marble Statue Shop In Jaipur-Marble Murti Jaipur

Marble Murti Jaipur is engaged in offering an entire range of Marble Buddha Statue which is regarded as one of India's most notable historical characters. Marble Murti Jaipur is the best Buddha Marble statue shop in Jaipur. In this category, we provide Lord Buddha Statues, Buddha Statues made of Sandstone, Buddha Statues made of White Marble, Buddha Statues made of Black Marble, and other Buddhas in a variety of shapes and sizes to suit the needs of our customers. 

Marble Murti Jaipur

Phone No : +91-9950832113

Mail-Id:  jyotivajpayee18@gmail.com

Address : Plot no 255-56, murtikar udyog nagar, near road no-10 , shivad modh, sirsi road , RIICO bindayaka industrial Area, Jaipur- 302012

[princessmacedon]

what will remain

Beyond the monastery's stone walls, within the woven forest just beyond, inside that ventricular green grove, there is a statue. Its dais lays in ruin, and what once burned as passion bright now smolders 'neath the rain, smoke in the form of fragile, verdant tendrils curling between the cracks. From its two palms joined as one, beseeching in their reach, a young girl infers that it may have been a prayer, once. Or perhaps it was a story? It could have even been a miracle, but it is lost, now; only its afterimage remains.

Maria presses a thumb to a conjunction of marble and moss; she turns her hand, plants the point of another digit at the edge of its reach, and lets her palm run gently down its surface. How could she so carelessly touch such a precious thing? But she is not careless; in this moment she loves it, perhaps not as well as its maker had, but more sweetly than the passing seasons that pull it year by year back into earth's embrace. She would hear it, if she could. And she tries to do so anyway.

Being a child of Macedon, there is something strange yet fascinating in the idea of a history old enough to be lost and forgotten -- something that aches every so often, like the bones of old soldiers on a rainy day. What had been hers had been new, a still-bright thread in the weave of the world; what had been lost had been proudly kept, recited to her as a child beneath her blankets, looking up with beamish eyes. Nothing born of that seaside kingdom had lain in the earth and grown old, a fledgling thing that closed its eyes not to rust, but blood.

And so she cannot help but in turn wonder: how will what remains of Macedon look some hundred years hence? What will still sparkle in the gardens she once laughed in, and what will look like this?

There are cracks in the marble, all filled with moss. The once-delicate curl of its fingers is marred, forever, by loss, a piece of the statue broken off and vanished without a trace. The young daughter of a bygone kingdom folds her hands over its wound, its coarse, ungentle edges pressing into soft skin.

So even statues have their calluses! When she pulls her hand back, it lingers playfully at her chin, laughter flowing across nail and knuckle alike to a brook happily a-babble. How lovely it is, to her -- how she wonders if it is everything her brother fears.

Because though the gentle Hero-King had not ground their kingdom to dust beneath his boot, he had with sword and valor unified their continent -- and to begin, there first must be an end.

And there is an end: to Macedon as her brother had loved it, as he had told her its histories where their father-- in his brief presences-- would read her fairytales; as he had recounted shackles shattered and freedom won, as he had burned, brilliant and bright, with passion, with resolve, until fire splintered his bones to broken pieces and still he burned with everything he had. Like this, Maria knows of no one who loves Macedon more wholly than he.

So he must be very afraid, she thinks as she throws herself against a beast that would set a different kingdom's brother's heart to stop. Her dear friend, however, is to her as natural a companion as horse or pegasus -- more so, in fact, for this precious homeland she ponders is a land of wyverns and endless skies. The former supports her, neck acting as brace and cradle as it curls around her; she lets her head tip backwards with a laugh, and there sprawled across the heavens above, in turquoise shards, the latter peeks through a canopy of leaves.

Giggles fade to silence, and Maria lets rest her hand against her forehead, palm turned upward as if to catch the dappling sunlight.

...Perhaps Michalis sees Macedon in its solid lines, its monuments and castles, its territories and independence. Yes, then he must be afraid of such a fate as awaits this eroded statue in nameless nowhere. How of the glory and pride that had inspired its creation, only its decay remains; how the future it had been made to yearn for already lays forgotten, buried in the past. All things as made them human -- their efforts, their ambitions, their trials and losses and at last, their triumphs-- gone, to dust. Of the story behind this once-beautiful, still-beautiful statue, nothing remains.

"But Brother," the last of their kingdom murmurs, "Life does."

To the eyes of a youngest sister, there is nothing to fear in the crumbling of lines. The colors they once withheld may change in time, but so too will they spread -- they will bleed as much as they swirl, becoming less here, and more there -- and more there! Though the hues of Macedon will cease to be so distilled, they will have become a dazzling shade in a magnificent prism.

If only you could see as I do; if only I could have you understand. A sentiment he must mirror, she is sure, toward not only herself but their shared sister as well. Yet try as she might, there will always be a part of them that she cannot understand, so different were their upbringings. She had never known the weight of a crown as Michalis had, nor its looming, suffocating shadow as had Minerva. Her two beloved siblings had grown tall well before she had ever been born, as shield and blade, as well and as spade, as heritors to a proud but fledgling history and Maria, a flower in that garden, plucked and then sold.

She drinks the sun even now. It lays breezy kisses against her palm until her arm grows tired, and she turns to her side and giggles, a fearsomely tenacious dracoknight in her own right... though the words be split rather than sum. She is a dracoknight for the blood in her veins, the history in her tapestry, the friendship she forges and all the places it takes her; and she is fearsomely tenacious because she dreams not only of what Macedon will be on the morrow, but in all the days to come. Because she is sure that come a decade, come a century, come a millennium or more, wyverns will still soar in endless skies over verdant mountains, and her homeland will endure.

It will endure, Maria knows, in all the ways that matter: in the pride of a stubborn people, fearsome foes and stalwart allies; in a love of the sea's shores and the ever-climbing mountains; in bonds born in their blood, man and wyvern taking to the heavens, ineffably, irrepressibly free. That, she believes, is the wish their great grandfather had made. And so when kingdom gives way to country, when the millennia turn over in their graves, in this way, Macedon will remain.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Red Handed - Nick Fowler x OC

warnings: cat burglar x cia agent, strangers to lovers, one night stand (maybe?), smut, 18+

word count: 6.8k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1458283445-red-handed-kara

vibe: “Clock’s ticking, handsome.” 

He sighed, rolled his eyes as if the whole thing was an inconvenience and casually tipped the gun away from himself with a finger. 

“Nick,” he said, casual as anything. “Nick Fowler. And you are?” 

She searched his eyes, looking for the lie. When she didn’t find one, she lowered the gun. 

“Kara.”

Masterlist

3…2…1…showtime.

Kara counted down the seconds on her watch and then boosted herself up and over the wall that bordered the property. Keeping low, she skirted around to the back porch and crept delicately up the paved steps, deftly avoiding the motion detectors for the lights surrounding the outdoor pool. She reached the box that connected to the house alarm and pried open the cover. 

“Piece of cake,” she murmured with a satisfied smile as she snipped through the wires that powered the security system.

The back door proved no match to her lock-picking skills either and it was less than a minute before she was standing in the darkened kitchen, the door closed tight behind her. From her memory of the plans and the drone flyover she’d done the day before, she knew exactly where to go. The bedroom was easy to find and a decent search provided her with four high-end watches and a dozen pairs of solid gold cufflinks. She left the room as neat as she’d found it - she was a thief, not an animal.

The office was next. Kara didn’t find anything of value in the desk so she began to search the shelves that lined the back of the room. A statue caught her attention, a small sculptural piece, and she reached out to check the base for a maker’s mark. It didn’t lift completely but instead tilted forwards. At the same time, a large section of shelving swung open to reveal a hidden safe. 

“Bingo,” she whispered in satisfaction but faltered as a loud mechanical whirring echoed around the empty house and the windows were covered over by thick metal shutters.

“Well, shit!” 

She darted into another room. The same metal shutters covered the windows. 

“Shit!” She fought to keep her breathing under control as she paced around the room. “Okay, if you panic, you’re screwed. There has to be a way out of here, all you have to do is find it.”

Kara had been doing this her whole life. Her dad taught her how to pick locks when she was a kid and her career took off from there. She’d always been quiet, always blended into the background… perfect for her profession. 

Not so great when it came to other aspects of her life, though.

But right now, blending in was going to have to be her greatest asset. 

She scoured the rest of the house, rushing through the kitchen and down a long hallway with marble floors until she found a door at the end of it. Just as her fingers wrapped around the handle, she felt something cold pressed against the back of her neck. 

Kara froze, eyes wide as all of her breath was sucked from her lungs.

“Don’t. Move.”

The voice was soft with a touch of gravel to it. It made her head buzz and her stomach flip. That’s when she noticed that that incessant whirring noise from the alarm had stopped. All she heard was the rustling of his clothes and rush of his breath.

“Please—“

“I'm not interested in begging, prințesă.” His laugh was as cold as the barrel of the gun that he pushed deeper into her skin. “I should execute you right here, right now.” 

Her breath stopped completely at the coldness of his words. Her mind blank as she stood still as a statue, not even daring to breathe in fear of what he'd do to her. 

This had never happened before. It shouldn't have happened now when she was prepared and had planned for weeks how to get in and out quickly. Undetected.

So much for that, she thought.

"Show me both hands, up and palms open." The command was soft. Calm as a snake. 

She hesitated for a second and it made him press the barrel harder into her skin and her hands jolted up instantly at the threat.

“Good girl,” he rumbled with a click of his tongue. He kept the gun in place, pressure lifted just a little but still the threat was there. As was the airy flutter in her stomach. “Now, I’m only going to ask you this once. What are you doing in my house?” 

Kara swallowed, fought back the roll of her eyes and the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. 

In the beat of silence, she heard him take a step forward, the light tap of an expensive shoe on the polished floor. The barrel of the gun dug in again, warm now, and when he spoke this time, it was close enough for his breath to send a loose hair tickling her jaw. 

“Answer me, sweetheart. Or you’re not gonna like how this goes.”

“I think I’ll plead the fifth,” Kara replied, trying to turn her head but freezing as the pressure against her neck increased slightly in warning.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he purred. “Who do you work for?” In any other situation his tone would have elicited a completely different reaction but Kara swallowed thickly against the knot of fear in her throat.

“What sort of C.I.A statement is that?” She snarked, straightening her shoulders with a bravado she didn’t truly feel.

“Oh, that was definitely the wrong thing to say, sweetheart.” A large hand curled itself around her bicep. “Now I need to know who sent you.”

“Since you decided to play nice,” Kara teased in a sardonic sing-song voice, feigning nonchalance.

It was hard when he sounded like that. 

Even harder when he was a heartbeat away from watching her brains splatter against the eggshell paint on the door. 

His shiny shoes squeaked on the floor and as he moved closer, her senses were flooded with the smell of spice and sage. His lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

“Tell me, prințesă. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Natasha.” She grabbed the name out of thin air, but when he stiffened against her body, she knew she was on to something. 

Suddenly, she was spun around and slammed against the door. The gun was tucked beneath her jaw and Kara found herself face to face with a set of stunning cerulean eyes with flecks of olive and navy near his pupils. They glittered like a dark ocean, piercing hers. The rest of him was just as easy on the eyes. Sharp cheekbones, a strong square jaw, and full lips that curled into a vicious smile. Everything was topped off with short dark hair and a bruise on his cheek.

“You lie,” he spat. “I killed her in Kyiv.”

First mistake about this line of work? Never give out more information than you should.

“You’ve got a lot of enemies, blue eyes.”

She was just making an assumption based on how wealthy he was. Good guys don’t have secret doors leading to big ass vaults.

“So that’s why you’re here?” His voice was a snarl and the sneer on his face grew wider. “If you wanted to kill me, you’re doing a shit job of it.”

“Am I?” She purred. “Because you seem pretty shaken up right now.”

“Am I?” He mimicked with a shine in his eyes. “Tell me, sweetheart, how much do you actually know about me?” 

Kara frowned as he urged her on with a firm press of the gun into her jaw, leering at her in the dark. 

Her eyes flit over his features, lit partially by the moon through the window. Up close he was handsome, dark stubble and a soft dimple in his chin. In fact, his whole face was softer than his manner, a harsh contradiction, and suddenly, it all clicked into place. 

“I know you were a double agent, probably still are…” she replied, confidence lacing her words. “The type to fuck over a friend or two.” 

And that must have hit a nerve because Mr Blue Eyes faltered for just a second before he regained composure and shoved her into the door once more.

His handsome face curled into a snarl as he ripped off her backpack, the muzzle of the gun still jammed dangerously into the soft flesh under her jaw. Throwing her bag far off to the side, he let one hand slide expertly over her side, her ass, and around each leg, searching her for any hidden weapons. He didn’t find any, of course, but he obviously wasn’t satisfied as he forced her to face the wall once more. It was then, with a gun pressing into the back of her neck for the second time that night, that Kara heard the jingle of metal and a pair of cuffs were snapped around her wrists.

“What the fuck?” She spluttered as she was manhandled onto the leather couch on the other side of the room and forcibly made to sit.

“Listen,” he sighed, pulling the desk chair before her and perching on it, his posture indicating his exhaustion. “If Natasha sent you, your intel is obviously way out of date. I really don’t have the energy to clean blood off my $3000 rug tonight so if there’s anything you feel the need to share then now’s the fucking time.”

Kara met his icy stare. There was always the possibility of dying in her occupation, but she never really thought she’d encounter it before. Now, there was a glock pointed right at the spot between her eyebrows being held by an incredibly hot, but incredibly dangerous man. She could tell by the way he searched her that he was law enforcement. 

And that CIA comment really seemed to piss him off. 

Her eyes darted around the room and she heard him cock the hammer.

“Eyes on me,” he snarled. “You don’t look at anything, you don’t touch anything, do you understand me?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and he took a step toward her. 

“I asked you if you understood—“

“I do,” she snapped. “The gun is a little distracting.”

“Well, you made your bed. Now it’s time to lie in it.”

She quirked a brow.

Now there’s an idea

“You always keep cuffs on you?” Kara asked, lips curled into a smirk. “Is that like, a thing? ‘Cause I gotta say you do seem like the type—”

Blue Eyes cut her off with a glare, jaw tight and throat bobbing heavily as he swallowed. 

“You’ve got too much of a mouth on you to be one of Natasha’s,” he commented, eyes narrowing. 

Heart thudding in her chest, Kara peered up at him and decided it was time to up the ante if she was ever going to get out of there.

“Is that so? Why don’t you let me out of these cuffs and I can show you just what this mouth can do? Then you can decide if it’s a hindrance.”

“How ‘bout we see what you were after first and then I’ll decide,” he said with the barest hint of a smile.

Hooking his foot into the strap of her backpack, he pulled it towards himself and rifled through it, tutting and shaking his head in dismay before pulling out one of the watches she’d pilfered.

“The Director gave me this for excellent service,” he admonished, holding it up. “You don’t work for Natasha, you’re nothing but a petty thief. You don’t even have any weapons on you.”

Kara shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m not a petty thief,” she said indignantly. “I’ll have you know I’m very skilled at what I do. If you weren’t such a psycho with your security you wouldn’t have even known I’d been here until you wanted to change your watch.”

 “To your credit, you’re the first chancer to even make it in the house,” he mused, appraising her with fresh eyes, 

Kara could feel his gaze as it scanned over her, the intensity of it raising goosebumps on her skin. With what seemed like a resigned sig he leaned forwards, he face as close as the barrel of the gun that was still pointed in her direction.

“If I take off the cuffs are you gonna be a good girl?” He purred.

“That all depends on what you’re going to do for me.”

He lifted a brow as he let her backpack fall to the floor with a dull thunk, stepping over it and drawing a small shape on her cheek with his pistol. 

“You came into my house and stole my shit. You’re in no position to bargain.” He cocked his head to the side, using the barrel of the gun to turn her head. “Beg, maybe…” 

His suit was tailored. Custom fabric, too. Italian silk. No brand name, either. One of the first things she learned was being able to clock just how expensive something was on sight. Custom Italian leather shoes, silk socks, and expensive cologne. Tom Ford… she was pretty sure, at least.

The Rolex on his wrist was fake, though. The real one was in her backpack. 

He tucked the gun into his pants and pulled her to her feet. 

He worked quickly, freeing her hands with a click and pressed the gun against her neck.

“You don’t work for anyone, do you? You’re just a lost little—“ 

Kara snatched his wrist, twisting his arm until the gun tumbled from his grip. He let out a pained yelp as she spun around, kneeing him in the gut. He hit his knees and instantly reached for the gun, but she was faster, scooping it up and pointing it at him. Instantly, he put both hands in the air. It was hard not to let her eyes wander too far from his face. In the fight, the buttons on his dress shirt had popped open and she saw a small gold chain resting against a chiseled chest.

“Lost your edge, blue eyes?” She taunted.

Those eyes glittered as that malicious smile returned.

“How much do you know about art?”

“Enough to steal the good shit,” she replied, cocking the hammer. "Tell me your name."

He chuckled, licking his lips as his eyes lingered on her body.

“You first, prințesă."

Kara huffed, he really was a cocky son of a bitch. 

Taking a step forward, she bent at the waist and reached out. Blue Eyes hissed as she skimmed the tip of the gun along his stubbled cheek, curving across his sharp jaw on its way down to his chest. She hooked the chain around the barrel — a dainty St. Christopher pendant dangling between them now as she pointed the gun under his chin much like he had done earlier. 

“Clock’s ticking, handsome.” 

He sighed, rolled his eyes as if the whole thing was an inconvenience and casually tipped the gun away from himself with a finger. 

“Nick,” he said, casual as anything. “Nick Fowler. And you are?” 

She searched his eyes, looking for the lie. When she didn’t find one, she lowered the gun. 

“Kara.” 

“I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Kara, but well…” 

“Rude,” Kara sniffed,  gesturing to the sofa she had recently vacated with the barrel of the gun. “Take a seat, Nick Fowler,  I guess we need to talk.”

Nick rose from the floor slowly, warily, and perched on the edge of one of the leather cushions. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forwards slightly, feigning nonchalance, although his clenched jaw gave him away. Kara took his place on the desk chair, crossing one leg over the other as she learned back and rested the gun against her thigh.

“So, you mentioned art?” She asked, her brow cocked with barely-disguised interest.

He stood up and poured a drink, despite the fact that the gun was still aimed at him.

“You like whiskey, Kara?”

“I’m more of a cosmo girl, myself.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of vodka.” He set two intricately designed crystal glasses on the bar cart, pouring a generous amount of amber liquid into them. 

She liked the way his hands flexed around the neck of the bottle. Her throat tightened along with her stomach in quiet anticipation. She could still feel the cool metal from the gun when he brushed it across her cheek, making her whole body light up. Suddenly, she needed that whiskey more than she needed to get out of this fucking house.

“I have a very wealthy client who’s interested in fine art. The kind of shit people crowd around the Louvre to see. He wants a very specific painting in his house, and he wants me to help him get it— now, I'm good at my job, but I'm not a thief-- here.” 

His expression was soft as he approached, eyes more vibrant and pleading. Her fingers wrapped around the glass as Nick settled into the seat beside her, both of them taking long pulls from their drinks. 

“Since when does the CIA help criminals?” Kara asked.

“Probably since we shot JFK,” Nick snorted into his glass.

Kara huffed out a small laugh of her own and took another sip of her drink, relishing the burn as she swallowed. 

“So you what? Want me to steal it for you? Because let me tell you, my services are not cheap.” 

“You’re a petty thief—“ Nick started, a sigh behind his words. 

“I resent that,” she replied pointedly. Making herself comfortable, she curled her legs up beneath her. Nick followed her movement, scowling. “We’ve already established I’m highly skilled, and you clearly need me to pull this off so… what are you offering?”

Nick looked her over, mulling his options and doing a piss poor job of hiding his interest in more than just her skills as his eyes lingered on her lips. 

“What does a thief need that they can’t just take?” He asked her, his head tipping to the side in question as a conniving smile spread across his face. 

“The same thing CIA agents need.” A tight, clipped laugh tumbled from her. 

Nick’s blue eyes watched her, flickering quickly to hers before he feigned disinterest. “What would that be?” He asked. 

“I see the way you look at me,” she said, “and I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t thought about it,” Kara cooed. Nick studied her expression and let her continue.“Oh come on…Affection without strings, human intimacy.” 

Nick’s hand flexed around his glass, a small but noticeable shift in his steeled demeanour.

“Are you lonely, Mr Big-shot? That’s it, isn’t it?” Kara pressed, a sly smile creeping across her face. 

“You heard of Wrightwood 659?” Nick asked with a cough, not-to-subtly changing the subject.

“Chicago, right? From what I know it’s a pretty exclusive gallery,” Kara replied, leaning back in her chair with a smug smile - she knew she’d touched a nerve.

“Exclusive gallery, expensive artwork,” Nick confirmed.

Kara rose from the desk chair and curled up on the sofa next to Nick, a little too close for a business meeting, and tucked her legs under her. 

“I’m listening,” she said.

“There’s a certain painting there that my client would like to…acquire,” he continued, swallowing as she ran a finger down the silky fabric of his lapel.  “I can handle the security, I can even get rid of the local police. What I can’t do is actually get the damn picture.”

“And I’ll bet that frustrates you no end, right big guy?” Kara giggled softly, taking a sip of her drink.

“You watch that mouth,” Nick growled, but Kara was ready to sink her teeth into him.

He seemed to like it. His jaw ticked, his cheeks turned pink, and he gripped that glass even tighter when she riled him up. Men were fucking easy, it was embarrassing. 

“How much does it bother you?” She purred, reaching out to gingerly brush her finger along his sharp jaw. 

Nick’s breath hitched, lips pursing at her touch. He looked angry, furious, even, that she was challenging him like this. Taunting him like this. But the growing tent in his pants told her he liked it.

“How much does what bother me?”

“Not being the biggest, baddest, smartest man in this room?” She grinned, chewing on her lip as she let a little bit of the whiskey run the most impulsive parts of her brain. 

“Do you want the job, or do you want that gun in your mouth?” He countered.

“Oooh," she let out a teasing whimper that made his cock jerk. "Don’t tease me, Agent Fowler…”

Kara watched as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, his narrowed blue eyes stayed on her as his tongue flicked out over his bottom lip. So much for being a big powerful agent, he wouldn't last a day if it was this easy to get to him. 

"Do you want the job?," he took in a sharp breath, clenching his jaw as he did, "or not?" 

"I still have yet to understand what's in it for me," she smirked, running her hand into her long black hair, "other than you not killing me" 

Nick took a large gulp from his whiskey glass, and tilted his head to the side, "Fifty grand if everything goes off without complications, and you get to keep your life and name out of my books" 

"Seventy five and you forget who I am completely," she countered. 

With a snort, he turned his attention back towards her, "You think you're in a position to bargain with me?" 

Kara shrugged, "You're the one who seems to be in need of my services to keep your client happy, so yes actually,"

Nick heaved a sigh and ran his hand over his face. 

"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered before shifting in his seat and offering his hand. "Deal. But do not fuck this up for me." 

Kara slid her palm against his; soft, warm skin enveloping hers as they shook on it. 

"No promises," she whispered, a cheeky little grin on her face. 

Hand still in his, she dragged her gaze from their fingers curled around each other to his face, neither of them moving and the tension thick enough to suffocate. Nick's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, tongue trailing slick and wet over the small indents they left in the skin and Kara's breath hitched as he tugged lightly on her hand.

“I mean it Kara,” his voice dropped in a husky tone as he stared her down. “There are a lot of places for a thief to go missing and if you screw me over I will hunt you down.” 

“All this flirting a girl’s going to think this is a date.” Kara’s eyes flickered to his lips. 

“You have a mouth on you, one of these days it’s going to get you in trouble.” Nick warned. His hand still gripping hers tightly. “You better be careful.” 

“Being careful is boring, Agent Fowler.” She mocked with a smile on her face. She knew he was trying to intimidate her but a familiar warmth blossomed in her stomach with every veiled threat.

“Is that why you got caught?” He fired back, eyes blazing. 

Anger bloomed in Kara’s chest, hot and unrestrained. It seemed like Nick enjoyed riling her up, too. What really pissed her off is that she thought everything was perfect when she'd broken in here. That she’d disabled the alarms and gone through every single step to ensure she'd be in and out within twenty minutes. She wasn’t as prepared as she should have been.

Maybe it was fate, but did fate have to make her look like such an amateur?

“I got caught because you have a shitty home security system.”

“If it caught you, I'd say it's worth every penny." Nick sipped at his whiskey. "Wouldn't you?"

“You know what I mean.”

“That I made you look like a fool?”

His vicious little sneer made her want to smack him or kiss him to shut him up. 

She didn’t like failure. It was part of her profession, sure, but not like this. She was used to having lock picks breaking off mid-heist, not being caught by the world’s most embarrassing alarm. 

“What the hell are you doing installing metal shutters on the windows and automatic locks? Is the hope diamond in this fucking house?”

Nick reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and she bristled at his touch, spine straightening instantly as her cheeks warmed.

“You’re pretty when you’re angry."

Despite the heat under her skin, made evident by a betraying pink blush no doubt, Kara quirked an eyebrow.

“Seriously, that’s the line you’re going with?” 

Nick’s fingers trailed across her skin, soft along her jaw until he cupped her cheek and pressed his thumb to her bottom lip. 

“Is it working?” He murmured, blue eyes flickering from her mouth to meet her gaze then back again. “Because I know you caught on to how I’ve been looking at you, but don’t think you’re so subtle either, sweetheart.” 

Kara tried to shuffle back but was met by the arm of the couch. 

“This isn’t a wise move if we’re going to work together, Agent Fowler,” she warned, ignoring the quickening of her heart and swoop of her stomach as Nick dragged his thumb across her lip and left a shiver-inducing tingle in its wake.

“A wise move would have to skip this house and hit the next one.” He said leaning closer. “A wise move would have been to do your research before breaking in.” 

Nick stared at her and it made her skin tingle as she fought to catch her balance with the furniture pressing into her back. 

“Looks like you’re all out of wise moves.” He watched her, gauging her nervous reaction.

“You said careful was boring, right?”

A ravenous void filled her belly as the weight of his words pinned her to the couch. Everything about him was dangerous, and probably a lie. 

But it was just a job, right? 

His knuckles brushed her cheekbone, the smell of his cologne overwhelming her senses as he leaned in closer. Warm breath fanned against her skin and her heart pounded. Nick’s mouth curved into a defiant smirk as he licked his lips.

“Are you afraid of me, Kara?”

Her voice caught in her throat and his hand wrapped around the back of her neck. The whiskey on his breath was intoxicating, making her feel light headed. She sucked in a shaky breath and Nick’s eyes danced around her face. He seemed to be taking note of every muscle twitch, every shiver, and he could definitely feel the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Strange how all of that fire you had just… vanished.”

There was that flare of anger again, and this time when he licked those plump lips, she couldn’t help herself.

“Fuck you.”

Her mouth crashed against his in a hungry and vicious kiss. Nick groaned as she clawed at his biceps through his suit jacket. Quickly, it was clear who was really in control as his tongue pushed against hers, licking and stroking every inch of her mouth. It was like he was searching for something.

Nick tore his mouth from hers, mouth bitten-red and his pupils almost eclipsing the beautiful blue of his eyes.

“There she is.”

"Shut up," Kara whispered sharply, as she stood straight, pressing her body against his before gripping the collar of his suit jacket and spinning them around, caging his body against the couch with her own.

His hands found purchase on her waist, tangling his fingers into the leather of her jacket. Just the look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine, and for a brief moment a flash of softness came across Nick's features before he pulled her closer and attached their lips once more. 

This was a bad idea. Kara knew it. But the charismatic bastard was a damn good kisser and seemed to present a challenge that no one had given her in a long time. He knew what she needed before she even knew herself.

Nick nipped at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, hot and wet. Kara bit back, teeth and tongue. His hands trailed up over her sides until he cradled her breasts in her palms. The heat of his hands wandering her body made her tense up, instinct telling her to stop but it was too good, too much of what she hadn’t had in so long.

Nick tore his mouth away, panting and with a flushed cheeks. He stared up at her with a little smile and a curious glint in his eyes. 

“Look at you. All fire and fight, are you always like this, prințesă? Or are you gonna a let me see your soft side?” Nick murmured, swaying forward again until his lips were a mere whisper from hers. “Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“You’ll have to work hard to find her but she’s there,” Kara hummed as Nick’s hands roamed over her thighs up to her hips before curling his fingers into the band and tugging her hips toward him. 

“I don’t mind the dirty work,” he smirked and dug his fingers into her ass, rolling the material down to feel her skin as she arched her back toward him. She watched him with intent as he kissed a warm, wet path of kisses across her exposed skin. Every shimmy of the fabric revealing more of her as the two of them sunk to the floor. His eyes darted over her thighs, taking in each scar and blemish with brief pause, each one would tell a story of past jobs. But Kara didn’t care for the tiny flicker of pity that crossed his face. 

“Do you need a formal invitation or?” She sat up on her elbows and stared down at him, his blue eyes flickering up from between her now bare thighs.

Nick flashed her a toothy grin that made her heart flutter before trailing his lips up and down her her inner thighs. His stubble set her skin ablaze and she tipped her head toward the ceiling, a soft sigh slipping out as he used his teeth. Gently. Too gently. She reached out, gripping his hair tightly.

“Do you think I’m too delicate?” She whispered.

Nick sunk his teeth into her supple skin, biting down hard enough to make her cry out. This time, when he lifted his head, his smile was triumphant.

“I think you put up so many walls you don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She scoffed as he soothed the bite with a flick of his tongue, slowly trailing it along her warm skin. 

“I came here to steal your shit, not get psychoanalyzed,” she bit back.

Nick grabbed her lace panties with his teeth, snapping them against her hip. Kara let out a yelp and he chuckled, making it up to her by teasing her clit through the soft fabric. Agonizing circles that made her shake despite the defiance that was bubbling up inside of her. She was smart, ferocious, and resourceful. This man didn’t know a damn thing about her— and knowing exactly where to touch her didn’t count.

“Come on, Be sweet for me."

She huffed a laugh and he nuzzled into her thigh, his hot breath fanning against her cunt.

"You give me what I want, I give you what you want.” He quirked a brow. “Symbiotic relationship.”

With that, he wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking it through the fabric. Kara gasped, her back bowing as she wrapped both legs around him and squeezed tight.

“Symbiotic relationship,” she moaned.

He was too damn good at this.

His deep chuckle against her cunt sent a shiver through her body, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against her clit before he placed a gentle, teasing kiss on it, "Good girl," he rasped. 

Kara's head pressed back into the cold marble floor as her body screamed for him. The coolness of the floor contrasting the fire that burned underneath her skin every time his blue eyes looked up at her from between her thighs. 

Nick's fingers hooked into the band of her lace panties as he pressed a wet needy kiss onto her hip bone, "Can I take these off, Kara?" 

"God please," she breathed out, wiggling and lifting her hips to help him out. 

Slowly, Nick pulled the fabric from her body, trailing his fingers down her legs as he did so, adding more fuel to the already scorching fire that she was feeling. Tucking the lacey fabric into his suit jacket pocket with a smirk, his fingers grasped her ankle, "If you keep being good for me, you can get those back" 

He trailed his lips from her ankle down to her inner thigh, leaving bite marks and soft licks in wake, pulling every sweet sound from Kara's throat that she could muster. This man was more dangerous than she could have imagined.

“Keep them,” Kara whined as he began to climb back up her legs, each kiss warmer than the last and the heat that filled her body was insatiable. “As a token of my gratitu—“ she moaned as the ticklish scruff of his sculpted jaw brushed against her inner thigh.

“Speak up Kara,” His breath fanned over her clit, completely lost under his spell she almost started to beg him for more but swallowed the urge. 

“Get to work,” she said instead, hiding beneath the harsh exterior in a feeble attempt to control the situation as his tongue lapped through her at a torturous pace.

His low chuckle sent her into overdrive, both hands in his hair as her hips bucked and she tried to get more pressure, but he was a fucking menace. Whenever she thought he’d hit the right spot that would send her tumbling over the edge, he switched up the pressure and pace. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as a painful sense of desire took root in the pit of her stomach, stretching through every nerve ending like tree roots. 

He was fucking teasing her, his fingers dancing up and down her thighs. The softest touch as he gave her swollen clit gentle flicks with the very tip of his tongue. 

“More,” she begged. “I need more.”

He stopped, lifting his head and meeting her gaze. His eyes were swirling with storm clouds, nearly all black as he drank in her half naked form.

“All you have to do is beg.”

“P—“ She stumbled over the words and he chuckled, teasing her pussy with one finger. 

“How hard is it? Having to ask for what you need?”

“You’re a fucking asshole, Fowler,” she snarled.

He pushed one finger inside of her, curling it until she whimpered. Nick’s power enveloped her like a tidal wave and she knew her only choice was to give in or deal with this knot in her stomach on her own time. There was no fucking way her shower head was going to compete with that tongue and those lips.

“Be a good girl and say please.”

"Please," Kara whined, bucking her hips against his hand, her moan echoing through is office. 

He was going to pay for this, she thought to herself in the midst of her pleasure. 

His finger curled inside her as his tongue flicked over her clit, and she could feel him smiling into her and relishing in every whine that dripped from her lips. 

"Much better," he whispered into her cunt, pulling her clit between his teeth before sucking on it.

Nick’s free hand gripped her thigh and lifted her leg to rest on his shoulder. Spreading her open on the floor and allowing him to sink his tongue deeper. She shuttered around him, barely able to form a word as he slipped a second finger into her centre.

“Talk to me,” he instructed between tiny nibbles, pulling away just long enough to make her miss the feeling of his teeth against her clit. “Let me hear all those pretty sounds.” 

“Oh,” she whined, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as Nick curled roughly against her cunt and drove his tongue upward through her. 

“Louder,” he demanded and Kara’s skin tingled from the sound.

She let out another whimper and he lifted his head again, giving her a break she didn’t want.

“I said talk to me, sweetness. Tell me what makes you feel good.”

She panted and squirmed, her pussy aching for more. His mouth was perfect and he licked her with just the right amount of sweetness. Her toes curled, missing that tongue deep inside her.

“D— fuck.” She groaned. “Do that thing with your tongue again.”

“As you wish, prinţesă.”

With that, he nestled between her thighs, fingers sinking so deep into her flesh he was bound to leave more marks. His marks. Not scars. Something beautiful. And she wanted all of it. 

His tongue dove back inside her, curling upwards as the bridge of his perfectly straight nose bumped up against her clit. Kara gasped for air, fire in her blood as she twisted the soft strands of chestnut hair between her fingers.

“Just like that,” she cooed. “Oh, fuck, Nick!”

The cord in her belly wound tightly the more his tongue worked. Kara could feel every sense of herself falling apart for him as her thoughts swam through her pleasure. 

"God -" she cried out, her nails digging into the marble beneath them, trying to ground herself. 

Another deep chuckle rattled through her center, "There's no god here, just me" Nick rasped out, before diving back in. 

She could tell the cocky shit was enjoying every moment of having her completely in his control, and for once, she wasn't about to stop it. This was one time she didn't mind being under a man's spell. This man specifically. 

A sharp gasp left her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, her pleasure building deep in her belly, "Nick, I can't-" she whined, her hips moving in rhythm with his tongue. 

Nick shook her head, pulling her clit between his lips and sucking, keeping up his pace as he worked her perfectly. 

"Sing for me, Kara," he whispered into her. 

And just like that, the cord in her belly snapped. Her vision went fuzzy as she cried out, her pleasure echoing through the marble office. One of her hands curled into his chestnut brown hair, holding him in place as she let her orgasm wash through her entire body.

Kara let her head fall against the floor, hand still laced in his hair she rode the euphoria down until her vision cleared and she could breathe again. Nick’s hand tangled with hers, linking it into his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he sat back. His thighs flexed against the fabric of his pants, tightening as he sat back to admire her. 

“What a pretty mess you are,” he licked what remained of her off his bottom lip and sighed as his eye dragged over her disheveled figure slowly. She felt like he was all over her skin even now.

“I need to start making more deals with hot CIA agents,” Kara panted, pushing up onto her shaky elbows.

Nick got to his feet, refilling their drinks and helping her back onto the couch. Kara reached for his cock, and he snatched her wrist, clicking his tongue gently. His hands were soft and he linked his fingers in hers, a surprisingly tender gesture for someone like him. Her brows knit together in confusion and she tilted her head. What did she do? Why wasn't he fucking her?

"You don't want me?" She asked, trying to keep the humiliation out of her voice.

Nick latched on to her vulnerability like a shark smells blood in the water. 

"I never said that." His eyes raked over her messy hair and glistening skin. "What I do want is leverage. You do this job, you get the money and I'll make you scream as much as you want. For a whole weekend. You won't leave my bed."

Kara scoffed into her drink.

"Withholding your cock like it's some kind of prize is quite the negotiation tactic. Did you learn that in spy school?"

Nick slowly licked her arousal off his fingers, smirk growing wider by the second.

"It's working, isn't it?"

She sighed into her glass, relaxing against the sofa as his hand slid up her thigh.

"What do I need for the job?"

"Everything you brought. I'll take care of your wardrobe, hair, and makeup. We can even pretend to be newly engaged." He grinned. "I'll make you rich, Kara. I promise you that."

Maybe getting caught wasn't so bad after all.