#realistically i dont think lucienne would agree to this in the LIBRARY!!!!! but she's feeling quirky

[cosmictapestry]

dealer's choice 29 or 62

no or. only and

29. "don’t tempt me"

and

62. “i won’t bite. unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

morphienne oral in the library <3 a staple <3 prompts here

He is being annoying on purpose.

Lucienne is sitting at her desk, bowed over blueprints for a new atrium Mervyn has asked her to approve, and her lord wanders into her field of vision to read out loud to her, for the third time today, a factoid that disproves her point on something they disagreed about a week ago now.

She watches him, stone-faced, as he recites his finding, then looks up at her with innocent wonder. “Fascinating, don’t you agree?”

She can maintain her glare for only a few seconds more, and so she looks back down at the blueprint to mask her obvious amusement. “You certainly are chatty today.”

Lord Morpheus saunters closer, sets his hands down on the desk and leans over her. “Yes, well, you’re not paying attention to me.”

Lucienne grins, and she can’t hide the laughter in her voice. “I’ve been quite busy, my lord. I should think you are, too.”

“This is what I am busied with,” he says, patting the book he’s lain under one hand. “Research.  And I require your participation.”

“What you require is something better to do with your mouth,” she says, and it is supposed to be salacious, but they are in the library.

This doesn’t seem to matter to Lord Morpheus. She looks up at him out of curiosity and sees his tiny, mischievous smile has disappeared, the nervous energy gone from his frame. His tongue darts to wet his lips, leaves them glistening in the warm light. “Do not tempt me, Lucienne,” he murmurs.

She smiles sweetly at him. “Of course not. I should hate to make your job difficult.”

“You imagine me under your desk,” her lord says, and his hands flex on the wood. His starlit pupils leave only a thin ring of silver to the iris. “You should like me to make your job more difficult.”

Lucienne looks away, heat making her skin prickle under her suddenly uncomfortable clothes. “We are in the library, my lord.”

“There is no one around,” he counters, “and if there were, I would make it so none could see us. If that is your only qualm I would urge you to reconsider.”

Oh, he wants it, dear thing. Perhaps she has been neglecting him. She spares another glance around them, still seeing and hearing nothing but his own quickened breathing. “Very well,” she murmurs, her mouth dry with her anticipation. “Put your mouth to use, then, my lord.”

She sort of hopes he’ll drop and crawl under the desk, because that would be funny, but of course he does not do that. One minute she is looking up at her lord, and the next he is look up at her from between her legs, and she gives a startled yelp.

“My apologies,” Lord Morpheus says briskly, his hands on her already, petting up her thighs, gripping her arse and yanking her abruptly to the edge of the seat with her legs spread wide. He is still then, visibly forcing himself to slow down, to use his words. “I like when you imagine this. Me on my knees for you.”

Lucienne groans, and she threads one hand through his hair, the other making creases in the blueprint on her desk. “I can tell,” she says, hoarse. “You aren’t usually so impatient.”

“My apologies, again,” he sighs, leaning his cheek against her inner thigh. She can feel the faintest gust of his breath against her core. “It is difficult, sometimes.  Wanting.”

“I know,” Lucienne murmurs, and she pets his hair for another second, lets him relax between her legs. “You’d best remove everything below the waist. Make it a little easier on yourself.”

He murmurs his appreciation and does as she instructs, leaving her bare of her trousers and her knickers, her cunt glistening in front of him from below a neat thatch of curls. He breathes in deeply, which she wishes he wouldn’t do, it makes her entire face feel hot enough to burn. “Go on, then,” she says softly. “Be impatient.”

With a growl he sits up on his haunches, and he grabs her hips to pull her further off the chair, and he sways in to kiss her, chastely, right over her clit.  Lucienne jolts, her hand clenching in his hair, and she sees the flash of his teeth in a cute little snarl that becomes somewhat less cute when he nips her, sharp and quick, on her inner thigh.

Lord Morpheus freezes, like he hadn’t meant to do that, and he looks up at her with cautious eyes, as though she hasn’t made it a personal mission to mark up his pretty neck and thighs with as many bruises as possible. “I’m into that,” she says, which is supposed to be permission to do that again, please, if he wants to, but she gets the feeling that won’t be clear to him. “Biting is good.”

He huffs a laugh, still nervous, and presses his lips to the little stinging spot, then drags his teeth over it, a sharp little arc of sensation. He doesn’t linger there, and in the next moment he’s sealed his mouth over her clit again, and she feels the strength and heat of his tongue, and she tips her head back with a pleased sigh.

Lord Morpheus is more confident in this, and in using his hands, then he is in anything else they do. Getting him to take initiative in any other activity is usually fruitless, but in this--he is eager, aggressive, little slurps and moans escaping him as he runs his tongue up and down her slit in broad, firm strokes.  She pets his hair idly. “Just like that, love.”

He grunts and gives her another nip, light on her labia, making her jolt. She tugs his hair in retaliation, and he whines. In a swift movement he sits up straighter, tugs her hips higher, pulls her down further and nearly folds her over in her seat. She yelps, grabbing his shoulder with her free hand for balance, and he dives in, plunging his tongue inside of her.

Lucienne cries out, holding on for dear life, his hands a bruising force on her hips and his hair silky on her thighs and his tongue hot, retreating from her cunt to give her that delicious firm pressure swiping up and down on her clit, a hint of his teeth in the downward stroke, his breath coming much quicker and harder than it should be, and her eyes roll back.

She squeezes his head between her thighs, grinding his mouth against her with her hand in his hair, and she comes with a weak, warbling cry. Her muscles tense and ripple and flutter and the euphoria washes over her, and all at once she’s boneless, and her legs release their vice grip on her lord’s pretty face.

He lowers her legs, slowly, kissing her as he goes, rubbing her calves, a satisfied smile on his glistening mouth. She sits up slowly, drags herself back up onto the chair into a half-decent position. Properly seated and breathing hard, Lucienne pulls him in to rest his chin on her knee, his hands lax on his own thighs. He came in his trousers at some point, the fabric darkened with moisture, and he blinks up at her contentedly.

“I really shouldn’t be rewarding you for disrupting my work,” she mutters.

“I agree,” his eyes slip shut with a breezy sigh. “Terrible judgement, really.”