Because He Needs It

Chapter One: Tony's Always Late

In which Pepper Potts makes a startling discovery about Tony Stark.

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If she didn't love him so much, she'd probably want to kill him. Oh hell, who is she kidding? She loves him ridiculously, and half the time she STILL wants to kill him! Like right now, when he's slithering his way out of another meeting it's crucial that he attend.

"Tony," she says patiently (losing patience with him is generally pointless as his response is simply to ignore it and roll right over the impatience as though it's happening in a different galaxy and to someone else), "This is the president of your Board of Directors, and as the 'Stark' in Stark Technologies and the 'man' in Iron Man, I really think you need to meet him face to face to address the board's concerns."

Tony responds to this by crossing the room in four long strides, sliding his sinfully adept fingers into her hair, and kissing her. She thinks it's totally unfair he should be this good a kisser, as it's really difficult for her to keep her mind on the issue at hand when his tongue is doing the conga with hers like it's a professional ballroom dancer and his teeth are grazing her bottom lip and his mouth tastes like 200-year old single malt scotch and dark chocolate and sex.

"Tony!" she says, sharply and authoritatively. It actually comes out as "Tmmphm," though, because he doesn't stop kissing her long enough for her to get a single word out. She growls in frustration and bites his tongue. He jerks back from her in surprise, his brown eyes wide and startled, and licks a tiny fleck of blood off his lips.

"What'd you do that for?" he demands, and the wounded innocent routine would hold a lot more weight if his pupils weren't dilating and he wasn't breathing harder and looking at her with his brown eyes hot like molten caramel.

"I want you to listen to me, Tony," she says, as primly as she can when her heart is pounding like a trip hammer. He steps to her again, this time his hands grasp her hips and pull her up against him, and she feels his dick pressing into her belly.

"I am listening to you, Pep," he murmurs into her hair, as he reaches up and starts unbuttoning her blouse. "I'm listening to what your body's saying. Have I told you I'll die if I don't have you now? It's true, scout's honor, and do you really want to carry the responsibility for my untimely demise with you for the remainder of your days on this planet?"

"Tony," she says breathlessly, "You were never a boy scout."

"Semantics," he whispers, and now he's kissing her neck. She makes a small sound of need when his hand cups her breast and his thumb brushes her nipple, which contracts traitorously. "Unimportant details. Still need you. Now, Pepper. Need you naked and hot for me. Need inside you. Dying for you," he's muttering these pleas as he drags her blouse down her arms and her skirt off her hips. He's whispering his desperation against her skin when he laves her nipples with his tongue, tells her belly button fervently that he's wasting away as he speaks, for need of her pussy. Pushes her back onto his enormous sleek black desk and divests her of her panties as he swears to some of the freckles on her thighs that he cannot breathe for wanting her.

She forgets her name, let alone the details of the proposed meeting with Andrew Brightman, when he gently opens her with his fingers and his tongue strokes fervently over and over her clit. One finger slides inside and presses rhythmically on that one perfect spot. She digs her Manolo Blahniks into his back when she comes. He grabs her by the ankles and sucks on her anklebone, biting sharply and then licking away the small pain as he stands up and enters her with one smooth deep stroke. He wraps her legs firmly around his waist and then proceeds to fuck her blind, until she's panting and moaning and screaming for him. The papers she needs him to sign scatter the desk and floor and she doesn't notice. The glow from his arc reactor is imprinted on her retinas when she closes her eyes and cries out, coming for him again while he pounds, pounds, pounds them away to oblivion.

She's trying to restore some semblance of order to her hair, her clothing, and the stack of paperwork all at the same time while he sprawls unrepentantly in his desk chair. The top button of his fly is still open, and he hasn't buttoned his shirt. He's smiling smugly as he watches her.

"Have I told you lately that you're adorable when you're mussed, Miss Potts?" he drawls, taking a long sip of scotch and smiling that charming and infuriating one-sided naughty little boy grin of his that she loves at the same time that she wants to wipe it off his irritating face.

"Have I told you lately you weren't spanked enough as a child?" she snaps in annoyance as she hunts under a chair for the cover letter to a proposal she needed him to read. For several long moments she doesn't realize that her frustrated retort hasn't been met with one of his witty, endless and infuriating repartees. When she does, she glances over at him while she checks to see if she's finally recovered all the pages. He's staring at her. His mouth hangs open just a little, and she sees the tip of his tongue touch his bottom lip. Interesting. At that point he recovers his unshakable cool and his grin gets even bigger.

"Actually I think that's a new one. You're right, incidentally. When I was bad, my mother sent me to boarding school or bought me a new ratchet set. If I refuse to sign your silly papers or kiss the ass of this Dimbulb guy the board's voted in this year, do you promise to send me to Switzerland? I'll let you come too. We can play hooky and ski. Maybe I'll buy you an Alp."

He rambles on in the same vein for a while as she makes agreeable noises. She's shoved a pen in his hand and places page after page under his hand for him to sign, getting everything she needs, finally, by just letting him go on and on. Her eyes are demurely downcast upon the papers she's cranking out for his signature, hoping his rapidly growing fantasy about purchasing mountains and nude bathing in hot springs and finding out if they can do it on a ski lift and asking if she's interested in a foursome with some Swiss ski bunny twins he thinks he remembers from last time he was there (he has an eidetic memory, so if there were ever ski bunnies, he remembers perfectly well). She makes the appropriate sounds of interest or agreement when he pauses, but when he's on a roll like this, it doesn't really matter what the listener says as long as they don't try to shut him up. He winds down faster if you don't try to shut him up. She's not listening to him though. Nor is she really paying attention to the papers she's having him sign. She could manage those with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. Getting his signature is an art she mastered years ago. No, she's thinking. Really hard.

She finally stops his rambling with a quick kiss.

"Thank you Mr. Stark, that will be all," she says in her most professional voice. As she leaves the room she looks back over her shoulder at him sprawled there in his chair. The king of the known universe (no matter what Thor would have to say about it) is damn sexy half-dressed and surrounded by the trappings of power. "I'll handle Mr. Brightman. I believe a brief appearance at the annual meeting as yourself and a visit from Iron Man to his son's 7th birthday party next month will quiet his concerns. And Tony?"

"Yes, Miss Potts?" His brown eyes are fond, and warm, and amused, but what she saw there just a couple of minutes before is still there too, a little bit.

"Be at my apartment tonight, at 7 p.m. sharp. Do not keep me waiting, or there will be consequences."

She shuts the door behind her firmly and goes to run his empire as she has always done, efficiently and faithfully. She's adept at multitasking though, so amid the meetings and faxes and emails and video conferences, she makes a few other arrangements, and she never stops thinking.

"When I was bad my mother sent me to boarding school or bought me a new ratchet set."

Sometimes Tony says some very revealing things about himself when all HE thinks he's doing is being witty and clever. He is, of course, witty and clever. Possibly he is ALMOST as witty and clever as he thinks he is. He's not, however, always as observant as he thinks he is. Her heart aches a little as she considers this statement. Tony is the epitome of a child of privilege. He was raised with every convenience and luxury money could buy. And by the best servants. She finds this almost unbearably sad, when she remembers her own father's big booming laugh and the way he would swing her mother around in his arms when he'd come home from work, and how he mother would yell at him to stop being a Neanderthal, laughing the whole time. How they would both help her with her homework, and go to movies and the park together. How they both taught her how to ride a bike and came to her piano recitals. How proud they were when she was accepted to college. Tony barely knew his mother. He was still pretty young when she died. His father, the famous Howard Stark, she knows little about. Tony rarely speaks of him, unless it is in a public speech where he extolls the man's achievements, or in private where he denigrates them. So yeah, issues there. Which, typically, he has no interest in discussing.

All in all though, her sympathy for his upbringing only occupies a tiny corner of her brain. Her lover may be a genius of engineering and technology, but she is a damn prodigy of efficiency and time management. The larger part of her brain is devoted entirely to the very strange look on his face at her exasperated comment. She delivers crisp orders to her assistant and doesn't miss a trick while she's thinking about how the glib Tony Stark was rendered even momentarily speechless. She video conferences with heads of nine different departments at once while she's playing back the memory of the expression on his face. She edits crucial details of a government contract while she muses on the telltale dilation of his pupils and the faint flush to his cheeks in the moments before he recovered his aplomb. She thinks back over their years of association, before they became lovers and since, and tries to recall if she's ever seen a hint of what she now suspects. She doesn't think so. She's certain there was no sign during the months following the day he pulled her from the secretarial pool, because she was far too in awe of him then to do anything but ask how high when she even suspected he might say "Jump." She knows now, in retrospect, that he began to be attracted to her when she remembered her spine and started going toe to toe with him when he was being insufferable. Which, face it, was most of the damn time. So maybe in a way, that's a hint in and of itself. But until they started sleeping together, she still fell solidly into the category of employee, and thus never quite his equal. Not that he ever treated her as less, just that…well…you might think about boinking your secretary, but you certainly never thought about…hm.

She's glad when her day is over. As evening has approached, she's begun to develop a serious case of butterflies. She must be completely crazy to be even considering this. They still have to work together, for Heaven's sake! She tells herself the whole way home (she may spend a great deal of time in his, but she does have one, she's insisted on it) that she's not going through with it. That she'll fix him a nice dinner and after a couple of glasses of wine, seduce him on the floor in front of the fireplace. Much better plan, with a great deal less potential for disaster. She nods to herself, pleased with the practicality of the decision.

Then she remembers the last thing she said.

"Do not keep me waiting, or there will be consequences."

Well shit. First of all, when is Tony ever on time for anything? The man will be late to his own funeral. Secondly, because she has told him to be on time and because he simply cannot resist testing every damn thing, even if he was normally the most punctual man in the world, he would BE late tonight. Her practical decision has failed to account for this certainty. Tony has kept the U.S. Military waiting for hours. He was late for his own Senate hearing. There is no way on earth he's going to be at her place at 7. None. She's fucked. It's do or die now, because she hasn't left herself an out at all, and though he will never say so, she will lose a teensy fraction of his respect if she doesn't follow through. And though he may take her for granted sometimes, and that only because she runs his life and his empire so efficiently that he's ABLE to, he does respect her. It won't be much, probably less than a tenth of a percent, but they will both know it.

He actually doesn't ring her doorbell until almost 8:00.

She's sitting in the chair she has situated facing the entryway to the living room when she calls out for him to come in. He has a key, so he lets himself in. When he comes around the corner from the foyer to the living room, her arms are crossed over her chest, her legs crossed and one foot joggling impatiently in the air. The wooden spoon she had been using to stir the béarnaise sauce wags in her right fist in annoyance. She stares at him expressionlessly and does not speak. She is wearing a knee-length black pinstriped skirt so tight he would be able to see her panty lines, were she to be standing. Or not wearing a thong. Her extremely businesslike white blouse shows little cleavage but molds perfectly to her upper body. Her hair is pulled back in a perfect chignon. Her makeup is dramatic, but severe. She gazes impassively at him (she hopes, while her heart threatens to burst the top buttons of the blouse) and waits. He grins his usual charming smile.

"Sorry I'm late, Pep. You know the drill. Phone calls. Emails. Fury being a dick. Steve had to call me and tell me he couldn't use the gym on the 17th floor because Romanoff and Barton were engaging in illicit activities on the weights machine. His words, by the way, not mine, because who even says shit like that anymore. Then there was this minor breakthrough I had on a new power source, which actually turned out not to be one after all. Then traffic was a complete bitch. I think there was a 37 car pileup on 73rd."

She says nothing, letting him wind down into a little bit of uncertainty, waiting for her to roll her eyes and forgive him as usual. He takes a step towards her, then pauses. He apologizes again.

"Do I look like I give a shit about any of your excuses?" she finally says icily. He takes half a step backwards in surprise, because she's never gotten angry at him for being late. It's just part of who he is, and one of the things he values in her is that she never tries to change him. Before he can start to get angry, she stands up and turns away from him.

"Come with me," she says coldly, and goes into the kitchen. She doesn't wait to see if he will follow. She knows he will.

The table is set for two, with candles and wineglasses and a bottle of Cab breathing by one of the settings. A platter of rare chateaubriand graces the center of the table, surrounded by bowls of fingerling potatoes, steamed asparagus, and salad greens. She glances at him, sees him take in the trouble she has gone to, and acts quickly before he has a chance to feel truly rotten for being late. She's counting on a tiny thread of guilt to make him compliant, but making him feel like shit isn't in the program.

"Do you see this, Tony?" she snaps. He flinches a little and looks chagrined.

"It looks great, Pepper. I really am…"

"Shut up. It not only looks great, it IS great, but you won't be eating any of it."

His head rears back in shock when she tells him to shut up.

"Hey, come on, I'm sure it isn't too cold, let's not let this ruin din…"

"I said," she purrs, stepping close to him and taking a fistful of his dress shirt in her hand. "You won't be eating any of it. You are rude, irresponsible, and very, very late. I won't tolerate it, Tony."

She's standing quite close to him, so she feels rather than hears the sudden intake of his breath, and watches his pupils dilate.

"Are you gonna punish me, Miss Potts?" he asks with a sly grin. She twists his shirt tighter so that it constricts just a little bit around his neck.

"Do you need to be punished, Mr. Stark?" she breathes into his ear. She feels him shudder a little bit. Oh thank fucking God, she isn't wrong. He's still trying to hide it though.

"What's it going to be?" he says glibly. "Water boarding? Been there, done that. Gotta tell you it's pretty effective but it'll make a huge mess in your bathroom. Bamboo slivers? Wouldn't be my first choice, but not bad. Electricity? I'm kinda partial to that one, though I'd like it better if you let me put on the suit first. Goes great things for its power capacity. Then there's always b…"

"You talk too much, you insufferable brat," she hisses. She feels another gasp and her mouth curves in a small smile. "You think you're so witty. So clever. You think your scintillating personality is enough to make up for your deplorable lack of common courtesy. You're not enough of a problem to deserve torture, Mr. Stark. You're a spoiled, selfish little boy and I am going to punish you as you deserve."

He stares at her once more with his mouth hanging open slightly, again at a loss for words. Twice in one day. It's a record.

"Bend over the table and put your hands on the edge. You'll get what you've earned looking down at the lovely meal you won't be enjoying this evening."

"Pepper…" he says. He's going to slither out of it now, she realizes. Just like he slithers out of everything that makes him feel uncomfortable or out of his depth. He slithers out of everything he thinks might be boring or tedious too, but she doesn't think that's the case right now.

"Don't tell me you're scared, Tony," she mocks, smirking at him. She plasters the smuggest look she has on her face, as if she wants him to back out, knows he will. She shows him the face she uses on the rare occasion when she gets the better of him in an argument. She knows he hates that. He lifts one eyebrow at her.

"Scared? Me? Good one Pep. Who was it exactly who saved the entire known world by carrying a nuclear warhead through a wormhole, thereby destroying an entire alien invasion, all by himself? Oh right right, I think that would be ME. No, ha, I was just going to say I hope you're careful. I wouldn't want you to sprain your wrist or anything."

She wonders sometimes if Tony has any idea how easily she can manipulate him. If she loved him less or ambition more, she'd worry about her motives. But she only presses his buttons when it's important. And despite the fact that what's happening is twisted and mostly about sex, she still feels like it is important somehow. She feels like nobody in Tony's life has ever really given him what he needed, and that now Tony never lets anyone know what he really needs because he's too sure they'll let him down. Tony indulges his own every whim and gives himself everything he wants and fulfills his own needs because he learned as a brilliant little boy that the people in his life would fail him. He is always larger than life and more than human because he can't allow himself to be merely human. She thinks she is the only person he has ever known who has thought of this, and she only hopes she's not going to screw it up. So, because she knows Tony cannot refuse a challenge, she has challenged him. And he has answered the challenge just as she expected he would. God, the responsibility terrifies her.

Revealing none of this (she hopes) she looks pointedly at the table and doesn't respond to him. He grins that cocky grin, shoots his cuffs and leans forward, placing his palms on the edge of the table. He wiggles his hips a little and sticks his ass out, mocking her. She keeps her face expressionless, and places the palm of her left hand on the small of his back. He snickers a little, but she thinks now he's whistling in the dark. She brings the back of the wooden spoon down on the seat of his pants, hard. She knows it doesn't really hurt him very much, not through two layers of fabric. But he sucks in his breath hard through his nose and she sees his fingers whiten on the table. It isn't pain, just shock. She smacks him again.

"Pepper…" he whispers, and this time there is no hint that he's trying to slither out. Her name sounds a little like a plea, like he's asking for something he doesn't really understand. She's not altogether sure she understands either, but she hopes to hell she's going to figure it out as they go along.

"You want to shut your mouth right about now, Tony," she says in a glacial voice, and hits him again. She doesn't really stop to think about the fact that she's spanking one of the world's richest men, and a superhero, and her boss, over her kitchen table like a naughty schoolboy. If she does, she'll hyperventilate, and it's way too late for that now. She covers the seat of his pants with sharp blows of the spoon, smacking hard and fast. After about five minutes of it, he's shifting back and forth, switching his weight from one foot to the other. She stops, and brushes her hand down the curve of his ass. He sighs gustily, and his hips press backwards into her hands just a tiny bit.

"Tony," she whispers. It takes him a moment to register that she's speaking to him. "Tony!" she says more sharply.

"Ah. Huh? I mean, yes Miss Potts?" he stammers. She suppresses a smile.

"Pull down your pants."

"I…oh…what?"

She cracks the spoon down on the lower curve of his left cheek as hard as she can and he gasps.

"Pull. Down. Your. Pants." She punctuates each word with a hard spank. "NOW!"

She's not positive, but she thinks his fingers tremble just a little bit when he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, unzips them and slowly lowers them to his knees. He's wearing black silk boxer shorts. She strokes his ass again, liking the feel of the silk under her palm, and marveling that his skin is very warm through the fabric. He shudders, and returns his hands to the tabletop without her telling him to.

"Good boy," she murmurs, and this makes him shudder harder.

She resumes the spanking with vigor, and the thin silk does a great deal less to cushion the blows. The sound of the spoon is less of a whap and more of a crack now, and he's flinching a little bit. The muscles of his back and shoulders are rigid under his shirt, and the back of his neck is red. He's adorable like that, bent over her table, his pants tangled around his knees, his exceptional ass round against the taut silk of his underwear, the tail of his white Brooks Brothers shirt just barely not getting in her way. Because he's staring fixedly at the tabletop and not at her, she lets herself steal a glance at the front of his boxers and is gratified to see that he's sporting an erection of epic proportions. On the one hand, she's relieved to know that she's doing this right, but on the other hand, the part of her that is just flat fucking LOVING it thinks…dirty boy. Because she's feeling mean and she really IS tired of him always being late for every damn thing, she smacks him on the backs of his thighs, below the edges of his boxers. He yelps, and starts to straighten up. She presses hard on the small of his back.

"Don't," she warns softly. He makes a tiny whining noise in the back of his throat that thrills her for some reason. She hardly recognizes herself right now. She becomes abruptly aware that she has soaked through the crotch of her thong panties and her inner thighs are slick with her own arousal. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slides them down.

"Wait," he says, a little desperately. "Enough! Pepper!"

"Do you have something to say to me, Tony?" she purrs. She feels him think about it. Feels him nearly stand up and decide to put an end to this. Her hand gently strokes the bright red cheeks of his bottom. He makes a small sound.

"No," she says urgently. "Not yet. You want this. Tony…you positively require it."

And like a switch being flipped, the tension leaves his shoulders and he drops his head, after he nods once. She grips the spoon hard, takes a deep breath. Hopes wildly that she's not going to chicken out now. She resumes beating his ass, only this time the sound the spoon makes against his naked flesh is sharp and loud in her ears. He's breathing hard. She pushes, covering his now-scarlet ass with burning spanks. She sees the tips of his fingers pressing hard into the surface of the table, white around the nail beds. His arms are shaking a little. She knows damn well the pain isn't too much for him. He has withstood real torture, after all, and the times when he has to replace his arc reactor's core he has to suffer the early stages of heart failure each and every time. Tony is no stranger to pain, and she is not hurting him nearly as badly as that. Still, she thinks this is different. That it is so…intimate, so humbling, to be treated like a naughty child, she thinks it is somehow more shattering than greater pains. His backside is dark red now, and each time she spanks him, the outline of the spoon's bowl shows white against the deep rich color. He makes an inarticulate sound that is trapped somewhere between a whimper and a moan. She feels it in her bones. She is at the same time tremendously aroused and also tremendously sorry for him. She has no idea how this can be so, but she's not about to stop and dissect these two emotions. She brings the spoon down harder, and he moans softly. He's close, so close to something, some breakthrough, so she speeds it up, and drops hard snapping spanks on his upper thighs. He yelps in pain, and she grins fiercely. She shoves his feet as far apart as his pants will allow with her knee, and the spoon cracks cruelly on the tender skin on the insides of his thighs. She knows how sensitive he is there, because she has kissed him there many times and felt the muscles in his legs quiver at the stroke of her tongue. He can't be quiet anymore.

"Aahh," he yelps. "Pepper! No more! Ohh. I'm…guh…I'm SORRY! Ow! Christ, that fucking hu…uhhhh…hurts. OW! Do yuh…oh…you want me to…ahh…beg? Pepper! Please! Ohgodohgod! Please Pepper! Noo! Miss Potts! I am suh…gah…so FUCKING SORRY! PLEASE!"

There's something in his voice at the last. Something desperate and frightened and so needy it makes her heart clench. She thinks they've probably only scratched the surface at the darkness down inside him where his need lives, but she hears that he has taken all he can right now, tonight. The spoon clatters to the floor and her hands stroke his back. He slides to his knees using the table to keep himself from just collapsing. She goes down with him, and he turns to her, blindly, putting his face in her neck. He isn't crying, not quite, but he's wrecked anyhow. He's trembling, and his face is hot and damp against her throat. She wraps her arms around him and he returns the embrace fiercely, clutching her as though she is his lifeline. She rather thinks that right now, she really is. The sensation of him, shuddering and shaken and shattered in her arms, because of her, for her, is heady. Her breasts feel as though they'll burst the buttons on her skin-tight blouse, and her nipples are so tight it's almost painful. She aches between her legs and up into her belly like a bruise and every inch of her is alive with need. She pushes on his shoulders a little bit, but he doesn't budge. She runs her fingers through his curls and he sighs in pleasure at the caress, then gasps when she makes a fist and pulls his head back by his hair, so she can look him in the eyes. His own are slightly glassy and wide and wild.

"Tony," she says sternly. The sharp tone in her voice makes his eyes focus on her more clearly. He clears his throat.

"Yes…Ma'am…" he whispers. His voice is raw and nearly childish in its meekness. God, she loves him absurdly.

"I forgive you," she says softly. "And you get to make it up to me now. Get up. Go to my bedroom. Don't pull your pants all the way up. I want to walk behind you and watch your ass. You should see it, Tony. So hot, so red. So punished."

"Christ Pepper," he breathes, and he is rapidly becoming a lot more aroused than he is sorry. Which is the point, after all.

"You don't want to test me right now, lover," she purrs. "I have a big flat hairbrush in my bathroom and my arm's not nearly tired." Good Lord, she must be out of her mind. This can't be her. And yet, fuck yes, it is, and she's having so much fun right now, she doesn't know if she ever wants to stop. He doesn't say a word, which is oh my God a first for him in all the years she's known him. He just stares at her and his eyes go dark and he swallows so hard she hears something click in his throat. He scrambles to his feet, which is a little awkward for him since he's tangled up in his pants and underwear. He only pulls them up high enough on his thighs so he can walk without falling down. She follows behind him as he shuffles as quickly as he can to her bedroom. He stops inside the door and turns to wait for her, watching expectantly, waiting for her to tell him what to do. She marvels at the power of it. While he stares, his eyes burning holes into her the whole time, she unbuttons her blouse very slowly. He licks his lips a little when her siren-red lace bra comes into view. She opens the blouse, but leaves it on. She goes to the bed, crawls slowly to the top, letting him watch her ass as she does it. She turns, lays down propped against a mound of pillows. Watching him, she slowly works the tight skirt up to her hips so that he can see the lace of her panties when she parts her thighs slightly. She crooks a finger at him and he lunges for the bed, letting go of his pants. He's panting in frustration when they impede him, kicking them off, his hands reverently stroking the insides of her calves and knees as he crawls higher on the bed. He buries his face in her thighs, making small sounds of need. She lets him press her legs apart. He's whispering urgently as his fingers pull her panties to the side.

"God. Pepper. Let me. I need to. Jesus. Fuck. Eat you up. Anything for you Pep. Anything. Die for you. So sorry. Taste you. God, let me taste you."

Then his mouth is on her, hot and hungry and she gasps when his tongue rasps over her swollen clit and his teeth graze her and he suckles gently, still making noises in the back of his throat as though he can't help himself. She threads her fingers in his hair and tells him he's a good boy. He whimpers against her clit and that's all it takes. She screams when she comes, because as good as he has always been at licking her pussy, he has never been this frantic, this desperate to please her, and she's so turned on from just owning him like this that it nearly blinds her she comes so hard. And he does not stop. He sucks on her clit and jams two fingers into her sopping cunt, scissoring them inside her, pressing hard and deep. She moans and her nails scrape against his scalp. It makes him whine a little, his mouth pressed to her like he's starving for her, and before long she's coming again, panting and crying out for him. She tugs on his hair, pulling him up, up until he's above her, staring into her eyes and she sees he is still wild and lost in what she's done to him. She smiles, and she kisses him, tasting herself on his mouth, and when she rolls him, he goes over easily. He makes a small pain sound when his beaten bottom comes into contact with her bedspread and she laughs throatily.

"Oh yes," she murmurs happily. She straddles him, hooks a finger in her panties to make sure they stay pushed out of the way, and sinks down. Takes him in deep, her insides clenching and shuddering around him. She presses his hands into the pillow above his head. "Just like this. Keep your hands there, Tony. I'm having you the way I want. And I want you to feel it, feel your ass burning while I do it."

His eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back into his skull when she speaks. His hands twitch convulsively, but he doesn't move them. She rolls her hips and they both gasp. She grinds herself down hard against him, hears him whine in his throat and he squirms. Fuck, it's hot. She throws her head back and rides him hard, feeling him strong and deep and firm inside her. Feels the fine quivering in his muscles as he lets her take him, as he fights against his own impulses to take control of the situation and reclaim his dignity. He doesn't though. He pants and gasps and cries out in pain and pleasure and desperation as he lets her do whatever she wants, and she comes twice more before she takes pity on him, reaches up and takes his hands, places them on her hips. He groans raggedly and lifts her up a few inches as he raises his knees behind her, enough so he can hammer himself up into her. He says her name over and over again while he fucks her, hard and mindless and needy. When he comes, his fingers dig into her ass hard enough to leave bruises and she leans forward and kisses him, swallowing his guttural shout of release and relief. His arms go around her and drag her against him tightly, and they're both shaking, and shuddering, and laughing.

Later, while they lie naked together in her bed and eat pizza and watch Top Gear, she licks some sauce off his chin and smiles at him.

"I really am sorry about dinner, Pep," he says, smiling back. She raises herself on one elbow and laughs a little.

"Don't be. I didn't cook it. I had your personal chef deliver it. I never intended us to actually eat it."

"You are a devious woman, and I'm glad you're on my side. Remind me to give you an enormous raise."

"Okay. Think you'll be that late for dinner next time?" she says, poking him in the ribs. He grabs her wrist and bites her offending finger gently.

"Are you gonna spank me like that again if I am?" he asks curiously.

"Oh, much harder," she assures him with a smug smile.

"Hm. I have to tell you, Pep. I think I'm probably gonna be later."