Contest
by loxley85
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/64/

Part 1

“What I would like, Wish, is to tie you down to the bed and hold a contest with you.”

He looked at her, the candles on the table catching the momentary glitter in his pale eyes. “And what kind of contest would that be if I am tied down to the bed, Agent Cady? I imagine that would put me at quite a disadvantage.”

She grinned at him, fork poised in mid-air. “But that’s the beauty of it. This has nothing to do with strength or physical prowess. It has everything to do with self-discipline and control.”

He dabbed his lips with the dark blue linen napkin. “Self-discipline and control? That would be out of my hands, so to speak, in such a position.”

“Not at all. It’s a game I read about that French working girls would play with their clientele.”

His lips twitched momentarily. “Do warn me, Agent Cady, if you are planning on dressing up as a French working girl? Turn of the century Paris would suit you quite well.”

She laughed. “Was that a compliment or an insult? I don’t play dress-up, Wish. Do you? No, wait, don’t answer that. There are some images I don’t need in my head.”

“My dear woman, what ever are you thinking?”

“I’ve seen you disguise yourself. You’re pretty scary, actually. But anyone that good at it? Gets off on it. You like dress up, Wish. So I don’t really want to see what you get up to in the bedroom.”

“I assure you, Agent Cady, it is not the dress-up element that appeals to me. It is the invisibility.”

They studied each other across the table. Cady ate the bit of trout at the end of her fork and smirked at him. “Intrigued, aren’t you?”

He rose to get the bottle of wine from the bucket, refreshed both their glasses, a bit of a twist furrowing his brow. When he sat down he leaned forward. “And if I say yes?”

“Then we both have a good time.” She took a sip of wine and ate the last of her fish. It had been exquisite, simply sautéed with a bit of wine, browned butter, and lemon. The green beans had been crisp and sweet—even the saffron rice was the best she had ever tasted. “Did you really cook all this?” she asked, putting her fork down with a sigh.

“You watched me, Cady. And what does the winner get?”

She gave him a wide smile. “I did intrigue you. If I win, that will be enough for me. But if you win, well, then you can do anything you want to me. For half an hour.”

He raised a brow. “There’s a time limit?”

“The contest has a time limit. You’ll see. If we do it.”

“Let’s think about it over gelato.”

They were in Cady’s apartment, having run into each other at the end of one of the agency’s most boring seminars in recent history. Cady had been dozing in the last row when the lights came back up following the Power Point presentation on some new policies and the required new forms. Attendance at one of the seminars had been mandatory and Cady had chosen to get it over with. She opened her eyes, aware even as she snapped fully back to consciousness that someone stood very close to her seat, nearly invading her personal space. She turned her head and was rewarded with an eyeful of familiar black. Black suit. She raised her eyes. Tightly knotted tie. Pale eyes studying her. Everything inside her leaped with pleasure at seeing him, but they were in public. She rose slowly and nodded at him. “Agent Pendergast,” she said. She put out her hand and he shook hers cordially.

He inclined his head. “Agent Cady. I see this particular topic was not one of high interest for you?”

She allowed herself a small, sour smile. “Paperwork is paperwork. Now I can mark off that I attended.”

“I agree.” They exited the room together, talking quietly but formally with a polite distance between them. He escorted her to the elevator.

“Care to share a drink?” she asked as they waited for the car.

“That’s very kind, but no thank you. I am actually cooking dinner for a friend tonight.”

She met his eyes, keeping her own cool and impersonal as well although her heart skipped a beat at the simple statement. She had never really expected to hear him say it, even though they had prearranged it at one point. “Next time, then,” she said.

“Quite possibly.” He inclined his head again and she got on the crowded elevator without him, leaving him waiting for the next car.

“Hey, Cady.” It was Agent Tracy, who had managed to push his way into the car with her. “Want to grab dinner? Some of us are going up the street.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Tracy, but I think I just want to get home.” She liked Tracy. He was solid, dependable, and easy to work with.

“I see Agent Eccentric didn’t take you up on the drink offer.”

“And you’re surprised?” she asked. They both laughed.

“He’s a hell of an investigator,” Tracy admitted, shaking his head. “But he always looks like he just mugged a hearse.”

Cady grinned. “Hey, whatever works for you, I guess. We worked on a case together. When he comes to town I figure it doesn’t hurt to be friendly. He’s always alone.”

“Yeah. And he likes it that way. Sure you don’t want to join us?”

“No, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“Yup. See you then.” They separated in the lobby and Cady decided to walk the eight blocks or so to her apartment. It would give him plenty of time to get there...

He was already in the kitchen when she arrived. “Wish, I could give you a key.”

“Neither of us needs those, Agent Cady. Where is your ice bucket?”

And so he had prepared dinner for them while she sat and watched, occasionally telling him where to find what he needed. He set the table with her favorite blue linen set, lit candles, placed the chilled wine close at hand, served them both directly onto the gold-rimmed white dishes Cady saved for special. Now they lingered over gelato, sitting on the sofa. She had kicked off her shoes, and loosened her hair. He remained as immaculately dressed as ever, tie tight to the collar, shirt still neatly tucked in at the waist. She looked at him and thought how much she wanted to start pulling all that constricting clothing away from him, slowly uncovering, rediscovering, the taut muscles of his shoulders and arms, the hard, flat abs, the lean muscled thighs.

“We only have tonight, Wish,” she whispered. “What do you want to do?”

He smiled at her. “No, Jemimah. What do you want me to do?”

She gave a little crow of delight. “Bedroom. Get comfortable. Everything off but your shorts. I’ll clean up and be right there.”

She put the dishes and pots in the dishwasher, dumped the ice, vacuum-stoppered the wine bottle and put it in the refrigerator. She extinguished the candles, wiped down the counter and headed toward the bathroom.

He had already been. She noted that the guest toothbrush had been used, and that the soap and shower stall were wet. An extra towel hung on the hook. She smiled to herself. Get comfortable, indeed. She washed up, brushed, sprayed on a light scent, and humming, padded barefoot and in her camisole to the bedroom.

She walked in on him folding his shirt and putting his tie atop it. He looked at her when she entered. “I trust we won’t be needing this?” He indicated the tie.

“No worries, Wish. I have my own stuff.” She went to her armoire. He didn’t move. “Well, go on. Lie down.”

Pendergast lay down on his back. “Position?”

She glanced at him. “You’re good.” She dug through a drawer and then looked at him. “What’s your preference? Scarves? Our handcuffs? Or maybe leather straps?”

He raised arched eyebrows in surprise. “Leather straps? And you told me you didn’t dress up, Agent Cady.”

“I don’t. Two of them are from an old suitcase. I don’t even recognize this one. Why do I have it?”

Pendergast allowed himself a small noise that suggested disbelief.

Cady looked at him and smiled. “So what do you think?”

“It’s your home, Agent Cady. I suppose scarves make the most sense.”

“Yes. I thought so too.” She came to the bed with a handful of assorted scarves, but tossed them aside momentarily to lie down with him and kiss him. Thoroughly. Greedily. Longingly. He put his hand into her hair, long fingers twining into the strands, pulling her closer. She breathed in his scent, ran her hands down the length of his arms, stroking the fine hairs, exploring the lean musculature. He moved his other hand slowly down the front of her camisole, lingering at her breasts, gently fingering her nipples. Cady moaned at his touch, kissed him once more, and pulled away. “Wish,” she said, breathless. “You’re going to make me lose focus.”

“And that would be a bad thing?” He reached for her and she moved out of his reach, got up from the bed.

“Behave,” she said, still a little out of breath. “You did agree to this.”

He sighed. “I suppose I did.” He arranged himself spread-eagle. “Like this, I assume?”

“Absolutely.” She went around to his left side and began binding his wrist to a slat in her headboard, but she paused. “I do realize I can only do this because you’re letting me.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Don’t sell yourself short, Agent Cady. You could overpower me. You just don’t because you can’t play with it.”

“You’re right. If I went to overpower you for real I’d have to break something. But all those other times—”

“Your technique is excellent. I acquiesced when we got to the point of pain, as any compliant martial arts partner will. I just didn’t use brute strength against you because then you would have to get serious. I am not interested in having any of my limbs, or my neck for that matter, broken by you.” He watched what she was doing. “Are you sure that knot is going to hold?”

She stopped again and gave him a look of exasperation. “Are we doing this or not?”

He smiled lazily. “Just thought you might want to check that.”

“You check it. Go on. Pull.”

He flexed his arm, tried to pull it free. “Impressive.”

“Thanks. I learned that one watching you.” She bound his other wrist and then affixed his ankles to the foot board. “This ought to hold well enough. And if it doesn’t, humor me. Oh, wait. I forgot something.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She ran out to the kitchen and got a timer, hurrying back to the bedroom with it, half-expecting to find him stand behind her door, ready to ambush her. It would not be the first time he turned the tables on her, and she shivered at the memory of him grabbing her from behind and getting her under his control so quickly she barely had time to think. And what he did to her after that...

But he was still lying on the bed, still bound, and he turned his head when she came back. “Timer?”

“Timer,” she agreed. “No more than half an hour.”

He strained momentarily against his bonds. “For half an hour, this should be adequate.”

“For half an hour of what I’m going to do to you, it had better be adequate.”

“All right, Agent Cady. You have me at your mercy. I know it’s for half an hour. So why don’t you explain the rest of this contest to me?”

Part 2

“It’s really simple, Wish. In the world of French pleasuring—can I call it that? Pleasuring. It sounds so lighthearted. Anyway, in the world of French pleasuring, there is a special treat where the woman will tie her man down and then pleasure him for half an hour. The only two rules are that there is no intercourse, and that once she starts, she doesn’t break contact with the appendage she is playing with at all. She can use different parts of her own body to keep that contact, hand, tongue, mouth, breasts. It doesn’t matter. She just doesn’t ever stop touching. And she never completely takes him.”

Pendergast was staring at her, completely expressionless. “And my part?”

“Is to hold out. If you can last a half an hour without surrendering yourself to me, you win.”

“Ahh. I begin to see.”

She frowned at him. “But no cheating and I mean that, Wish. If you cheat at this I will find something vile to do to you while I still can.”

“My dear Agent Cady, you have bound me to the bed. How am I going to cheat on you?”

“You?” She laughed. “All you would have to do is take your mind out of the game. I know you, Pendergast. And if for any reason you start to flag, I will know you’re doing chess in your head, or maybe performing katas. Anything to hold out. But it will be a dead giveaway, so I’ll know if you’re cheating. The trick for you will be to keep your mind in the game but not so much that you lose control and go over the edge.”

“And therein lies the challenge.”

“You got it.” She picked up the timer. “Ready?”

“I believe so.”

She looked at him and put the kitchen gadget down again. “One more thing.” She grabbed up her blue scarf and tied it firmly into his mouth. “Although I don’t know why I bother,” she remarked as she fixed the knot behind his left ear. “You never make any noise anyhow.” She met his eyes and saw the briefest glimmer of amusement. Then he turned away from her and fixed his gaze on her ceiling.

“Oh,” she said. “Getting ready, are we? Well, go for it, Wish. But I’m afraid you’ve met your match.” She crawled up onto the bed, leaned across him making sure that her breasts brushed against his face as she reached toward her nightstand, and set the timer. “Here we go,” she whispered.

She slipped back down his length, letting the silk of her camisole brush against his chest and his belly. And then she began to massage him, hand still outside the cotton boxers. Pendergast stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, but when she shifted her hand, began to use her fingers and just a little more pressure, he shut them tightly. Fascinated, she watched, still stroking him, fingering, sliding her hand up and down. He was pushing his head back against the pillow now, and his breathing was getting deeper. “I’m getting to you, Wish,” she whispered in her naughtiest voice.

She put her mouth against him and began to nuzzle him through the fabric, angling her head so she could watch the effect she was having. She realized he was fighting to control his breathing, slowing it down, making it deeper. His eyes were still closed, but she could see the tension in his jaw as he bit against her scarf. She put her hands on his thighs and felt the muscles ripple slightly at her touch. The tension in his legs was rising and that gave her a little thrill. She glanced back and saw that he was straining against the scarves that pinioned his ankles, flexing his feet and then arching. Still nuzzling him with her lips, she unfastened the small buttons on his boxers and finally made contact with the smooth, soft skin. She breathed warm breath against him, then began to lick, using short, gentle laps of her tongue. And was rewarded with just the slightest hint of a muffled groan.

She smiled to herself and glanced at the timer. “Hey, only another twenty-two minutes of this to go,” she announced, giving her mouth a break and rubbing a silk-covered breast against his skin. She changed the rhythm, cupped him against her, slid him up and down her cleavage, mouthing just the very tip of him at the top of each stroke.

His hands were clenched into fists, now, and the muscles in his arms were taut. His breathing was growing ragged despite his attempts to control it. She kept him at that edge for another two minutes. “Remember what you did to me with your tie, Wish?” she asked in a soft wicked voice. “Remember how long I held out during that interrogation? You were in control and I didn’t have a choice like you do. All I could do was squirm and moan and take it. Oh, and what you were doing to me...” She pulled in a deep breath suggestively. “But what I’m doing to you still leaves you a choice, you know. You could let go if you wanted. You can have release. Here. Let me help you.”

Now she took him into her mouth, slowly, slowly, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him. And as slowly as she drew him in on the down stroke, just as slowly did she uncover him, centimeter by centimeter, on her up stroke. His limbs were tightening in earnest, now, as he strained at the wrists and ankles. The muscles in his shoulders were flexed, rigid. She mused idly that it would be a wonderful time to sink her teeth into him. But she stayed where she was, engulfing him in her wet, warm mouth, teasing, playing, manipulating. And every now and then, there would be just a small groan, just the tiniest sound. But it was music for Cady. She decided to push it, readjusting herself, putting a warm hand against him, maintaining silken friction.

“Look at me,” she said. He turned his face toward her and opened his eyes. “You have me so hot, doing this. Can you feel it? How hot I am? I wish you could touch me, but oops! Guess not.” She smiled at him teasingly. “So I should just touch myself, right? You can watch. I can stroke myself here, see? Ooooh, not quite like you do it, but oh, that feels good. Or here.” She moved her fingers up her front. “I miss your mouth right about here, Wish. I miss what you do with that amazing tongue of yours, and your lips. Right here.” She caressed herself, putting on a show for him, noting what it did to his breathing. The most intriguing flush was rising up his chest to his neck. He shot her an unreadable look, turned his head away, closed his eyes again. “You really don’t like to lose, do you?” she said with a little laugh. “But unfortunately for you, I know exactly what you do like, and if I choose to do it, well, you can’t exactly stop me, now, can you?” She ran her free hand up the inside of his thigh and felt his trembling grow even more marked as he involuntarily responded to her touch.

She looked at the time. Another fifteen minutes. He had lasted half the regulated time and that in itself, she knew from her reading, was more than impressive. Could she end it quicker? “You know, when the ladies do this in France, they use rooms with a mirror on the ceiling,” she said conversationally. “Think about it, Wish. What would that look like, do you think? You, all helpless and completely wrought up, and me, teasing the living daylights out of you, stroking, caressing, kissing...or this?” She took him once more into her mouth and his entire body tensed against her, a broken moan coming from behind her blue scarf. “You could be watching this whole thing and not be able to do a damn thing about it except feel it. And react.” She could win, she realized, beat him at his own game, as it were. He was always so in control.

Control. That was the name of his game, always. She recognized it as she had the same need herself. But this... Even though he had agreed to it, even though he had known all the rules and everything that was likely to happen—she had wrested control from him and there was no possible way to deny it. She had been orchestrating every response she got from him and they both knew that. It was possible she had never seen this man quite so vulnerable, ever. She had a feeling that this was the most intimate they could ever possibly get. And she was not sure how she felt about that...

Out of that line of thinking, as he groaned once more and she saw the perspiration collecting beneath his shower damp bangs, no longer tidily brushed back from that aristocratic forehead, she found herself wondering if she should cheat. The working women in France were doing it on a wager, giving the money back to the client if the client won. But this was not for money. This was a game, and she was playing it with absolutely the hottest partner she had ever known. Even now, when she was totally in control, she felt her own need growing. Every time he writhed, every small noise he made... She wanted him.

She knew she was tormenting him. Wish never groaned in agony. She had never seen him in any extreme circumstance, but she knew him well enough to know that. But here he was, allowing himself just the bare minimum of vocal, wordless anguish, and only every now and then. But she could see how much tension was in his muscles, and his hips were beginning to rise with her...

She curled her fingers around him, stroking gently, not breaking contact, and moved close to his face. “Wish,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her once more and she could read all of it in the pale glance he gave her, his desire, his battle for control, his stubbornness, his need. She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “Hold out. I want to lose to you.” She looked at him again and he gazed at her above the gag, breathing labored as her hand continued to stroke him.

For a moment she couldn’t decide which of them was in more agony. He was so much better at inflicting it than she was, she realized. The last time she had had him at her mercy, she had barely been able to keep up with it. On the other hand, the last time he had rendered her helpless, binding and gagging her, using his tie against her, he had been completely in control the whole time, dispassionate, calm, even teasing. She realized suddenly that she did not have that capacity. She wanted him. His eyes were still open, looking at her and she kissed them shut, then kissed him through her scarf, as he had once done to her. His lips were muffled by the fabric and suddenly she wanted to feel their touch. Dammit, she was pathetic. And then all at once she realized that he knew it. His eyes had been open. He had read her like any book he could have selected on her shelf. And the knowledge, apparently, had given him renewed determination. She felt his self-control shift just slightly. His muscles relaxed just a fraction. His breathing became just a little more regular.

“You demon, Wish,” she said, nearly laughing. “You almost had me, you sly, sneaky little...” She slid back down his length. “The hell with it, I want to win.” She took him into her mouth again and went to work, hard and soft, teasing and then pressuring, using her lips, then using her tongue. Just for the heck of it, she moaned loudly with him in her mouth, surrounding him with warmth, with wet, with the throaty vibration from the noises she made. But the sounds of her own desire, a bit too loud, a bit exaggerated and done more to play with his mind than her own, eventually backfired. She found her breathing was getting deeper. The scent of him, the taste of him... She had her hand on one of his thighs and the tight muscle informed her hand, the fine hairs just whispered their touch against her. She groaned in earnest.

And there was an answering groan from the head of the bed. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His eyes were open and again staring straight up at the ceiling, but his fingers were splaying open and then closing tightly into fists, arm muscles completely rigid. His pelvis was beginning to buck against her and his legs were moving back and forth as far as his bonds would allow. He filled her mouth, he filled her senses. His heat was palpable and there was a light film of moisture forming on his hips and his belly. She closed her eyes to it, but couldn’t keep them shut. He was gorgeous. He was so hot. And they hadn’t seen each other, been together, in far too long. Images of him in his black suit, his impeccably brushed white-blond hair the very first time she had seen him, played into her mind. She remembered the first time they had been together, the first time she had slipped his pants down and finally touched him... She stroked the muscles in his torso, slipped her hand beneath him and felt the tightness in his back, his buttocks, as he struggled against his own need. He was shaking, embattled with desire, and that desire was for her. At this particular exquisite moment, it was all for her. She looked up, still tonguing, still teasing, and their eyes met, his glance glittering and as eloquent as if she had not stilled his voice. His breathing was very deep, very ragged. He shifted endlessly, restlessly beneath her. He was so close, nearly there. But so was she.

The timer showed another seven minutes.

She groaned again in her own right. “Damn you, Aloysius. Just damn you.” She didn’t hesitate any longer, but straddled him in one swift movement and plunged him into her, taking him as far as they both could go, and a wordless muffled cry broke from him. She moved against him, took his face between her hands, kissed his captive mouth through the scarf, his response frantic as he struggled to kiss her back. He was bucking under her and now he twisted for real, helpless, desperate, needing her as deeply as his eyes told her. “You let go, Wish,” she whispered fiercely. “You let go right now.” She pumped with him and felt the initial huge shudder, not sure if it was his or hers, as she hit the brink and tumbled over. She tugged the gag down and out of his mouth and put her lips to his, catching every sweet agonized moan he gave her, savoring his struggles, his torment, his complete surrender as she met it with her own. He could not put his arms around her so she put hers tightly around him, hugging his hard chest to hers, clutching at his back, kissing him so hard it hurt.

“More,” she demanded, barely able to catch her breath and he kissed her more, as hard as he could, as the last of the wave took them both and he caught her last scream away as it tore through her, captured it with his mouth against hers, soothing her even without the use of his limbs. She broke away from him and cried aloud the final ebbing of her passion, then let her head drop to his chest as they both began to catch their breath. She cuddled into him, feeling his heart thumping against her, feeling the rise and fall of his chest at last growing less marked as he began to come down from the crest.

The timer went off. Cady stirred herself to shut it off, then lay back down against him.

“My dear woman,” he said at last, irony laced through his drawl. “It appears we have both lost.”

“Shut up.” She turned her head and nibbled at his chest before looking at him. “We both won.”

“That would be debatable by the French rules, I would imagine.”

“Do you really care?” she asked. They looked at each other and she laughed out loud at his rueful smile. “C’mon. Let me get these scarves off of you.”

“That would be appreciated.”

She had to work at the knots which had grown tighter with his struggles, but at last freed first his right hand, and then his left. They both worked at releasing his ankles, and then he reached up and removed the blue scarf that still dangled from around his neck.

She talked him into a late night bowl of gelato, padding into the kitchen naked, although he insisted on keeping on his boxers. “You gotta loosen up, Wish,” she said.

He merely smiled at her and took the dish of gelato she offered him. When they had finished the snack, he wandered back toward the other end of the hall and she assumed he had gone into the bathroom as she put rinsed dishes in the dishwasher and washed the scoop. She snapped off the kitchen light and walked down the hall to her room, thinking back on the last few hours, shivering a little at the memories—and realized too late what was happening.

He took her from behind, coming up on her swiftly and silently as she passed the bedroom door, pinning her arms as he pushed her toward the bed. “My turn,” he whispered wickedly.

“Damn you, Wish,” she managed, and then, laughing, she struggled against him for all she was worth.