They rolled across the carpet and came to a stop with him on top, face to face, panting-smiling-glaring at each other. His hands encircled her wrists as she was pinned to the floor, his pelvis resting in the cradle of her hips as his knees held her thighs apart. He came down to claim what was (at the moment) his to take.
But she tossed her head to the side to avoid his kiss and in a feat of flexibility and lower body strength (thank you, marching band!), got her feet on his ribs and pushed him away. In seconds, she was on top of him, the tidewater tables having suddenly fallen into Luna's sway.
She pulled the handcuffs from her jeans and got them behind his back, slamming them into place with the ease of practice and passion. He groaned and surrendered as she straddled his back and chuckled in his ear, her red-stained hair forming a momentary curtain around their faces.
Then she kissed him, finally (briefly) gratifying him, before her lips began to nibble a path down his neck, behind his ear (to make a chorus of his moans), and then down his spine, taking pains for symmetry of pleasure. She smiled wickedly as her fingers played him and plucked at their mutual puppet strings.
And then he twisted beneath her, deftly working the safeties on the cheap restraints, catching her and switching the situation as quickly as they fade. But she managed to swing her arm about his waist before she was wholly captured.
They rolled across the carpet, face to face, panting-smiling-glaring adoration.
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