Beneath the Surface (For Weonna)

[CyanDimitrik]

Immediately following this match...

Domino

People gave him looks. This wasn't like him. He'd never done anything like this before. But this was a special occasion, and being frank, the people who knew what came before this match knew exactly why this was happening. It wasn't a mystery. Lines were crossed. Lessons were learned forcefully. And now, there was a price to pay.

More or less.

Domino isn't letting himself second-guess things yet. He can worry about that when they get where they're going. And right now, feeling the manageable weight of Rianne's limp body supported over his shoulder, he has a steady reminder to keep him trudging forward. He can't say he's used to lifting her body, but after wrestling with her, he's gotten a little accustomed to it. But the whisper of contact with her blonde hair brushing against him, and the feel of her smooth skin against his hasn't at all worn out, not remotely dulled. He's acutely aware of each point of contact, and now that they're not professionally grappling in a sanctioned contest, it's all the more raw to the nerves. Even scandalous.

But that's the point. Even if it's extremely personal, and the details of whatever happens next will first and foremost strictly be between them, it still feels so out of his wheelhouse that it's striking.

THUMP.

The door to his dressing room yields under the weight of a heel-kick. He stomps into the room with her, using the heel of his boot a second time to shove the door shut behind him, slamming it sealed. Everything else that occurs will, in fact, be a mystery to everyone else. Maybe that'll be for the best, because...

Domino pushes the thought aside for now and focuses on the room.

It isn't the most special room LAW could provide. He's not a title-holder. He wasn't expected to do any sort of hentai match. This wasn't even a PoW. But the room is equipped with a couch on the far end; greatly oversized, plush, and inviting, if a dull maroon in color. That becomes his destination; not the showers, not the closet to get changed out. He's purely focused on the girl.

Upon reaching the couch, he leans forward to deposit Rianne's body gracefully upon the spacious cushions, letting her splay out as she will. His back straightens again to look down at her, brow knit in thought.

Maybe that'll be for the best, because he recalls how she reacted to him when he was squeezing her. He remembers how she reacted to him when he was holding her in the tombstone position. He recalls every bit of her excruciatingly physical response to his body as he taunted her in a carnal way. There's a part of him that knows she enjoyed the closeness, the tension, being overpowered and dominated. And that's appealing on an entirely new level; an irresistible level.

His gaze travels down from her face, taking in her body before slowly roaming up again. Was it just the fact that she'd been dominated like that? Or was it him in specific that she secretly wanted? He'd find out tonight.

Setting a knee to the cushion between her legs, he leans over her to set his hand flat over her bare stomach, slowly running palm over the ripples of abdominal muscle, gliding along the sweat-glistened skin upwards first, then downwards again.

"Rianne."

[Weonna]

Spoiler

Consciousness returned in fragments, a foggy haze of heavy limbs and fading adrenaline. The sensation of his hand sliding over her stomach was the first thing to pierce the darkness—a firm, warm weight that traced the damp lines of her abs. It was electric, grounding her in the present moment. The sound of his voice, low and rough against the quiet of the room, cut through the confusion.

"A....A....Ahh~"

A soft, breathy sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.

It was the sound of a body remembering the pleasure of submission before her mind had even caught up. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and unfocused, swimming in the haze of exhaustion as she felt the heat radiating from him, the scent of sweat and musk filling her lungs, anchoring her to the reality of the room and the man above her.

Her head lolled to the side, the fog in her mind slowly parting as the deep, authoritative voice cut through it.

"Wha's... wha's 'appenin'?"

The words slurred from her lips, thick with her native Cockney accent. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and clouded, struggled to focus, finally landing on the silhouette of the man leaning over her. Domino. The reality of the situation crashed down on her, and a hot, mortifying blush crept up her neck, burning her cheeks. She was on a couch, in his room, and he was touching her. The confusion on her face melted into a raw, wide-eyed embarrassment as she lay there, utterly exposed and at his mercy.

"W...Wha' the bloody 'ell y...y...you...d...doing?"

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino can be patient. He can bide his time until she seems to come to. In the meantime, he has enough to keep him occupied; namely, her body. Her midsection. Her beautiful abdomen. Now that they're not at each other's throats, he can let himself appreciate the fact that Rianne really is a stunning girl. And now, touching her couldn't be anything but indulgent, selfish, purely driven by desire. There was no way to attach a believable pretext to what he's doing. So he doesn't make one. In fact, he wants her to see this. He wants her to know he's touching her with no reservation.

Digits continue to explore the subtle grooves of her six-packed abdominals as she finally seems to come-to. And when her focus finally returns, his gaze flicks down to the culprit hand, then back up to her face. The movements don't cease, brushing over the smooth pane of damp skin.

"What I want," he replies to her, his tone even and smooth. Confident. Almost confrontationally so. "And what you want."

He leans over her further, his weight shifting to the hand bracing against her stomach. This brings the movements to stop, his palm resting flat over her navel. His deep purple gaze evens on her bright blues, studying her.

"I fought through everything you had to throw against me. I endured it. And I crushed you. Pinned you in front of everyone. They all know the score now. But I want to know if... you... know it. Because I'm not done with you."

[Weonna]

His words hung in the air, heavy and confusing. Her mind, still sluggish and clouded, struggled to process them.

The weight of his hand on her stomach was a grounding, terrifyingly real anchor.

"Yeah... alright, you won,"

she mumbled, her voice a raspy whisper.

Her bright blue eyes, still hazy, blinked up at him, a flicker of genuine bewilderment cutting through her embarrassment.

"But... wha'd'ya mean, 'not done wiv me yet'?"

The question was soft, laced with a vulnerability she would have never allowed herself to show in the ring, a quiet plea for clarification in the face of a threat she didn't yet understand.

[CyanDimitrik]

That sound in her voice, the Cockney-riddled accent usually so sharp and grating, now reflects a level of vulnerability that makes Rianne far more appealing. And it makes the situation that much more interesting. He still has the memory of her nasty side fresh on his mind, fresher still the way she wrestled with him in the ring - underhanded and vicious.

Here she is, at his mercy. And aware of it. Her tone has changed, and he's loving it.

"I mean...," he pauses as he leans closer. The right hand remains on her stomach, but the left hand moves forward as the weight is more evenly dispersed; it hooks behind her head, not minding the soggy, clumping nature of her wet hair after the match and pin. Rather, it's more exciting. It's raw. The direct result of their contest, just like the sheen of sweat glazing her abdomen beneath the other hand. "...exactly what you think I mean."

The right hand finally slides from the center of her stomach to the side of her waist as he lowers himself closer to her. The left arm settles further into the cushion behind her head, all to lift her face to force her mouth to meet his in a sudden, equally forceful kiss. It's not asking permission for that intimate contact, it's not easing in; it's claiming her mouth, first firm and unreserved, then after a couple seconds of kneading contact, more aggressively assertive.

[Weonna]

The world stopped. His mouth crashing down on hers wasn't a gentle plea; it was a verdict. A hard, possessive claim that stole the air from her lungs and the thoughts from her head. For a split second, her mind screamed:

Wait I fucking hate this man! The man I wanted to destroy!

Every venomous word, every cheap shot, every moment of pure loathing she felt for him flashed through her mind in a chaotic, silent riot. This was wrong. This was the ultimate humiliation.

But her body… her body was a traitor.

The initial shock gave way to a jolt, not of revulsion, but of pure, unadulterated electricity that shot straight down her spine.

A soft, involuntary gasp was swallowed by his demanding kiss, and her lips, which had been stiff with resistance, softened almost instantly. The aggressive pressure, the unapologetic way he took what he wanted, was speaking a language her body understood far better than the hatred in her mind.

Her hands, which had been limp at her sides, slowly lifted, not to push him away, but to hesitantly grip him... pulling him closer.

A soft, guttural moan vibrated in her throat. She hated him, she really did… but as his tongue swept in to dominate hers, all she could do was melt into the kiss, her body arching slightly into him, a silent, willing participant in her own complete and utter conquest.

[CyanDimitrik]

And there it was. There was that confirmation Domino was looking for. Not spoken, but clearly communicated. Not with words, but through obvious, almost needy feeling. There's a thin line between love and hate - both passionate emotions, both fiery, both riddled with desire. Tonight, Rianne seems to have fallen to one side more. Will she remain that way after the night? The thought crosses his mind in a brief flash, but-- right now, he so doesn't care. Because, in no uncertain terms, he wants this girl that vexed him horribly. That targeted him. That tried to humiliate him. That he conquered in the ring. He wants her in as physical, primal way imaginable.

Her tongue meets his in that first electrical point of truly intimate contact, the heat instantly surging up in Fahrenheit. Just as they had wrestled before in the ring, the new arena is the damp chamber of her mouth, pursuing her tongue to stroke, coil, and pin it. His body lowers over hers, meeting her feminine curves with unyielding contours; the first contact the press of his defined chest against her breasts, then the meeting of his chiseled abdominals against her stomach. Finally, but most pointedly, his hips find hers, nudging between her thighs. The kiss had rekindled everything, the stiffness she'd faced directly in the tombstone piledriver most pointedly. And as he presses forward, that concealed length brushes hard between her legs, foreshadowing his craving.

[Weonna]

The friction was blinding as the hard, demanding length of him, trapped between her thighs, was a firebrand that seared right through the damp fabric of her bottoms.

Her mind, still trying to grasp the irony of the situation—hating him while being consumed by him—went completely blank. There was no time for hesitation, no time for the pride she usually wore like armor.

With a breathless, desperate sound that was half-gasp, half-moan, her legs moved on pure instinct.

They hooked around his waist, locking tight, pulling him down with bruising force. She didn't just accept the contact; she demanded more, her heels digging into his lower back to drive him harder against her. The sensation of his body crushing her, the heat radiating from him, and the undeniable proof of his desire pressing into her most sensitive spot was a tidal wave that drowned out the last of her resistance. The man she wanted to destroy was now the only thing she wanted to feel.

[CyanDimitrik]

Any lingering doubts or second-guesses were immediately gone with the sound Rianne made beneath him. It doesn't matter how experienced a man or woman might be, that sound is universal; desire. Craving. And any shred or thin veneer of pretense vanished from them both.

Her legs snap around him, urgently clutching his body against hers. Domino responds by burrowing his arms between her and the cushions beneath her, wrapping the girl's body up in a mutual clench. Boots brace against the armrest near their feet, and he begins rocking against her, grinding himself over her. The kiss instantly intensifies, Domino letting slip a throaty moan against her mouth. The mingling of his tongue with hers slows, only as the focus evolves from aggressive pursuit to lavishing, sensual strokes. Every push of his toes against the footrest drives the hardened length forward and back, Rianne feeling every inch through their thin barriers, from base to tip and back again.

The heat between them ramps, not strictly from the body-to-body friction. Though the sensation of Rianne's breasts against his chest, her bare abs pressed tight and grinding against his own abdominals, has become a welcome, even yearned-for thrill. It began with the bearhug. Now, there's no excuse for the pleasure other than pure desire to feel her body on his.

Finally, the kiss breaks. His head lifts, a hand snakes up behind her head to grip her by the hair, pulling her head back to look up at him in response. His deep gaze locks onto her beautiful blues, each push rocking her against the couch rhythmically beneath him.

"Say it..."

"Say you want me."

[Weonna]

Each deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through her, a direct, pulsing current that made her toes curl.

The friction was exquisite, a maddening tease of what was to come, and she found herself rocking back against him, her body moving in a primal rhythm that was no longer hers to command.

The kiss had broken, leaving her lips swollen and tingling, but the air between them was still thick with the taste of each other. His hand in her hair was a firm, possessive anchor, a silent command that sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, making her arch into him even more.

His words, a low growl against her ear, were the final crack in the dam.

"Say it... Say you want me."

"Bloody 'ell..."

The curse was soft, a final, token resistance before the inevitable surrender.

"Alright then. I want you. I bloody want you, you arrogant sod."

She tilted her head back further, the grip in her hair sending a jolt of pleasure-pain down her neck, exposing the pale column of her throat to him. Her voice dropped to an even lower, more urgent whisper.

"I want you to take me. I want you to fuck me until I can't think, until I'm screamin' your name and beggin' for more. Do it...if you man enough..."