Chapter 261: Cosplay Sexplay I

"Cats," she said, "take what they want."

"So take it."

She pushed him flat on his back. Climbed over him. Her mouth found his throat, his collarbone, the center of his chest. She kissed a path down his body with the focused attention of someone who had decided to memorize him. Her tongue traced the ridges of his abdomen. Her teeth grazed his hipbone.

"I can see why cats play with their food," she murmured against his skin. "This is fun."

His laugh turned into a groan when her hand wrapped around his cock. She stroked him slowly, her thumb spreading the moisture already beading at the tip. Her cat ears tilted as she studied him, head cocked, the picture of feline curiosity.

"Someone’s eager," she said.

"Fair point."

She lowered her head. Her tongue darted out—one small, tentative lick across the head—and his hips bucked. She made a sound that was almost a purr.

"Good," she said. "Very good."

Then she took him into her mouth.

The wet heat of her was overwhelming. She’d learned him so quickly—the rhythm he liked, the pressure, the spot just beneath the head that made his vision blur. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t take, twisting gently on the downstroke, and her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she bobbed her head.

His fingers found her hair. The cat ears were soft against his knuckles. "Olivia—"

She hummed around him. The vibration traveled up his spine and short-circuited his brain.

"Close," he managed. "I’m close."

She pulled back. Looked up at him with those green eyes, her lips slick and swollen. "Not yet."

"Why—"

"Because." She crawled up his body, her tail dragging across his legs, her whiskers brushing his cheek when she leaned down to whisper in his ear. "This cat hasn’t gotten what she wants yet."

She positioned herself above him. The bodysuit had a convenient opening—a detail he hadn’t noticed before but appreciated now—and she guided him to her entrance. Slick. Hot. Ready.

She sank down.

The sound she made was half gasp and half mewl, and it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. Her head fell back. Her throat arched. The cat ears stayed perfectly in place, a ridiculous detail that somehow made everything hotter.

"Sean." His name was a breath. "You feel—"

"I know."

She began to move. Slow at first. Exploratory. Her hips rolled in a rhythm that was all her own, and her inner walls gripped him with every stroke. The tail bounced behind her. The whiskers caught the light.

"Look at me," she said.

He did.

She rode him with the absolute command of a performer who had finally stopped performing. Her hands braced on his chest. Her breasts—still covered by the bodysuit, the vinyl stretched tight—bounced with every movement. Her mouth fell open on a moan.

"Touch me," she gasped. "Under the—there’s a—"

His hand found the opening in the bodysuit. Found her clit. Circled it with his thumb.

She came apart.

Her orgasm ripped through her, and she screamed—not his name this time, just a raw, unguarded sound that was pure pleasure. Her inner walls clamped down, pulsing and squeezing, and the sensation pulled him over the edge with her. His release surged into her, hot and endless, and he gripped her hips and held her down as he emptied himself inside her.

She collapsed onto his chest. The vinyl crinkled. The tail flopped.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she laughed. Soft at first, then fuller, then the proper kind, surprised out of her.

"That was—"

"I know."

"We really need new words."

"Later." He kissed the top of her head, careful to avoid the cat ears. "Much later."

She tilted her head up. Her whiskers were smudged. Her eyes were bright. "Sean?"

"Hm?"

"There are more costumes in the wardrobe."

"Three more."

"I know." She bit her lip. "Do you need a minute, or—"

"Give me five."

"Three."

"Four."

"Deal." She kissed his chest. "Round two in four minutes. Choose the next costume."

She rolled off him. He sat up, watching her pad barefoot toward the wardrobe. The Cat Girl costume was slightly askew, the tail crooked, the whiskers smeared. She’d never looked more beautiful.

She opened the wardrobe. Studied the remaining costumes. Glanced back at him with an expression that was calculating and delighted and just a little dangerous.

"Wonder Woman," she announced. "I’m going to save you."

"From what?"

"From waiting any longer." She grabbed the costume and disappeared into the bathroom. "Four minutes, Sean. Don’t disappoint me."

He didn’t.

---

She emerged from the bathroom in gold and red and blue.

The Wonder Woman costume was more armor than clothing—a golden breastplate that pushed her breasts up and together, a blue skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, red boots that climbed to her knees. The tiara sat perfectly in her hair. The Lasso of Truth hung at her hip.

She looked like a goddess.

She looked like she knew it.

"Citizen," she said, her voice dropping into something lower, more commanding. "I’ve received reports of a disturbance in this hotel room."

"Have you."

"Reports of excessive pleasure. Unauthorized orgasms. A man who keeps making his girlfriend scream." She took a step toward him. The boots clicked on the floor. "I’m here to investigate."

"And if the reports are true?"

She stopped directly in front of him. The tiara caught the light. Her eyes were fierce and bright and utterly in command.

"Then I’ll need to conduct a thorough examination."

She pushed him back onto the bed. This time there was no playfulness, no feline curiosity. Just the absolute authority of a woman who had decided exactly what she wanted.

"Hands above your head," she commanded.

He complied.

She uncoiled the Lasso of Truth. The golden rope gleamed in the dim light. "This compels anyone it binds to tell the truth." She looped it around his wrists, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to restrain. "Now. Question one."

"I’m ready."