Thread: Inside Power Exchange [GypsyRose & Dane Stalling]

What were they doing? Regan might care tomorrow, but tonight, she didn't. She'd had enough to drink that the world was bathed in a warm, fuzzy glow, and she didn't need a drink to know that the touch of Matt's fingers on her bare back made her want to feel them on more than just her back. She could have invited him back to her place, or suggested that he invite her ... and that was where the glow set in and messed with common sense. She couldn't forget the way he'd looked draped over that throne, or stop wondering about all those props. It would be too strong to say that the thoughts had been in the back of her mind. A more accurate description was that it had been hovering around on the outside of her mind like summer fog rolled in off the ocean ... and somewhere between leaving the nightclub and now, the window had been opened to let it roll in and seep into the nooks and crannies. It wasn't a cold fog at all, though. It was warm -- warm, and inviting. Regan had to cover her mouth with her hands at Matt called Donna to cover the giggles. This was the kind of adventure that wasn't complete without a muffled giggle or too, but even so, she admired his aplomb, and his ability to improvise. She couldn't hear Donna's end of the conversation, but Matt's was enough to tickle at the roof of her mouth and behind her lips. If the fog of temptation hadn't been there to insulate against the desire to laugh, she might not have been able to restrain the giggles, but she didn't want anything to stop the adventure. Once inside, the urge to giggle went away, but the warmth of gentle arousal and the heady haze of adventure stayed. She could tell herself, as the lights flooded on and they moved into the costume room, that this was no different from earlier in the day, that there were set designers and producers and cameramen just down the hall -- but she knew the truth, and also knew that she wasn't going to suggest they go anywhere else. The costumes that Matt pulled out looked as if they would fit, but she was glad to hear him reject the first few selections. She wanted him to want her, and all of those first selections would have been caricatures. His fingers brushed along her shoulders, and then her back again as he helped her with the jacket, which had been draped cape-like, all the better to invite his touch as they had walked, and it would have been easy to just melt against the heat of his eyes. Was he thinking of backing her up against the wall and holding her there with his body as their mouths met? If he wasn't, then she certainly was ... enough that there was a mix of disappointment and anticipation as he directed her to find a costume, though his eyes lingered. Yes, your highness, she murmured softly, but the urge to giggle had gone. This wasn't a laughing matter, as the lightness in her stomach insisted, as well as the warm, growing tingle of excitement that had her nipples taut and pert beneath the shirt, all the more for the stroke of his eyes, the insistent pulse the apex of her thighs. The Dress She didn't know what was going to happen, not really, but Regan was certain that she wanted to find out. The hangers clicked softly as she sorted through the outfits. Few of them seemed in any way meant to please a king, though they would probably rouse interest in any red-blooded heterosexual male. They were all designed to hug curves, and to leave nothing of form to the imagination. Two looked as if they might work - a shimmering cocktail dress cut to the navel that really needed jewelry to bring out the expanse of skin that would be shown, and a feminine floral dress that looked period, if you ignored the fact that the skirt with its two inch ruffle and trim of soft transparent lace would hardly come to mid-thigh. The costume designer was, she thought, a leg man. If she hadn't had the legs, would she have gotten the part? That was an interesting question. Maybe they had chosen the cut to fit the costumes. Regan glanced over at Matt, who was engrossed in his own hunt, and quickly grabbed the black and white floral with its ruffles and the black satin bow-ties. One of the dust covers went over it while her body was still blocking Matt's view, and she was smiling, not quite meeting his gaze as she spoke. I'll go get changed and meet you on the set. A dress like this deserves to be seen in its natural habitat. The dress might not mind, but the memory of how it felt to kneel in front of the makeshift throne, with Matt gazing down at her as if he could snap his fingers and claim her ... that was something she wanted to feel again, never-mind the whys. It always felt good to get into character, but never before had a character drawn her into it so strongly on the front end -- and the funny thing was, as of now, she'd mostly invented the character in her own mind.