by Alexa Davis
When I stepped out of the bedroom, Jackson was watching me from the bed, with Stiles perched on his chest, staring at him, while he looked at me. I gasped and lunged forward to grab my cat before he started using his claws to get more comfortable and punctured the hunk of man-flesh grinning at me from under my sheets.
“You left.” He pouted at me, the sheet riding lower on his body as he half-sat up in bed.
“I peed, and ditched my stream to make you dinner. Which, will happen as soon as you tell me what you like.”
“I’d like you to get back in bed before we make any decisions about what to do next. I was pretty irritated that you put clothes back on, but watching you walk around in that tank top and panties is so hot I couldn’t stay mad.”
I tried to stop the flush I felt on the back of my neck from moving into my face and coughed lightly as I started toward the refrigerator. “Um. Do you want me to bring a beer with me, or just get back in bed so we can, uh, talk?”
“Beer is fantastic!” He sat up all the way fast, and I almost stumbled as the sheet fell back to reveal the spectacular bits of him I’d felt, but hadn’t taken the time to see, earlier. My eyes moved back to his face and at his grin, my face crimsoned and burned.
I turned too fast and almost stumbled again, but I made it to the fridge and managed to open and get a beer all the way back to Jackson without doing anything else to embarrass myself. I handed him the bottle and he patted the bed next to him, lifting the sheet a little so I could slide under. He paused and held it up so he was in full view again, and glanced at me.
“You seem to be overdressed for the occasion.” He drawled, looking at himself, then back at me. I shut my gaping mouth with a snap and slid in between the sheets still wearing my tank top and panties.
I gave him a sidelong glare. “Last time I checked, I had free will, which means that I don’t have to take my clothes off for you. Also, I plan on taking a little more time when we do that again, so we need to eat something.”
“I love a woman with a plan. But, let’s go out and get an early dinner, then not leave again until the convention. I need to do something to earn my keep.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Eating, I mean, not earning your keep. I have something else in mind for that.”
He put the beer down and scooted closer. “Oh yeah? I’m all yours, whatever you want… within the boundaries of my pain tolerance.”
I laughed. “Awesome. You’re my new costumer/dressing assistant. I have been waiting so long to show this costume to the world, and now you get to help me get into it, because, honestly, I can’t get this one on by myself.”
Jackson shot up in the bed, completely exposed and oblivious to it. “Can I see it now?”
I shrugged and nodded and he slid off the bed and padded toward the bedroom.
“Your studio is in here too, right?” He casually glanced back over his shoulder before opening the door. I nodded dumbly, staring at his muscular back and tight ass as he stepped into my workshop. Belatedly, I threw myself off the bed and chased him in.
I looked around the room and tried to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Instead of creative use of space and designs, I saw clutter and a headache-inducing array of fabrics and notions. There was a basket of my rejected feathers still in the corner; it looked like a basket filled with boas. There were sequins and glitter on every surface other than the costume, which I covered religiously with plastic to keep it unspoiled by dust, glitter, or the cat hair that I knew floated around despite my best efforts to keep it all under control.
The leatherworking corner, which I had thought was so quaint and industrious-looking, now seemed like just one more hobby stuffed haphazardly into the tiny space.
Jackson stood in the doorway to the studio, and I tried to remember if I’d left a dirty coffee mug or empty water bottles that would embarrass me. He glanced at me and snickered, then walked in all the way. “Hey, Babe, am I the first naked dude in your sound booth?”
“Uh, yeah. Good God, what do you think I do? Make guys strip down before parading through here?” I thought for a moment and continued, “Other than an interviewer from IGN.com, you’re the first other human being to be in the booth, and the first completely naked one.” He fist-pumped and I giggled despite myself. “You want to come out now, and take a gander at this piece I’ve been working on for the past two years?”
“Oh, my God. You mean the War Angel costume?” I nodded and he beat a hasty retreat from the sound booth and stood with his arms folded in front of the plastic shrouded mannequin. I stood and looked at him until he met my stare. “Do you need help with the cover?”
“Nope. You really going to just stand there naked?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
I chuckled. “Why am I more nervous about being naked than you are? I mean, you have no reason to be nervous… obviously. But, it was part of my job, and I always hated it.”
He looked down and shrugged. “I guess growing up with all guys, on the edge of a lake, being naked was just par for the course, most summer days. But, since it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable, just hard to focus on anything that isn’t the yummy-ness of you.” Jackson wiggled his hips and his eyebrows at me and I belly-laughed. “You are so full of yourself!”
He spread his arms and turned in a small circle with his lips pursed. “But, you like it.”
I giggled again. “Yeah, I like it, and I hope you like this.” I opened the fasteners on the makeshift plastic cover and gently peeled it back over the wings, folding it and hanging it over a hanger so it would stay clean on the inside. Jackson was silent, and after a full minute of not looking at him, I finally swallowed past the lump in my throat and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed, then he opened them and stared at the mannequin, then at me, then at the mannequin again.
“You are going to blow the convention away.” He gestured at the mannequin, getting so close, but being so careful not to touch it. “I don’t really want you wearing that in front of any other men, because I can already imagine what you look like in that.” I grinned.
“Well, I am testing the boundaries of how little I can wear in public and be comfortable. What you see is what you get with this one.”
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, rippling his muscles nicely. “Does that blue glow?” he finally asked, pointing to the boots standing with the shafts folded over.
“Yeah, I put battery packs in the soles, under my heels. They flash when I walk. I don’t know if it will work, I got the idea from my niece. She’s four, and her ‘My Little Pony’ runners light up when she walks. It uses less battery, and the flash effect lasts longer, of course. It runs up and down my leg, from midthigh to the tops of my feet, like blue flames.” He nodded and undid the bodice, whistling softly as he traced the precariously low neckline. He turned with the leather in hand, very careful to avoid the wings.
“Why are you still dressed?” He held up the costume. “I need to practice putting this on you, right?”
“I will take off my clothes as soon as you put some on. No matter how long you stay naked, I am never not going to be distracted by you.” He grinned and gently placed the top of the costume over the mannequin before swaggering out to the living room to collect his shorts.
Chapter Twelve
Jackson
While I was in the other room, she slipped into the cheeky-shorts that were the bottom for the costume. The original War Angel didn’t have wings, but in every rendition of her that I’d seen, she wore almost nothing. C.J.’s costume was true to form aside from those amazing feathered wongs. Still, I wished she didn’t seem so damn close to naked.
She put the boots on and zipped the backs up to almost the tops of her thighs. There were only a couple of inches of bare skin between her shorts and the boots, but that couple of inches was her ass hanging out the back, and the bit of thigh that most people didn’t show unless they were on
the beach or at the pool. When I walked back in, she was standing in the center of the room, in nothing but a pair the shorts with the blue metallic flames up the front and sides.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I cleared my throat and asked her if she could take off the boots for a second so I didn’t screw up putting the wings on. I was used to being taller than everyone, but she stood at nearly six-foot herself, which made her almost as tall as me in the super high-heeled boots. She slipped them off let me help her into the bodice. I held the wings while she clasped the hidden belt under the waist and adjusted the straps over her shoulders.
“Okay, let it go slowly, let’s see if the wings are right.”
I let go by increments and watched as she adjusted the shoulders and belt a little more. It seemed uncomfortably tight, and the extra-wide belt also pulled her in, giving her that ridiculously wasp-waisted look that artists always gave their female characters. Looking at the pained expression on her face, I refrained from telling her how hot she looked, like she’d just climbed off the pages of a classic comic-book, even without doing anything to her hair and makeup.
I helped her with the boots once she got the bodice secure, and stood back to watch her strut and get the lights in the boots “flaming.” She made a pass of the room, rolling her shoulders against the pull of the heavy wings. I saw that same pained look as she struggled to keep her posture straight, and started watching the way the brace moved under the leather of her almost non-existent top.
She popped out her hip and flipped a switch with her thumb when she settled her hands on her hips. My eyes and mouth flew wide open as I reached out a hand toward the wings, stopping myself just before I touched them.
“Oh, my fucking God. How are you not a professional costumer?” I gasped. “Not to mention that pose. Jesus Christ, I wish I hadn’t seen that. I’m gonna have to bring a baseball bat to keep the fuckboys from groping you.”
“Ha! Good luck with that. The groping comes with the territory. Doesn’t bother me too much, though. I’ve gotten really good at a quick heel grind to the top of the foot. They back off quick after that.” She considered for a moment. “I love watching them limp off.” She surprised me into a burst of laughter, as I backed away from her and lifted my hands out to the sides as if to embrace the image she was creating.
“How do you wear those damn wings? They must be killing you.”
“Actually, they are. But, how does the long piece down the back look?” She turned to show me the black piece of bodice that ran down the back between the wings, that hadn’t been visible with the wings closed. It went all the way down into the top of the shorts, and sat right against her spine.
“That looks damn seamless, even from this close.” I stepped in to make a closer inspection. “If you wanted, we could shore it up across your ribcage.” She turned and opened the decorative part of the costume and I pointed my fingers under her breasts trailing then across her ribcage. “Here, I can shore up the brace with some metal and sheath it in rubber, so it doesn’t cut into you.”
“Well, if we did that, I could pad it and make it sort of a demi-bra as well. The one thing that’s been bothering me is that she’s so big-breasted in all the art. My ladies don’t really cut it,” she added, bouncing a breast with her fingertips.
“Says who?” I scoffed. I refrained from grabbing her breast in my hand, though it took a lot of willpower to keep my hands to myself.
“Thanks,” she scoffed, “but if I pad the brace, I get the lift and fullness I need without my tattas falling out, and a little extra strength to the brace, while distributing the weight over something stronger than my lumbar spine.”
I traced my fingers across the area I had pointed to again, and she shivered when they trailed towards her back. I then crouched to the side of her and splayed my fingers over her ribs.
“We should do it like this.” I turned her to the mirror and showed her what I meant, hoping she got the image even through my clumsy representation with my wrist at near vertical, my hand twisted awkwardly, so the fingers of my hand lined up with her ribs. She looked down at my reflection in the mirror and I saw what she did: my face screwed up in concentration, looking as ridiculous as I felt. I cleared my throat past the tightness that was preventing me from talking, and let go of her.
“You don’t think I’m the biggest nerd ever for dressing up as comic book characters?” She finally asked, arching an eyebrow as we stared into each other’s reflections.
“I think you are cool as shit for being this good at creating these high-end, movie-grade costumes. Even if they weren’t this freaking good, how the hell can I judge? I went from hacking high-security at the DOD, to securing the money transfers of an ‘Overwatch’ streamer. To the black hat hackers, I’m a sellout. Not sexy.”
She started to undo the fastenings and I stood to help her shrug off the wings. I carefully replaced the rig on the mannequin as she sat on the ottoman in the middle of the room and shucked off the still glowing boots.
“Leave those on.” I pointed at the shorts. “We don’t have to eat just yet, do we?”
She looked down at the black and blue short-shorts. “What was your plan?” she laughed. “Want me to strut around the apartment like this for a bit?”
I lunged at her, catching her off guard, and picked her up before she knew what hit her, throwing her surprisingly light frame over my shoulder in a fireman carry.
“Nope. You’ll only be wearing them for another couple minutes anyway.” I dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and grinned down at her. “Damn you look good in those. Let’s see how they look, wadded up on the floor.” I grabbed the waistband of the shorts and pulled hard, forcing them over her hips and down her thighs. Halfway down I stopped and sat back to look again. The shorts were tight enough, that they hobbled her, forcing her thighs together. My mouth watered, watching her struggle against the binding the shorts provided and all I could think about was squeezing inside her.
I slid my finger into my mouth, wetting it, then forced it between her thighs, sliding it between her moist folds and rubbing it over her quickly swelling nub, before slipping it inside her and starting to work it in earnest. She writhed on the bed, pressing herself against my hand harder and arching her back as I reached down with my free hand and grasped her breast.
“Naked, now!” she gasped as she bucked against me.
I thrilled at the thought that I was driving her to the edge of the abyss with just my hands. My body reacted to her with almost violent need and drew a low chuckle out of me that made her shudder in reply. I undid the fly on my shorts while she watched, eagerly waiting for me to free myself. Her eyes on me turned me on even more, and my swollen shaft sprang free and stood so straight it almost pressed flat against my abs.
“No computer geek has a right to look that good naked,” she sighed, as I tugged her spanky-pants down and tossed them on the floor. I glanced down and nodded. They did look good in a pile on the floor.
“Says the super-hot cosplay model who is about to let a major geek up in her lady-bits.” I replied, setting one knee on the bed and wrapping my hand around myself, stroking the shaft as I watched glistening juices drip from her.
“You did not just say that and expect me to let you near me,” she gasped.
I bounced onto the bed next to her and kissed her on the mouth. “Of course, you will. You like that I’m dorkier than you.” I kissed her again, but this time, I rolled her under me, and when she kissed me back, she slid herself onto me, so smoothly that it took my breath away.
She tilted her hips, lifting from under me and rocking herself, rubbing against me even as she slid me in and out of her tight, wet embrace. I felt the muscles inside her grip me so tight it took all my strength not to lose control and finish before she did. Finally, I rolled us so she was on top of me, and pulled her down to my chest. She was so tall, it was easy to get her breasts to my mouth at that angle, and I sucked them one at a time and rolled her nipples b
etween my fingers as she closed her eyes and thrust harder and faster.
“God, I want to do the dirtiest things to you,” I confessed in a whisper as I felt her orgasm clench tight around me. Her eyes flew open and then she squeezed them shut tight as she threw her head back and cried out, digging her fingernails into my chest as she braced against the wave of pleasure that swept over her. She collapsed onto my chest and trembled, sighing into my hair. I lifted and held her against me as I sat up and turned us over. I began to move inside her again, looking down at her flushed face, and the tendrils of sweat dampened hair stuck to her forehead.
“I want you to do dirty things to me, too,” she said softly, as I tried to control my pace. “I fantasized about you before this, after we’d talked for all those hours.”
I swallowed hard. I’d done the same, but I was almost afraid to share what I’d pictured us doing. “What did you think about?” I slowed my pace even more, trying to hold on if possible before letting my orgasm overtake me.
“I imagined you walking in, and immediately bending me over the arm of the couch, and just taking me from behind, without speaking to me.”
My hard cock throbbed at the visual, and despite myself, I started to speed up again. “Tell me more,” I managed to gasp as I closed my eyes and thrust hard and fast.
“Sometimes, I imagine kneeling in front of you, with my lips wrapped around you…” she trailed off with a whimper and dug her fingers into my hips before continuing. “I get so wet thinking about using my mouth on you, in the car, even in a public restroom.” I felt a gush of her juices on the inside of my thigh and knew she could go again. I pinched her nipple harder, drawing a gasp from her throat, and slammed into her letting myself go completely. She wrapped her legs around my waist and clung to me for dear life as I thrust so hard and fast all I could hear was my breathing and the sound of sweaty flesh slapping together.
