Freedom

Part 6: Playing With Honey

In the cell, dimly lit the by the moon through the heavily barred window, Jerome grinned at the quivering, precious brat beneath him—Danica was a brat, but that was really the only thing that he could find the slightest annoying about her. Her face was caught with arousal, and he found her trembling to be empowering.
Although her wealth had come from drug trafficking, she considered herself one of Gotham's Elite, no less above the totem pole than that of a governor or the mayor of the city.

Jerome's fingers down her panties tapped against her heated flesh playfully; Danica bit her bottom lip with anticipation.

"My mother always told me that I had to stop playing with my food," he said, "before I eat it. But I think she was wrong. It's a lot more fun my way."

A hand on her wrists remaining firm against the sheets, and his other hand playfully rubbing her clit, Jerome watched Danica's face contort into pleasure. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, soft flesh against soft lips.

"Honey," Danica cooed, "please."

"Honey?" Jerome chuckled against her neck. "Been a while since anyone has called me that."

He released her hands, setting them free. And he straightened his back, straddling her waist. He pulled his hand from her underwear, receiving a disappointed moan from his lover.

"So tell me, Honey," he chuckled, "Were you the dealer in your relationship with your former beau or did you stay home and house-sit?"

Danica's panting ceased. Her eyes fell from his face, to his clothed chest and stomach, his hips—Sure, he was barely over the age of consent, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. The smug confidence was appealing, and she found his interest in her felony charges to be different. Not exactly the idle chat for foreplay, but this was *his* game, after all. Danica played along.

"My ex-husband stayed home," Danica answered him. "I made the deals."

"Did you do it because you liked the smell of it or because you liked the money?"

"It started with the money," Danica replied honestly, "then the lifestyle."

Jerome laughed with enthusiasm.
"Mmm, it's always the lifestyle. The sneakiness, the dark and dirty abyss of the underworld, right?"

"Coming out on top," Danica remarked
"So," Jerome drawled, "You were the Michelle Pfeiffer of Scarface, then."

Danica hissed, "Bigger. Much. Bigger."

Jerome cackled—then in his humor, Danica bucked her hips to kn hiock him to the side, where he landed on his back beside her. Danica ceased an opportunity to get the upper hand and straddled his hips, collected his hands in one sweep and pinned them above his head.

Jerome was surprised, but not disappointed at the change of scenery. He did enjoy their game, and he especially found it more invigorating now than he did before. Danica's bright eyes flashed. She lowered her face close to his. Her tongue licked his lips.

"You're so young, Jerome," Danica whispered. "Do you think you have more experience in this field than me?"

"What, Kitten? Going to teach me something?" Jerome remarked. "I'm 18, not 13. How old are you?"

"26, Darling. Not quite off the market, but it's not the age; it's the mileage."

"Well, I have to agree with you on that one." Jerome looked comfortable, as if he had been in many of these situations before, resuming casual conversation, though his own ache was beginning to strengthen under Danica's pelvis.