Author’s Note: this was a gift for one of my terrific betas, Lovellama, who has come through time and time again in so
many of my fandoms for me. She adores Wilson, and helped me create Emily Mansfield in the Tempered series, so
I wanted to thank her in a special way. This fic is for her, and out of her generosity she’s allowed me to post it and
share it with other readers—thanks, Jo!
“Not that one, Miss Snug—“ he warned softly, even though he was smiling. “Much as I
adore you, there are lines that you probably shouldn’t cross.”
Emily pouted a little, and stared at the dress again, feeling a sense of amused
frustration well up. She tossed it down on the bed and clung more tightly to the towel
wrapped around her.
“It’s the ONLY one that’s ready to wear, James. We don’t have time for me to press the
“Really? Hmmmm,” he murmured, staring in the mirror and trying to get his bow tie on
straight. Emily shot him an impatient look, tinged with a little lust.
Lord he looked good in a tux. James Wilson had the frame to fill one out properly: big shoulders, lean body, athletic grace and just a hint of masculine arrogance in his
stance. Emily smiled to herself, well aware that he was conscious of her watching him.
He tugged his collar a bit and drew in a breath.
“Nearly there. So—you need to get dressed, Emily.”
“I can’t,” she snapped, “You’ve censored my wardrobe.”
“I didn’t---look, you can wear the dress as long as you keep that . . . shawl thing on too.
For one thing it’s going to be drafty in that room, you know it’s true.”
Emily’s mouth quirked a little as she heard the unspoken part of his statement just as
clearly: And for another I don’t want anyone ogling you.
“What if I get too warm?”
“I’ll bring you a cup of ice,” Wilson countered, settling down into the padded chair and
resting his elbows on the arms. He laced his hands together and looked at her with
bright expectation, his eyes a warm whisky brown as he studied her.
“You’re watching me—“ she accused. The dimple on his cheek deepened.
“Prerogative as the boss of this room.”
“James—“ Emily protested a little, feeling heat blooming on her face and between her
thighs now. He settled back in the chair, not saying a word and she bit her lips.
Oh the things he demanded nowadays!
Carefully she sauntered over to the dresser and pulled open the topmost drawer,
carefully brushing through her lingerie until she found the set she’d never worn yet.
With care she laid out the burgundy and black lace panties and bra, then turned back
to the drawer, shifting to the left side, where she kept her hose.
Pantyhose were out; she could tell that by the heated gleam in Wilson’s eyes. Taking
her time, Emily sorted through until she found a pair of black stockings with little black
rose highlights here and there along them. When she held them up, he cleared his
throat in approval.
“Very chic,” Wilson murmured in a soft, low voice that made her tingle. Emily pretended
not to care and tossed them on the bed.
“I’m going to freeze, you know.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
“Panty hose would be more practical.”
“Someone,” Wilson replied firmly, “is getting a little cheeky. Be good, Miss Snug, or—“
Emily squeezed her thighs together at the sound of his low, sweet threat and swallowed
hard. Already her nipples were stiff and it wasn’t from the cold. Distantly a chime
sounded. She looked over at Wilson, who had a dangerous smile on his lips.
“Someone’s at the door,” she murmured, reluctantly breaking the hot little spell between
them. The doorbell rang again. Annoyed now, Wilson rose to answer it, and while he
did that, Emily quickly dressed. She was just smoothing the material down over her hips
when she heard him step back into room; spinning she caught sight of him with a clear
plastic box in his hands.
He shot her a dark look, clearly disappointed to have missed seeing her dress. Emily
lifted her chin a little defiantly and pretended not to see it. Wilson handed her the box.
“Thank you,” Emily murmured, gazing at the dark red rosebud within the box. Wilson
opened it and fished out the matching boutonnière, then picked up the corsage. He
dandled it in his fingers, eyeing her neckline while he considered where to pin it.
The dress was a lovely creation in rich black velvet, with a deep V-shaped neckline and
long fitted sleeves. The bodice fitted Emily’s ribcage like a glove and the skirt flared a
little, standing out because of the black tulle netting underneath. She kept her jewelry
simple; a thin band of matching black velvet around her throat, and a pair of dangling
jet earrings that caught and reflected gleams of light.
Wilson slid cool fingers under the edge of her neckline, lifting the material a little. He
pressed the corsage against it, letting his knuckles caress her collarbone as he took his
time pinning the flower. Emily tipped her face up to watch him, breathing in his cologne, adoring the way his bangs fell into his eyes.
“You look so handsome,” she murmured. Wilson smirked.
“Thank you. It’s in the handbook—doctors who have to make keynote addresses must
look good for the photo ops. Stop wriggling.”
“I’m not wriggling,” Emily protested, suddenly feeling the urge to do just that. Wilson
was so close, and so tempting; she shifted, and let one hand touch up along his thigh, caressing the good wool trousers of the tuxedo. Wilson worked the second pin into the
corsage and ignored her. She slid her hand higher, caressing him and he gave a little
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Yes, I can sense that. But you know the rules of this room, Miss Snug. Behave, or pay
the consequences. Girls who break those rules are subject to punishment.”
Emily caught Wilson’s warm, challenging stare and smiled, feeling more heat between
her thighs. Carefully she cocked her head batting her eyes at him.
“So it matters even in public?”
“Even more so in public. Good girls are treated to good things. Bad girls need . . .
correction,” Wilson reminded her in a low and serious voice. He laid his hand over hers
and gently plucked it from his thigh, bringing it up between them. “And tonight there
are . . . SO many rules you need to remember, Emily.”
She drew in a breath, a little excited now, well aware that he was deliberately
challenging her, giving her a chance to choose. Carefully Emily flicked her tongue out
over her glossy lipstick. “What rules, Mr. Hobbes?”
He took her hand and led her out to the living room, opening the hall closet. Carefully
Wilson pulled out the soft crochet angora shawl and draped it over her shoulders.
“Wear your wrap. Keep your flirting to a minimum—no teasing Chase tonight. Stay away
from Henderson too for that matter. And no . . . playing.”
Emily heard his voice thicken a little at that last comment, and a delicious shiver ran up
her spine. She looked through her lashes at Wilson as he ushered her out the front
“But that’s not fair . . . “ she breathed as he opened the car door for her. For a moment
Emily pressed up against Wilson, nuzzling his collar, her tongue flicking out to the
freshly shaved warm skin under his ear. “No touching you under the table? No footsie?”
Wilson slid one hand down the slope of her hip, his breathing deep and controlled. “No,
Miss Snug. I need all my concentration for this damned speech, so keep your naughty
hands and thoughts to yourself tonight. Don’t force me to . . . check . . . on you.”
Emily blushed, and took her time climbing into the car, suddenly feeling achy all over.
*** *** ***
The dinner was progressing nicely, and Wilson relaxed a little, feeling a dual sense of anticipation now as he stood chatting with Foreman and Chase. Both of them looked
good tonight, and had helped themselves to the bar more than once so far. Looking over
the crowd, he estimated that the gathering was at least a hundred people or so, most of
them from Princeton-Plainsboro and Memorial. Wilson checked his watch, and then
scanned for Emily.
She was with a crowd of her own, chatting with two women in an animated fashion, and
with a surge of pleasure he noted that her shawl had slipped down around her back,
exposing her lovely shoulder blades and sleek spine.
“Excuse me a minute—“ he told the two doctors, and strode over to Emily, coming up
behind her. She turned, catching his expression and for a second, her blue eyes
“Emily,” he smiled. With a courtly but deliberate gesture he tugged up her shawl,
moving to whisper softly, “I caught you. Behave.”
“Hey!” she protested, but he’d shifted his attention to the two women, introducing
himself politely. Both of them focused on Wilson with delight, and Emily felt a surge of
pride and jealousy in the way they responded to his gentle charm. Once they were all
in a discussion, she wandered away, knowing he’d notice sooner or later.
Hopefully after she’d managed to flirt a little.
Emily found herself rubbing shoulders with a morose House, who had settled in against
the back wall of the room, eyeing the crowd with his usual mix of cynicism and bleak amusement. His tux looked slightly shabby, and his sneakers made a defiant fashion statement. She smiled at him.
“Mansfield. You look too hot to be a shrink,” he observed. Emily preened a little.
“I like a man who thinks the way I do. You look on your way to getting drunk.”
“It’s been known to happen,” he agreed, watching her settle in next to him with a
suspicious eye. Then he glanced over several feet away and caught sight of Wilson,
and a faint cynical curl turned his mouth up.
“Ah, I see . . . somebody’s pushing Jimmie’s buttons tonight. This will be fun.”
“Care to play along?” Emily commented, both amused and a little startled at his
perception. House eyed her up and down, then lifted his chin.
“Will it involve bad language and some groping? Because I’m all about the groping.”
“I bet you are . . . but for the moment I’d settle for some leering and suggestive
comments,” Emily told him through a conspiratorial grin. House arched an eyebrow at
“Okay, but you have to get smutty too, Doc. I’m not getting caught with a left hook for
no reason you know.”
“Wilson would never punch you!” Emily protested in startled amusement. House
“No, but YOU might. Tell me, have you ever explored your sexuality in college? Don’t
leave out any of those details that uncle Greg SO loves.”
Wilson worked his way over a few minutes later, his expression gentle, but a bit of flint in
his eyes. House shot him an overly jolly look, sipping his drink as he greeted him.
“Almost show time—Emily here has just been telling all about her sorority pillow fights
and tickling parties.” House rolled his eyes and made a self-satisfied face as he
theatrically whispered. “I can vouch that for a psychologist she’s definitely . . . in touch
Wilson arched an eyebrow at Emily, who was suddenly very interested in her glass of champagne. House pushed himself away from the wall and planted his cane on the
carpet, sighing. “Time to go find Cuddy and see if she’s had enough to let me stare
openly at her chest. Have fun kids.” He lumbered off, leaving Wilson and Emily behind.
For a moment both of them said nothing, and then Wilson spoke in a slow, soft tone.
“That’s three rules broken, and I haven’t even made my address yet, Miss Snug.”
“He ASKED,” Emily tried to protest, but she was biting her lips to keep from smiling.
Wilson sighed, and turned to catch her eye. He looked both serious and smoldering.
“It’s House; of COURSE he’d ask. What did you tell him, exactly?”
“Oh just a few innocent stories. About how I kissed Mandy Patterson on a dare, and the
time I went streaking . . . “
“Yep. Past a few fraternity houses actually—“
“That’s enough. It’s clear I need to keep a closer leash on you tonight,” Wilson
commented, “Come on—“ So saying, he moved towards the double doors at the back of
the room, not looking back to see if she’d begun to move. Emily did, feeling her legs
tremble a bit a she meekly trailed after him. Wilson stepped into the carpeted hallway
and turned, walking down towards the banks of elevators.
Beyond the elevators, the hallway came to a little a dead end against a huge glass wall
facing the river; small padded benches and towering Ficus trees created a snug little semiprivate setting. Wilson stood looking out into the blackness beyond the glass,
seeing his reflection there, along with Emily’s as she came to stand beside him. He
turned to face her, his body shielding her from view.
“I’m going to check on you,” he told her slowly. Emily’s eyes half-closed, and she said
nothing. Wilson moved closer, one arm slipping around her waist. “Show me.”
Emily took a breath, and grasped her skirt. Very slowly, she lifted it up to her navel level, brushing the tulle netting up as well, revealing her stockings, garter belt and panties.
The sudden coolness of exposure tickled her skin, and the lovely thrill of seeing Wilson
sigh harshly made her want to shift a little and rub her thighs together. His hand
touched her stomach, and then smoothly slid down, under the top of her panties, his
palm cupping her curly mound in a perfect caress. Emily shifted her legs apart eagerly.
She moaned, and quickly stifled it, aware of how loud it was. Wilson laughed, and
pressed the heel of his hand against her vulva as he stroked her a few times. “Damp
already,” he whispered in her ear. “Honestly Miss Snug, I’m not surprised. You need to
stop thinking about your sweet little box. Just behave and when we go home I’ll be
happy to give you exactly what you’re craving.”
Emily’s grip on her hem tightened, she rocked, pushing herself harder against Wilson’s
hand. He let his fingers toy softly with the slick seam of her sex and spoke again. “But
until then, you need to stop imagining naughty things. I don’t want you to think about
sucking my cock, or coming like the luscious hellcat you are while I screw you deep and
hard. Behave, Emily, or take your punishment.”
He slipped his hand out of her panties and smoothed her hem down again; dazed,
Emily let him do it, her eyes unfocused, her breathing a little erratic. Wilson smiled at
her serenely and checked his watch once more.
“Time. You need to go find a seat up front where I can keep an eye on you.”
*** *** ***
“ . . . And so as we continue to make amazing advances in diagnosis, treatment and prevention, now more than ever it becomes essential that every medical professional
revisit the fundamentals of good medicine. Every new cure, every wonder drug, every
key practice should come from the wellspring of our Hippocratic Oath and our personal dedication to the vocation of the healing arts. Thank you.”
The applause that greeted the end of Wilson’s speech as warm and heartfelt; the room resounded with it for several minutes and behind the podium, he blushed slightly
before stepping away. Moving to fill his place, a smiling woman in a glittery green gown clapped and watched him stride off.
“ . . . Wonderful! Thank you so very much, Doctor Wilson. With those stirring sentiments
in mind, I’d like to welcome you to the tenth Annual Mid-Atlantic American Cancer
Association dinner.” She droned on, but Emily didn’t listen; her focus was on the man
moving down from the dais and heading towards her, hands shoved deep in his
pockets. He looked relieved and modest; his grin wide as he shook hands thrust his
way. Gradually Wilson took a seat next to her at the long table and picked up the glass
of champagne waiting there, sipping it gratefully.
“Well I’m glad THAT’S over,” came his heartfelt mutter. Emily smiled at him.
“It was an excellent speech, James. Reaffirming the vocation, good stuff.”
“Thank you—considering you’ve heard it a few times in practice already,” he teased
gently. Emily laughed, patting his arm, and shooting him a loving glance. He ran a hand through his hair and draped his lanky frame back on the chair, relaxing.
Gradually Emily rose and shot him an innocent glance. “Have to powder my nose,” she commented. Wilson watched her go, gaze so intent that he missed House’s approach.
The other man thumped his cane down and dropped into the vacant seat on the other
side of Wilson.
“Damn it, you are SO gonna get laid tonight. I hate it when your prospects are better
than mine,” came the complaint. Wilson tried not to smile but it was difficult. House
pulled out his Vicodin and popped the lid off with a little difficulty.
“Nobody drunk enough yet?”
“Certainly not me—but I’m biding my time. I’m making sure Cuddy’s glass stays filled.
When that woman’s blitzed---“ House’s expression shifted to a dreamy, lustful stare,
“Not an inhibition left. Total Wild Woman.”
“You’re kidding. I’ve never seen Cuddy drunk—“ Wilson protested faintly. House gave a
“No, it only happens about every three years, and I’ve been lucky enough to be around
for the last two times to gallantly take her home to get ravished by her. I tell you, under
those smart little business suits and Matsuke pearls is one succulent hottie with some
“That’s more than I wanted to know . . . and slightly arousing,” Wilson replied, feeling
slightly flushed. House lolled his head towards his friend and flashed a quick grin.
“Ain’t it? Not that Emily Mansfield is anything to sneeze at. She’s got quite the dirty
mouth on her, for a shrink.” Wilson looked as if he wanted to say something, but House
shook his head and popped the Vicodin. “Don’t let her charm up Chase or he’s liable to
blow his wad in his designer briefs. Okay, off to offer the boss lady a refill and some
lecherous looks. Don’t wait up—“
Wilson watched House lurch away, towards the table where Cuddy was laughing loudly
with two strangers. He turned his attention back to the other side of the room and
noticed Emily was standing with Cameron. Chase was with them, his attention locked
onto the two women, his face slightly red. Wilson laughed softly to himself.
“Oh Emily, you really ARE pushing the limits, aren’t you?”
He rose and slowly strolled towards them, working at a calm that was getting a little
harder to maintain, and by the time he reached the group Wilson almost had it down.
He flashed a smile around the group.
“So, what’s got this group looking so merry?”
“Nothing,” Chase responded quickly, but Wilson could see the tint of red hadn’t left the younger man’s face yet. Cameron hid her smile behind one slender hand.
“Doctor Mansfield was telling us about a patient she had who, uh, liked to dress up as a
little girl to have sex.”
Wilson considered that a second, “Nothing too odd about that, as long as the patient
can always separate fantasy from fact.”
“He was a pro wrestler, a HUGE Armenian gentleman hirsute enough to weave a rug out
of his own chest hair,” Emily pointed out. “And he made an interesting looking . . . little
girl, curly wig and all.”
“Ah.” Wilson blinked a little. “Well, has long as it made him . . . happy.”
“That’s nothing; you should have heard her story about the exhibitionist who had the
obscene tattoos—“ Chase muttered, a reluctant grin on his face now. Wilson rolled his
eyes, and gently touched Emily’s elbow.
“And on that note, I think we’ll go get something to drink—Chase, Cameron—“ he
muttered, gently leading Emily away. She allowed it, walking with Wilson to the other
side of the room. It was difficult because of the crowd, and took a while. They reached
the bar, and Emily ordered a Sidecar while Wilson watched her intently. He leaned
close, so that only she heard his words.
“Four rules broken, oh Miss Snug you are in trouble tonight.”
“Mr. Hobbes I have NO idea what you’re talking about,” she countered, sipping her drink
to hide her giddiness. Wilson said nothing. Feeling a bit bolder, Emily continued as she
fished the cherry out of her drink and nibbled it, “I’ve only done a FEW bad things.”
“Low shawl, more than one drink, shameless flirting with both House AND Chase—“ he enumerated softly, “I’d bet you’ve been thinking a few forbidden thoughts, too.”
Emily blushed. She lifted bright eyes to look at Wilson, and the defiant little gleam in
them flashed out in a clear challenge. He stepped closer, taking the drink from her and downing the rest of it in three quick swallows, then set the empty glass down on the bar.
“Come with me.”
She did, feeling her very bones trembling with excitement now; when Wilson used that
soft commanding voice with her she simply had no will left to resist. They left the main
room and walked to the elevators, stepping into the empty car. It was glass, and looked
out over the same view of the river they’d seen before. Wilson pushed the topmost
button and when the doors closed moved over to Emily, pinning her against the glass
wall of the elevator with is body. His mouth kissed her ear, and his hot breath tickled it.
“Prepare yourself to be disciplined, Miss Snug. Take your panties off.”
“W-what?” Emily stammered, bracing her hands on his chest, feeling the heat of him
through his dress shirt. Wilson locked his hands on either side of the rail at her hips as
the elevator rose slowly.
“Reach under your skirt and push your panties down enough to let them fall. Right.
Emily hesitated a moment, then slid her hands down her skirt to the hem on either side.
She reached under the netting, fighting it a bit and managed to find the elastic of her
panties as Wilson continued to let his hot breath caress her ear.
“Down,” he ruthlessly told her, and Emily shimmied a little, her nerveless fingertips
pushing the elastic. After a few tugs, the panties began to slide down her legs, the silky whisper rising in the elevator. Emily felt the scrap of material drop around her ankles
and on her high heels. She shuddered as Wilson’s tongue, hot and damp caressed the
shell of her ear.
“Ooohhh—“ she moaned, feeling her nipples hard and tight against her bra. Just
knowing she was nude now under her skirt . . .
“Bad little half-naked girl,” Wilson mused in a husky tone. “Better step out of those and
pick them up before someone gets in this car with us and sees your wet panties.”
He backed away enough for Emily to retrieve her lingerie, and took the panties from her, squeezing them firmly. The elevator began to slow; in a panic Emily watched the doors
open and three people step in.
“Whoa, nice view—oh! Hey great keynote, doctor—“ came the greeting from the large
man who led the group. He held out a hand, and Wilson shook it while discreetly
dropping the scrap of silk into his coat pocket with the other one.
“Thank you, I’m glad you liked it,” he murmured. Carefully Wilson wrapped an arm
around Emily’s waist, holding her to him as the car began to descend again. It stopped
a few more times collecting guests, and by the time it reached the ground floor once
more Emily and Wilson were pushed to the back against the rail.
Emily shifted, rubbing her thighs together; Wilson squeezed her waist warningly. “No
playing. That’s ANOTHER broken rule.”
“But . . . I’m cold,” she protested playfully. In truth the heat between her thighs was all
she could think about. Every look Wilson shot her way turned her on; his warm
mahogany eyes kept promising erotic consequences.
“Not for long. Oh I plan to warm up a certain part of your anatomy very soon, Miss
Startled, Emily felt her mouth open in protest, but Wilson shot her a darkly playful
glance as he herded her out of the elevator and back to the main room where dinner
was being served.
*** *** ***
“So that’s when we thought to check the records and found the dosage problem.
Sometimes it’s just something as simple as that—“ came Foreman’s smug little drone.
Emily tried to look interested, maintaining an expression of pleasant neutrality. Next to
her, Wilson was talking to a colleague from Memorial about new techniques for tumor treatment in an animated tone. The talk at the table was all very professional and bright,
the sort of pleasant give and take common among peers.
Under the table, however, far more earthy activities were going on. Emily suspected
Cameron and Chase were playing footsie since they were sitting across from each other
and occasionally smiling at nothing. And her own situation was certainly less than polite. Wilson’s left hand was resting between her slightly parted thighs, cupping her mound
once again, giving it a light squeeze at unexpected moments. Emily tried not to react,
but her body kept betraying her and she was well aware that Wilson’s fingers were slick
with her excitement. Periodically he would rub them along her thighs in a teasing stroke,
and helplessly she would part her legs wider for him.
Finally in desperation she leaned over to him and whispered, “James . . . “
He turned to look at her, and for just a moment his expression was a lovely mix of
hunger and pride, the emotions flickering over his handsome face as he met her gaze. Wilson’s hand shifted, fingers fluttering over the damp curls between her legs as he
withdrew it. “So, time to leave? You look ready for bed.”
They left slowly, greeting people on their way out; Emily stayed close to Wilson, trying to
look nonchalant, but the cool breeze kept twitching her skirt and reminding her of her semi-nudity. She noticed House looking up as she passed by the table he shared with
Cuddy, who appeared slightly glazed, truth be told, despite her slightly evil smile.
As they reached the valet parking, Wilson handed the clerk the keys, then turned to
Emily, tugging the wrap around her more tightly. His gesture looked caring, but Emily
felt the strength of his tug and gave into it, tingling with anticipation. The car pulled up
and Wilson helped her in, then tipped the valet and got in the driver’s seat. They pulled
away into the darkness.
Emily leaned back into the seat, relaxing a tiny bit, feeling warmth and chill run over her
skin. Next to her, Wilson’s profile slid in and out of darkness as the light of the streets
flickered over him.
“I wasn’t VERY bad—“ she softly protested, loving the way the words pouted out of her, insolently. Wilson smiled briefly, not taking his eyes from the road.
“You were. But once we get home we’ll take care of that, won’t we? Oh Miss Snug--if
you’d been good you would have gotten a nice hot bath and a slow rubdown with vanilla
oil. But now . . . “ he trailed off, letting the regret weigh his words down.
Emily fought a quiver, appreciating the fine sense of anticipation in his tone. Wilson understood now how to draw out the moment, and his careful orchestration had turned
the entire evening into one sweetly ruthless tease. She shifted a little on the seat.
“Don’t make it worse,” came his husky chide. “I know what you’re doing.”
The porchlight was off; neither of them had remembered to flick it on when they left, and
now they stood in darkness while Wilson fished for his keys. Emily felt a little
disoriented; the lust within her was rising to almost painful levels and she fought down
the need to touch him. Wilson managed to find the key and jammed it into the lock, but
before he turned it, he looked at Emily and flashed her a heated look.
“Take off your dress.”
“Shhh---it’s very dark and late, no one’s looking and you have a slip on—“ he coaxed,
sliding his hands behind her and reaching for the zipper. Emily stood frozen as the little
growl of it ran down her spine. The material opened, and suddenly the coolness of
night spread over her back. She felt Wilson step back, and when she looked up in his
eyes Emily could see the dark heat in them again, a masculine hunger so enticing that
before she could think about it she was shimmying out of the dress, sliding her arms
free of the sleeves.
With a soft crumple, the dress fell to her feet. Wilson growled happily. With help, Emily stepped out of the dress and he picked it up, draping it over his arm. He wrapped the
other one around her, his hand sliding over the silk of the slip.
“Naughty Emily. Nearly naked on the porch, with no panties on. You really do deserve
what’s coming to you.”
She tottered in behind him.
Wilson set the dress on the sofa, then strode to the bedroom, not even looking to see if
Emily was going to follow. He took a breath to calm himself; that last order, and her slow compliance had nearly done him in. Emily DID this to him, encouraging him, bringing
out the hungry joy of bending her to his will. He’d never gone this far before, not with
anyone before her, and it was deliciously intense.
Wilson took off his jacket, and turned to see Emily standing behind him, hands crossed
in front of her, chin high.
“So. You’ve been a very bad girl tonight, Emily Grace, and broke quite a lot of rules.
You know what this means.”
“Yessss,” she replied in a soft, hungry voice, eyes bright. Wilson studied Emily a
moment, appreciating her beauty. She stood there in her short black slip, her skin
smooth in the light from the hallway, her smile slightly rebellious.
“You need a firm hand to remind you who’s in charge of this bedroom tonight. Go sit on
the bed and wait.”
Emily moved quietly, and sat, her spine straight as she watched Wilson. He draped his
jacket over the back of the chair, then moved to stand in front of his dresser. Carefully,
Wilson undid his cufflinks dropping them into the leather case on his dresser, his
movements slow and deliberate; an unhurried ritual in itself. He took off his watch and
set it down, then began to roll his sleeves up, exposing his strong, well-defined
Wilson could feel Emily watching, and the pleasure of that little knowledge warmed him.
With a careless little tug he pulled one tail of his bowtie and it unfolded, hanging open
around his neck as he undid the first three studs of his shirt and added them alongside
the cuffs. He turned to face her.
She rose up off the bed and took three steps, stopping in front of Wilson. He put his
hands on her shoulders. Very carefully he worked his fingers under the straps of the
slip and flicked them off each of Emily’s shoulders. Obediently she stood still, arms
down, and the slip slid off her body, leaving her standing in her lacy bra, thigh-high
stockings and high heels. Wilson’s dimples deepened and he reached out to cup her
face in his two hands, tipping it up to meet his hot chocolate gaze.
“You ARE . . . so utterly sweetly fuckable at this moment, Miss Snug. I adore you, and
I’m going to love spanking you, dear.”
“T-thank you,” Emily murmured into his kiss. Their tongues met, sliding in warm strokes
against each other, and Emily swayed, her entire body tingling now. Wilson broke the
kiss, laughing a little. He slid his hand down to circle her wrist.
“Now.” His tone brooked no argument. Wilson reached up and pulled the bow tie from
around his collar. Carefully he looped it around her wrists, tying it into a snug bow.
Emily tested the bonds, while he brought her hands to his mouth, lightly sucked on her fingertips, his lips wet and hot against her skin.
“No struggling tonight. You’ll do as I tell you and like it.”
“Because I was bad,” Emily agreed in a tight low voice. Wilson kissed her cheekbone,
nuzzling it with pleasure.
“Very bad. You’ve left me aching and hard for hours, so I think you need to pay for that.”
Wilson sat on the bed, and carefully pulled her down across his lap, his warm hands smoothing across her back. She felt his fingers slip up over her bare bottom. She parted
her legs a little.
“God you have a gorgeous ass. Round and firm . . . “ Wilson crooned a little, his left
hand gliding over the globes in a ticklish way. The warm weight of her on his thighs felt
perfect, and he toyed with the dimples at the base of her spine, remembering how she
squirmed when he kissed there. Emily moaned a soft needy sound.
“I’ll be good—“ she breathed. Wilson laughed.
“You certainly will when I’m done with you. Let’s see . . . four rules broken right off the
bat, and then you deliberately mentioned sex to Chase AND Cameron.”
“And I winked at the valet—“ Emily confessed. Wilson’s right forearm pressed down
across her shoulders; not heavily, but enough to pin her. Emily let her tied arms dangle
down and lifted her ass up a bit higher.
“Oh Miss Snug! Six swats then, because you are such a--” Wilson drew in a breath, and
before he lost the momentum of the moment, he brought his left hand down, firmly and
squarely on her ass, “—naughty . . “
It was a most satisfying sensation, and a jolt of pleasure shot through him. Wilson
smiled with satisfaction as Emily yelped; the sizzling sound echoed in the bedroom.
“---Disobedient—“ another smack, and the quiver of her satiny muscles under his hand
made him sigh happily. It wasn’t about pain, he recognized, not at all. It was power,
plain and simple. Emily was giving him complete sweet power, and it felt . . . amazing.
The pale curve of her ass now bore red handprints, blooming even as he watched.
“---Willful, wicked—“ he grunted, raining another pair of firm blows down across her ass.
Emily squealed in the most gratifying way, wriggling with slow undulations on his lap,
grinding against his cock. Wilson licked his lips, well aware it had been a long night and
he wasn’t going to hold out much longer.
“—Spoiled, badly behaved little tease and I WON’T put up with it—“ he finished with a
gasp, the last two blows a bit harder. Emily wailed, struggling to push herself up off of
him, her entire body writhing now. For good measure Wilson added two more smacks,
aiming them low and making Emily rock against his thighs. She tensed hard in a way he recognized. Wilson pressed his burning hand against her ass trapping the heat there as
she climaxed against his lap.
“See? That’s not so bad, is it, my naughty Emily . . .” Wilson crooned huskily, barely
holding back his own urgent needs now. He shifted, pulling her back gently, rolling her
onto the mattress next to him and shifting to loom over her, heat and hunger blocking
out the light. He impatiently undid his pants, freeing his straining shaft.
“MY turn—“ Fumbling, Wilson yanked her red ass to the edge of the bed, cock rubbing
across the top of her curls. Swiftly, he lifted Emily’s tied hands so they were now looped
around his neck; this pulled her chest up from the mattress. She looked down between
their bodies. Wilson reached down and rubbed the glistening head of his thick cock
against her slick folds, his breathing raspy as he savored the sight of her open legs
framing the lush triangle of fur now spread wide for him.
“Watch!“ he growled, thrusting into her with a hard push of his hips. Emily groaned as
new hot pleasure spasmed between her thighs, sullen and sweet after her orgasm.
Wilson grunted, pulling back, planting his hands on either side of her hips on the edge
of the bed.
“Emily, oh damn it, you’re so hot and juicy and tiiight!” he hissed, nipping at her
cheekbone; she gave a breathy sigh with every thrust he made. The springs creaked;
her full lace-encased breasts slapped against his shirtfront with every stroke.
“James, fuck me hard—“ she pleaded into Wilson’s ear, her hips corkscrewing. Those
groaned little words were the last tantalizing taunt, and he pistoned his hips powerfully,
the rhythm of his raging lust going ragged as he dropped onto Emily, driving deeply into
“Em, Godddd, Emily, yesyesYESSSSS--” Wilson grunted against her mouth. He came
hard in slow relentless spasms. Emily held him close, letting his tremors die down,
letting Wilson catch his breath. Both of them dozed for long dreamy moments, lost in
the sheer bliss of release, basking in the afterglow and tingling.
Gradually Wilson lifted his head from Emily’s shoulder and looked at her, his mahogany
eyes glowing in the lamplight. Emily lifted her arms from around his neck and used her
teeth to pull the tie on her hands. Once free, she tenderly reached up to brush his
damp bangs from his eyes.
“Love you—“ they whispered at the same time, and shared grins.
*** *** ***
She didn’t wince too much; the oil felt nice and soothing along her tender skin as Wilson rubbed gentle strokes along her bottom. Emily sighed happily, enjoying the tender
attention while she lay on her stomach on the bed. Wilson was humming, enjoying the
slow sweeps of his hand over her bare skin; periodically he would drop a light kiss along
her spine or shoulder blade.
“You’ve got quite the set of rosy cheeks . . . sorry about that,” he sighed. Emily laughed
low in her throat.
“I’m not—it was worth it, James, every stingy moment! I have never felt so teased and tantalized in my life, darling. You have a real knack for this, you know that?”
Wilson pinkened a little under her praise and drew in a shaky breath. “Only because
you . . . bring it out in me. Encouraged me to give in to some of those impulses every
now and then. And yes, it’s fairly intense all right. I don’t think I could handle it with . . .
anyone but you, Miss Snug.” He shyly admitted. Emily looked at him, her eyes brilliant
and soft in the lamplight. She smiled, and rose up on her elbows to kiss him warmly.
“So—“ she whispered against his mouth, “Will you be my naughty Hobbes next time?”
Wilson’s dimpled smirk was all the reply she needed.