'There's a red house over yonder, that's where my baby stays...'

Screw all those new systems for sound, some things just needed the scratch and the color that only a love beaten piece of vinyl could deliver. The notes were feathery things, smoky and stricken timeless by the echos they made along the interior of Kaitlin's skull. Every dance needed a rhythm, every rhythm an underlying tempo. This was the tone set for the doctor's night, as well as many other before...

Sonorous classicism.

There was a record scratching somewhere slow and even in the background, but in truth, there always was. The raven haired dame was quite the music buff, even for being such an intense worker in the Tenebrism-stricken scene that was slowly drawing to a close. Downstairs in the lab, bright lights contrast against dark lengths of shadows on the far walls. Though there was never really a true separation from the office spaces below and living accoutrements above, one could begin to see the distinction in subtle ways. Something anyone could pick up from the layout of her home was that this was a woman whom gave herself up, mind, body, and soul to whatever she did. No grand secret, really. Up the tall set of stairs from the grind below was where those soulful trickles of tunes floated from. Shoes lined the bottom and top; mostly clogs though, and all of them tapped with a fine layer of dirt.

'...Oh that's where my baby stays, I ain't been home to see my baby in ninety-nine and one half days...'

At the top end of those stairs, off to one side, sat a small kiddy corner nook containing a freestanding lamp and an antiqued writer's desk. Paperwork fell in a forest of neat stacks and manilla folders along whatever flat bit of surface there they could find a home on. A file work box or two huddled at the construct's legs; their deliveries a day old, chock full, and already half digested. A phone with multiple lines lay off the hook, buzzing distant and angrily.

There was a microscope that just couldn't decide where it wanted to end up. It migrated from one bit of that desk to the next, the spaces where it'd been before were littered with semicircles of discarded slides and half faded labels. A journal was it's partner, pocket beaten and reaching the end of it's paper leafs.

The only real serene space to the entire upper complex of the noir nancy's apartment building was the stretch past that back stock of stairs and it's worker's alcove. Step further inwards through that short, high ceilinged hallway to the wide, interconnected meat of the woman's living space. One quick look, and even as methodical and rigid as the Kait's work methods seemed, it was clear she didn't skimp on the bare, hedonistic indulgences a hard earned life brought one. Choice pieces of framed work and sculpture from a multitude of artistic eras accented empty corners and otherwise bald expanses of wall. Wrought candle sconces, dark, rich teak wood floors and furniture with cush in shades darker and more lacquered still sat in prime locations along the wide, airy space of her living room. To the left....A kitchen with an old dutch feel to it, complete with a good ole' fashioned brick bread oven above the more modern looking facade of a pull down oven door. Tile was as much a decoration as it was a core element to the cooking area as a whole, though the counters boasted a fine marble vein, and the cabinets a softer coloring of wood.

'Wait a minute, something wrong here. My key won't unlock this door, wait a minute, something's wrong here....Lord have mercy this key won't unlock this door...'

The floor stepped down from the hallway with it's adjoining, wide doorway to the kitchen to the comfy spill of the living room that separated one from the step up and overly spacious arch of the doctor's bedroom. The journey across to it consisted of lush orient threads underfoot....Unfortunately, however, even here there was a file or two sitting open faced on the low legged pump of a glass topped coffee table. Doctor Abigail just couldn't escape her work, but then again, given the stance and the rigor she draped herself with, would one even want to see her unfettered by it all"

A violent, airy, mechanical sound struck a siren sharpness through the otherwise dreamy peace of well mantled chaos that was the upper apartment. It came from the dark of the bedroom with it's solitary beacon of light from some unseen corner where the wall began to encroach on the otherwise open air of her sleeping space. Around that corner was the source; Kaitlin in a dark robe, hairdryer flying in one hand, attacking the damp wild of ink black crimp she dared call hair, while the other moved to compliment and toss about the strands less tested to the hot blow of air. She was through the narrow doorway to a deceivingly extensive bathroom, half bent over and rising to turn towards the doorway. Clicking the grooming tool off, thin, pale fingers wound a poof of mousse or two through the bedazzled mop of her hair; an attempt to tame and refine that turned out perfectly.

Lipstick came next, then a touch of base, followed by a flick of a well trained wrist with a liner pencil; the last was a brush of mascara. Simple trappings applied to an already nature-fine canvas. Hell, there was even still a faint tinge of red to her cheeks from the heat of the hairdryer, who needed blush' Up moved her arms to drape a thin string of silver with a fat scent bauble around her neck. It was obvious from the thick of the night she was heading out again. Last time had yielded interesting results with the locals ripe to the late night bar scene....And a man. Call the doctor a glutton for punishment, but she had the urge to go back for another drink, and only half of it was for the taste of the booze.

'I gotta bad, bad feeling my baby don't live here no more...'

Underwear was next on the list, then a blouse; it's design simple and something she'd often be caught wearing beneath the thick of her lab coat. Next the stockings, then a khaki cream skirt with even length that hit down to the upper curve of her calves. Heels, short but not flat; they made a nice sound on the wood as she moved across the living room towards the hall. Sharp and weighty; the sound of a thick bone structure and the softness of natural rounds only the feminine sex could bear.

It was all normal dress, if only a slight sight better since she'd had time to steal a shower; any other that said otherwise didn't know the doctor's habits well. Kaitlin gave a pause as she looked down to the phone she'd tossed off the hook, then looked again to the cell phone at it's side, green with charge. Then the music's crescendo caught her in it's smoky spell, and she closed her eyes....

'....That's ok, I still got my guitar, look out!'

Down the stairs, hands to her coat, keys in pocket. Smokes" Check, cigars tonight. Fire? Double check. Once at the door, the doctor wasted little time locking up and striking out into the crisp night. It was a habit now, this process; work all day and for the better half of the night, then crash and leisurely amble downtown to the glowing face of the Red Dragon Inn. Rustic to be sure, of course, but the range of characters there was a colorful melee she couldn't deny. If the doctor was going to find any leads on new specimens for work, it'd be here....That, and at least she'd have fun keeping an ear out.

A cut above the local barflies to be sure, she wasn't surprised to find a decent conversation companion in one Mr. Dillon Tacitus Jones. His cut was also above the local, and a decidedly finer measure to boot, if only for the demeanor he handled and gave off, compared to the demeanor he bore when one took the time to decipher the dangerous, cocky-sharp cheshire behind his grin.

Cigar to her lips, smoke velveting out from her nose, it was this grin that drew her to the familiar haven of the bar, shaking her head with a short spell of laughter as she went. _____________________________________________ _____________________________________________

Song: Red House, Jimi Hendrix

Adapted from Live Play ____________________________ ____________________________

It was bound to happen eventually. Either at the inn, or during one of their walks, or just a casual encounter with the man....he would leave something behind. It's just how it worked with the lawman. His mind always seemed to be going either a mile a minute, to not moving at all. Half way to some absent minded professor it would seem. But either way, his pen was rather damn fancy. A screw top fountain point, inlaid with silver and a red marble. And she had his business card, which displayed the address he worked at, and the title once again. 'Diplomatic Negotiator'. But yeah, who really believed that one eh' And the one number listed, his cell" Yeah, not happening. It went straight to a voicemail that didn't even have his voice on it.

What was a decent person to do really"

Dillon would obviously be lost without his pen, there probably was already nations beginning to war because Dillon couldn't write something out. Or some other general bad thing was happening to him, because his mojo was off. Though the thought was paltry, and her excuse even more so, the green doctor couldn't picture her new-found acquaintance leaving something of such.....nonsensical value behind.

The lawman, if anything, was a creature of purpose and tack sharp reasoning. There was a play of psychology here Kaitlin had begun to explore, but she dropped it just as quickly; as any good mind would know, to think and dwell on such a thing was to only invite disaster. Not only that, but perhaps the excuse to leave her office on such a charming day was just the break she needed. It was about that time anyway....that time for a leisurely tip back of the head with a good bit of something in your mouth; be it a smoke or a bite to eat, hell, even a favorite, carbonated cola might do the trick.

So there, Kaitlin would find herself, in front of the averagely tall building. A black-mirrored glass covered it, shielding it from both the sun and city its self. Smart enough to not take chances in this chaotic town, a concrete wall actually encircled it and a good amount of nature off. Guarded by what seemed to be normal humans in some sect of private security. A high presence of defense, but in a city where feral vampires sometimes tore through an entire apartment complex....not that high of a presence at all. They even just waved her in during midday, seemingly not caring that much about it.

'Got a big plan, his mindset maybe its right. At the right place and right time, maybe tonight...'

So the door would be open, and she would find herself in the entrance foyer. People moving, but not crowded at all. And like any good office building, across a short walk of marble there was a very helpful receptionist desk.

Sometimes it was really all about the little things that made life a bit more pristine in between the day to day vexations. Though the stature of the building and it's thick, looming presence caught her attention, the lax behavior of the guards didn't; she was a woman. And while not particularly vain to be called a sinner by it, she knew what her legs looked like encased in the right stocking and accented by the right heel; not to mention the light, frame encompassing nature of her long jacket over the comparably short length of her skirt. She only tipped her short brimmed hat to the men, a slim piece between her lips as a slow, easy trail of spiced smoke trickled in her wake.

In through the doors; she paid no mind for a smoking sign or no, at this point. Besides, the pretty set of teeth behind the counter didn't really say otherwise, then again, the mention of her trip seemed to take the woman's attention right off the bat.

At first, the woman really wouldn't seem to believe her. But a short phone call later to the man in question, and Kaitlin would be on her way. The directions would lead her, right to a set of elevators. Which she would have to get on. No worries though, the doors hissed shut quietly when she entered and it was in motion without even a press of the button. It was a soothing ride, no real presence of motion but an ease of flow. One more hallway when the doors opened up, but this one lead right to a set of doors so the end was in sight. There was a definite silence about the place. Quiet, like a temple. Marble floors and walls still, or at least something that looked like it. It wasn't hard to tell, even with the imaculate cleanliness and bright lights of the place, that this was an area few actually did tred. There was an empty desk to the right of the doors, looking more like a secretary's one then anything else. A small door near by it, but it didn't look important. No one around to help her, and nowhere else to go....she would have to push open one of those double doors to get inside. Thankfully once it cracked, she would hear Dillon's voice from inside.

"Come on in. Give me a second though." Deep tone echoed off the space of his office. And what a space it was. Where it was rock and ceramics outside, the office was wood and warm lighting. The floors were a thick hardwood, and the shelving and walls seemed to be a cherry lacquered even darker in color. To the right, a couch and few chairs centered around a wall that held....nothing.

To the left, a small slice of a bar. Or at least a booze cabinet. Around, further there a library and table. Directly infront was his desk, a large thing of wood as well. In front of an array of windows that looked out over the city in the day. And so on and so forth. A decent amount of space, but it seemed to be filled with needed things. Dillon's voice actually came from an adjoining room, which a look inside would show at least a bed and living area. No wonder he didn't seem be at home much, Dill could live out of his office.

Encouraged by the sun much like many of the bulbs and seeds she tended, in her leisure time, rather than her own office time, Kait too, enjoyed the spill of warm light to her face. Her path through the anteroom of his office was laid out in the path those bright windows created, turning the dark ink of her hair an soft, shining brown. It wasn't loose, no; not even the slightest bit undone or loose. It was a tight, controlled bun at the base of her neck off to one side; an aid to the tilt of her hat.

'...In a whisper or handshake sending a sign, wanna make out and kiss hard, wait nevermind.'

Though a bit undecided on where she'd like to park, the noir dame, with her hands loosely hung from the hips of her coat pockets, took a lean instead between both worlds of that copious office space; the doorway. One heel picked up and leant to the other, her face in profile, turned half over her shoulder to peek back the way she came. A second look then, a reaffirming glance or two; perhaps a squint of her eyes to a particularly thickly spined book. Here, like at the bar, Kait gave a certain degree of respect to personal spaces that were clearly not her own.

That didn't mean she couldn't turn back and admire a maestro at his instruments, though, for a moment.

The man would eventually let himself be known fully. For whatever reason, he was in the living area for a few more moments before he came out. He still wore the black silk slacks of a suit, but he only seemed to toss on a white T shirt over his chest. Tucked in, with suspenders left to hang at his side from his belt. A towel wrapped around his neck, seemingly to help him cool off from the furnace of heat he was pumping out. He looked like he was working out, and he might have been. But there was something there, something that didn't add up. Hell, a lot of things didn't really add up there. It wasn't something deep, to arouse suspicion. But there was a definite show being preformed. And one, a bit badly at that. Thus seemingly, Dillon didn't seem to have too many visitors....who didn't work for him. Though to his credit, Dillon probably just didn't care enough to fully try. This spoke to at least his respect of the woman, or the trust he had in her.

"Mmm, sorry for the look darlin'. It's been a long day." Already it seemed. He lightly toweled off his face as he entered into the office proper, deeper. Motioning her in, and towards the more social seating area. He wouldn't dare put her in front of his desk like some sort of clerk or something.

"Come in, come in. You'll excuse the blandness, I am not usually in my office at this time of day." Or really, ever it might be imagined from the look, and feel of the place. While it fit the man's personality and preferences to a T, it still felt....artificial.

"I'm sure you say that to all the women coming and going from this space, Mr. Jones..." She moved at his beckon with a little up and up from the casual lean she'd taken to the doorway, her heels a soft sound despite their moderately sharp design. Wood echoed nicely, but her shoe preference was one of the most unkind. Such things were adopted outside of her workspace. Had the tables been turned, however.....the lawman would have seen quite a different image from the doctor he was used to. Though, given the open nature of her expertise, it might be just the appearance he'd expect.

Another time, a digression in thought.

True blues picked a path across his state; it ticked a brow and the barest of smirks to her lips. A chair was her aim, but she didn't sit in it fully, no, more a half perch; a blithe bit of posture as she parked the edge of her rear on an arm rather than the whole seat. Shorter now, the drastic height difference made her look up.

"I didn't interrupt any sort of afternoon delight, I trust?" Came her quiet, cheeky quip.

If she was a femme fatale, he was not playing a very good private dick. There he looked a bit....dangerous. Grinning too much, heated like he was. Enjoying the day no doubt it would seem. But all in all perhaps a bit more, natural then his carefully reserved self that was usually in public.

"Your first thought is always sex Miss Kaitlin. I don't know if I should take that as a compliment that you only say such to me, or a good sign that our friendship will at least have interesting conversations." At least his linguistics seemed right on track. Snapping back a grinned comment right back to her. Tone was deep as usual, but perhaps a bit more noble in edge. A beast with a crown. He would make sure she was comfy, and after giving her a return once over with dark gaze, he was moving to where the drinks were at. Though what he pulled out of the fridge seemed to be a bottle of orange juice.

"You want anything to drink?" Happy to offer out of a genuine decency for his guest. And then, something clicked in his mind just as he was taking a swig and waiting for her answer. Stopping his swallow quick, so he could say.

"Oh, and no you didn't interrupt any sexual acts going on in there. Just in case you wondered if I was dodging the question. Just....at work." Because negotiation was a physical game.

"So ardent and dedicated in your tasks then, a trait any employer can admire in their workers, mm?" Playing parts or no, the doctor was who she was despite appearances. Strip a person down to their bare essentials, remove from them their decoration and just sample the air beneath; that long jacket and short skirt would still be a part of her, even in the nude. Hearing his genial call, she gave him a thankful dip of her head and extended a finger towards the bar.

"It's a bit early in the day, perhaps to let the bourbon do my thinking, but maybe a bit of plain, fizzy seltzer would do just about fine." That's right, she'd make him travel about a bit more; let his feet follow the earlier, questioning path his eyes had set. Legs crossed, one foot gave an aimless sway and jiggle. The tail end of his words would earn the man a fairly deep chuckle and shake of her head; not a blush to those sun pale cheeks, although she did sneak a flash of those white, even teeth.

The man didn't seem to be the type that would question her drinking so early. Time was only meant for people who slept after all, and the lawman didn't seem to do much of that. He sprayed a glass full of seltzer. No need for ice, it was nicely chilled already and would stay such, somehow.

"My apologies....perhaps it's that cheshire expression of yours creeping at my sense of humor." With the same hand she'd pointed with earlier, she made a slow, pointed gesture about the room, though it wasn't long before her eyes fell back at the sound of seltzer hissing to a glass. "You've quite the sprawl, Mr. Jones."

'Late night, in passing, metioned it flip to her bestfriend, it's no thing, maybe it slipped. But the slip turns to terror and the crush to like...'

"Do I?" As dark eyes took in the same thing she was motioning out. A slow chuckle from him. Looking back up to her though when she spoke up about his office. Looking around.

"Also....I never said your first thought was a bad thing. Far be it for me to question a lady's thought process." Rumbled over at her as he handed over the drink. He kept a respectful distance, if only because he didn't seem to have showered either. Not that he smelled, hardly so. But there was always some scents you couldn't hide, no matter how good you were at it. Smells that rebelled in the normal human mind as impossible. He however, chose a seat. The same one she was leaning against as a matter of fact, perhaps just to be a pain. But the expanse of faux-leather was large and padded enough that both could occupy it easily. He swigged his OJ, dazing off halfly just for the pure fact he was off his feet.

"Mmm, they pay me a lot for what I do. Probably just because they don't want me doing it, someplace else." A slower chuckle there, well humored and rounded.

"This lady's thought process is a playground best kept to the area of blocked cellular structures and the daily progress of hybrid samples from colleagues abroad." She accepted the pass of that glass without much flare, just a simple turn and curl of her fingers. In it's downward path it took a pause for the light, autumn burnt paint of her lips; not a smudge to the glass meant either a good label or just that light a touch, or both... ____________________________ ____________________________

Song: Tear You Apart, She Wants Revenge

Adapted from Live Play ____________________________ ____________________________

'Or maybe this is danger and he just don't know, you pray it all away but it continues to grow...'

"Pen..." She echoed him slowly, watching, waiting for what felt like an underwater blink from his steady, unbreakable stare. When it didn't come, she moved; not away mind you, but into. Turning further, she filled his palm further, releasing the edge of her dress and letting the fabric melt down over the large span of his inspecting hand. Stepping forward gave the lawman turned earth-quaking beast one of a few choices. One, he could remove his hand completely, because god knows all women have a natural rotation to their hips, and such a thing could easily knock his big mitt away. Two, he could keep it where it was and let it go higher; several other options came from this route.

Then there was three....Were Kaitlin of a girl's years instead of a woman's, the entertainment of option number three might have made her blush. Not a splotch of color rosied her cheeks though; that serene expression stayed, as if they were sipping tea at a shop out on some public street, not set back in the thick of his sun warmed office with all it's untouched surfaces and their state of dress so different.

"It's a lovely thing, really....Being a creature of habit and office and laboratory, I know what I'm talking about." From that step forward, both arms rose up to the back of her neck where that taut, glossy bun held her hair in order; then there was a small, raven wing tumble, and she produced said pen with a slight flourish of a hand.

No time was wasted in offering it out to him, one brow ticked higher than it's twin, her mettle still seemingly unperturbed, even by the inhuman degree of his....approval.

But Dillon's hand moved with her, when she moved in. Sliding up and behind her thigh to keep the feel on. Fingers flexed in, massaging flesh there gently. Feeling her body for the first time, fully. And as such, he was quite happy to keep the grip of his hand on her. She kept talking, standing so stoic while he seemed about ready to tear down some walls. And then, it all just faded. And his growl, actually moved into a chuckle. And for a moment, it almost seemed like he was just going to stop and calm down. He even pulled his hand away from her flesh and let the dress drop.

Then, even as she held out his pen to him both hands would rise. Grabbing at her hips, and with a bit of roughness, pulling her right down into him. The length of the dress made her straddling his hips impossible, for the moment. So the yank, had a twist to it as well. Turning to put her back right to his chest. This of course made his mouth right there to her ear, and he was happy to push it in through dark curls to growl his words right there heatedly.

"Miss Kaitlin. I am going to wipe that calm, demure look, right off your face..." And yes, that was a bit angry. But that special kind of, man-angry that showed just what she did to him.

'...I want to hold you close.'

His arms encircled her, somewhat trapping her form in that strength of flesh. One hand did rise up though, to slide onto the back of her neck for a slow massage. Tilting her head right to the side so he could lean around. Angling himself just right, so he could press his lips heatedly against her own. A difficult angle, but what he lacked in perfection of form, he made up for in enthusiasm.

Now he growled right into her mouth in a kiss that started slow, but moved deep, wet, and long.

Choice number two, then....The one that lead to several other options such as this. It wasn't quite the worst way to find one's afternoon turning. The hot thrust of breath to her ear, the feral grasp and yank, the soft bruising of rounded flesh beneath fingers ready to split her form like so much overly ripe fruit. There was no doe in the headlights stare, no damsel crying out in protest or distress lingering behind those bright blues; but perhaps a expectant, yet still surprised stare of a matador who's known all along the dangers of the red cape they bore, but not the brunt of their opponent's horns.

The beast's reward came in the form of an involuntary rush of breath past the gap his sudden ferocity had brought to the doctor's lips. Then gone, swallowed; never to be heard again as it was lost to the feral crawl of his mouth into hers. Fingers moved on hands set to their own volition, twitching, caught between the urge to push or cling. At some point, neither seemed the right choice, so her attempted clawing amounted to a lot of joint popping and not a lot of success. Oral enthusiasm would be met, albeit after a moment of shock and the tentative motion of lips in their earlier stages of coherent thought. Damn cerebral misfirings, always stalling the time between reaction to action. He pulled, she pressed, he kissed, she delved; returning stroke for slick stroke. The best way to meet the trouble you've made is head on; tenacity was most definitely a word to be tacked to the doctor's list.

This really might have been a very dangerous thing. Kaitlin could have no real feelings in that way for him, she could of just been playing cool and signals had been crossed. Dillon really couldn't even be her sexual preference, for all he knew. But he seemed to enjoy very dangerous things, and he had to know such or at least have an inkling in that brain of his that seemed to have a genuine decency about it. But no, he didn't relent. He didn't pause, he just wrapped his arms around her like he was going to constrict her into sleep.

'skin pressed against me tight...'

Though his hold on her was tight, his hands didn't bother to pin, he let the muscles of the arms do that. His hands were busy massaging the back of her neck and just kept moving higher once that hat sigh she let loose colored the air. One set of fingers slipped down to the root, scritching lightly; the other was around her midsection, splaying his palm on her hip to squeeze and stroke. He was already beginning to feel any part of her body he could, but made it a point to stay away from her chest or that hot point between her thighs. Instead, Dillon just kind of pulled her back against his form, letting her feel the effect she'd caused. But that mouth, oh that mouth of his was the most dangerous thing about the man it seemed. Able to talk, and grin. And kiss, it seemed. Balanced dangerously now between a sensual slowness, and just the pure hunger he'd had building for her. He deepened it without real permission, sliding the tip of his tongue across the boundary of her lips; a definite laxness there in his enjoyment, a savoring as he sloooowly rolled the tip of it around her own.

But that growl, now sealed right to her own mouth....That was a bit of art. A pure inflection of hunger that might have made other people check the shadows for something waiting to pounce.

Drowning in slow motion, that's what it was; the initial snap, then the stroke, a fierce flash of fire with no real warning of smoke. Dillon seemed a devout man of give and take, perhaps too zealous for some, but every womans had the pulse-itching moment where the need to be physically taken....To feel latent power of hands roil about and claim a curve or three. Those fingers at the fine-haired edge of her nape spiked a shiver down her spine, gooseflesh rising beneath the black line of her dress, sweeter peaks still hidden tightening with a growing need that'd blossomed from the want.

While the lawman might not have been a normal creature to keep near her bed, he was a creature worth the game they'd been playing. Hands moved for a purchase, not quite gripping or urging, but stroking; sliding firm against the taut nature of his crushing arms, nails dragging with purpose to drive their evenly edged points home across the bare skin they found. Aside from that initial breath, there was an intangible noise somewhere locked in the fervent quake of her throat; a reaction to the vibrations his lazily demanding mouth made. To her credit, as ever, the doctor did not fail to deliver. As the preliminary jar to her system wore off and nature kicked in, her tongue performed just as finely in between lips as it did during conversation.

The mind, as hungry and apparently half crazed as it was at the moment....still was a very sharp thing. Noticing the shiver, Dillon allowed his fingers to creep up higher as the kiss broke.

'...Lie still, and close your eyes girl.'

"Mmmm, how wonderful to see your tongue works that well physically, too..." Growled right in her ear again as he pulled away; a wonderful cheat to the game. The beast did take things rather well. Or at least, let a little bit of himself loose to fully feed a hunger that hadn't really been fed in a very, very long time. But poor, poor Kaitlin. She was now in his sights, and had his actual attention. A notoriously hard thing to grab. The kiss continued, until he felt she would have the need to actually breath. And he broke it just as sharply as it began.

Gripping down slowly, his lips moved across her jaw line, down her neck, while other hand slipped to turn her right back around; placing her back squarely to his chest. That demanding hand released her fairly quickly, all the better for it to begin trailing over her stomach, down the line of a hip, and right past the swell of a thigh. Squeezing, petting, massaging. Feeling flesh just to feel, and it seemed Dillon would touch every bit of her he could, before he even pondered moving onto areas that he enjoyed a bit more.

"Your ole flatterer....I bet your secretary hears that everyday." Still feeling those fingers, she dared to give him more food for thought, a slow, purposeful grind forcing the gentle front and back rock of her hips forcing what apt weight she bore down onto the seat he'd made for her in his lap. One couldn't disappoint, now could they?

Breathless but not quite panting, a swallow stole Kait's voice as she gave in for an indulgent moment to simply feel. Somewhere distantly the thought of a some smaller, toy sized mammal caught in the paws of a playful wolf came to mind, but it did her no favors; it sent a shiver elsewhere, one not so easily felt outside of one's own softer muscles and twitching nervous system. Kaitlin found her voice again; sharp, perhaps a bit harsh, but still distantly amused.

'So lovely, it feels so right...'

"Mmmm, no secretary....Can't keep up with me." Yes, he was having a half conversation during this moment. Though it was done more as of a tease. Showing what self-control he might have, even if he was pawing at her like a starved beast.

His hand in her hair gripped again, tilting her head just a bit before it trailed fingertips up along her scalp and back down. Down her neck and shoulder, down her ribs. And down her leg, as the other one had been doing for a few moments. Both hands pulled as they gripped and massaged, feeling along her form, encouraging that sinuous rock of her hips. The motion was drawing her ass back against him, back against a man who was obviously reacting nicely to her. Fingers dripped at her skirt, pulling it up with both grips. Trailing it higher, until it reached the crest of her knees. Just so he could slide his hands down, and rub over her inner thighs slowly.

The tireless roam and knead of his hands got her feeling like a piece of coveted meat, or perhaps the token of a raving madman....A token meant to be gripped and felt and caressed. There was a level of firm muscle beneath the milky softness of her thighs that the lawmans hands were working against that might otherwise bloom and blossom with The feel of air to her inner legs was what had made her realize what a wanton figure he was making of her; caring was never a notion that filtered through.

Those fingers continued trailing down, squeezing flesh there, encouraging her legs open, just so he could slide fingertips even higher. The touch was dangerously close to where those stockings ended and the bare flesh began. That mouth of his was not inactive either, oh no, it was coming down her neck now. Dillon used his size to the fullest, kissing lightly and deeply all at once. He was searching for those hot spots already, trailing the tip of his tongue out with every press of his lips, spiraling in tight circles.

'I want to hold you close soft breath, beating heart...'

His temperature was spiked and went from radiating to shooting right through her to the second circle of hell, though punishment wasn't quite what she'd call the lusty tornado of his touches. His mouth still teased her even without a tongue past her lips....Oddly it'd been that way from the beginning really.

"I really just came to return that pen." Her utterance came at an inopportune moment where some form of a groan began to belly its way past her parted lips. Fingers picked up against, reacquainting themselves with the length of his arms, her hands going along for the ride of her dips and curves, following his movements, if only to deviate for a moment to finger up the aforementioned item.

But when he gripped, she leant back, giving where he took; offering more, needing more.

A wealth of delicate balances there. Between them, in themselves, in their thoughts. But both seemed well adept at keeping such balances perfect. No surprise when she spoke up about the pen again, he just chuckled against the line of her neck. A hand actually lifted from the prime territory it'd claimed on her flesh, ripped the pen from her grip, and tossed it roughly through the air; needless to say it landed on the other side of the office well away from both touch and thought.

That, was his only answer to such a thing right now. He had her rolling those hips back against him, his hands on her pure skin, and those sounds coming from her....F*ck the pen.

'...As I whisper in your ear I want to f*cking tear you apart.'

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Song: Tear You Apart, She Wants Revenge