Actions

Work Header

Someone Could've Seen You (A Nude in a Window)

Chapter Text

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You told me not to, Rey could say--but that's too easy. “Guess what else I’m not wearing?”

Ben rewards her with a touch, the barest scratch of a glove-seam across her cheek, just grazing the blindfold. The glove is black. She can’t see it but she can imagine it, just like she imagines the black hair falling over his eyes as he examines her body to make sure she followed the rest of his directions.

He lets his leather-covered pinky brush her nose, innocent and soft and full of promises. “Good girl.”

When she tries to roll his finger into her mouth, he taps her cheekbone in warning. She smirks and wriggles her wrists against her restraints, making the hem of the huge t-shirt flutter. The glove disappears from her cheek and she almost jumps against the soft suede cuffs when a breeze ghosts at the hem of the extra-large mens’ t-shirt, her only clothing.

“You drove over like this?”

“Mm,” she says.

“Someone could’ve seen you."

“Yeah, Ben, someone could've.” She smiles at the sound of saliva moving in his mouth, like he’s swallowing back a jealous growl, but Rey knows him too well to think he's jealous.

The fabric around her bicep tightens as he rolls it between two gloved fingers to test its thickness. It’s soft, well-worn from dozens of post-gym washes, and not nearly thick enough for December in Chicago. “You must’ve been freezing.”

“I wore my coat in the lift,” she admits.

It spoiled the mood a bit, but the doorman in the Ben’s hyper-posh building probably wouldn’t have let her in wearing nothing but a shirt and wedge booties and smelling like pussy. She’s wearing the perfume Ben gave her, rum and damson jam, but Rey knows from experience the smell’s not strong enough to hide how much she’s wanted him since she got his text two hours ago.

My place, 10:00. Wear what I gave you and nothing else.

Ben gave her the jacket, and the shoes, and the perfume. He left the t-shirt on the floor and ordered her to keep it.

“We call them elevators here,” he says.

“I know what you call them.” She tugs at the suede restraints on her wrists, pleased by how much they force her to stretch upward toward his high ceilings. It's colder on the front of her body than the back, and thinking about what that means makes her nipples even harder. "You're so fucking pretentious."

She says it sharply, hoping he’ll slap her, or maybe even tweak her nipple, but she can almost hear his smirk. He’s got to smell what his neglect’s doing to her body. “Was there anyone in there with you?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes.”

“A man?”

“Yeah. Mid-thirties, maybe, Italian-looking, maybe Latino. Bit short, but built. He got out on the fifteenth floor.”

"Did you find him attractive?"

"He's just my height. That comes in handy."

His glove digs into her upper arm, twisting the material like he needs something to do with his hands before he slaps her, and Rey loves this game.

“Did he look at you?”

“You know he did. He tried to hide it, but he looked.”

"Did you let him?"

"Does that make you mad, Ben?"

The jersey knit above her stomach dips in to touch her skin, and she exhales, imagining that black glove dimpling the fabric. “Did you stand there in the elevator knowing how wet your pussy was? Did you think about him smelling how much you want me?”

She swallows, knowing he'll take it as a sign she's losing the game but caring less than she did a few minutes ago. “Yes.”

She shivers against the soft suede ties that secure her to—whatever holds her hands above her head. Ben’s a rich asshole but he's a tinkerer, just like she is, a Sculpture drop-out; he’s probably eager to show off his setup, but not so eager he didn’t stop her just inside his door and tie the blindfold around her head. He sat her down on the modernist black chair in his entryway and ran his gloves down her knees, her freezing shins, her calves, slowly unbuckling each fastener on the snow-damp booties, rubbing her near-numb toes in a thick towel to warm them up. He might’ve brushed his lips over the bike-crash scar on her right knee, but she can’t be sure. Ben has good control; he likes to be teased. It’s a good thing—Rey likes to tease.

“I know that guy,” Ben says, almost but infuriatingly-not-quite nibbling her earlobe. He’s behind her, now; she can just barely sense the heat of his body against her back, like he’s being careful to keep himself away from her skin. “Dameron. Moe, Poe, something stupid. You think next time I see him, he’ll tell me about the girl he saw in the elevator?”

Rey gasps when the glove disappears from the fabric over her stomach and comes to rest around her thighs. There's a soft sound like fabric rustling, and a cold breeze, then his voice comes from below and behind like he’s knelt down. She bites her lip against the images of what he’s about to do to her--or what she hopes he's about to do. With Ben, it could be hours.

He lets his mouth hover above the back of her left knee. “You think he’ll tell me about the slut whose clothes barely covered her ass?”

She bites her lip and murmurs a curse, and he laughs against the sensitive skin behind her knee, pressing his thumbs into her quads. He knows exactly what she loves and he’s got a full view of just how exposed she is, looking up at her bare ass under the t-shirt. He loves the freckles there. He never stops telling her so.

“Do you know where you are, Rey?” he asks, and his voice has migrated to her right thigh, like he’s savoring the view from all angles.

“Your flat.”

“Mm, but where in my flat?”

He took her on a circuitous route, leading her by the hand, spinning her like some slutty Cinderella at a fancy ball, stopping every few feet to touch her hair, her face, her arms. Her wrists strain against the ties, but not to get out of them, and she rolls up to the balls of her feet, enjoying the way her toes squish into the plush carpet.

“Am I in front of the window?” she asks, breath surprisingly steady considering how much she wants his answer to be yes. “The big one?”

“You sound so excited,” he says, and Rey stretches up on her toes when the cool cartilage of his long nose rests against the back of her thigh. He lets one gloved finger trail down the skin there, like he’s drawing in the frost on a cold window. “Would you like that? To know all these people shopping on Michigan avenue are looking up at you standing here like a whore, with your nipples hard and your ass hanging out? Does it make you wet to know Chicago is looking at my hands all over you?”

“Ben,” she chokes.

Two fingers now, leaving a trail of goosebumps down her right thigh. He hasn’t touched wetness yet, but he’s not going to be able to avoid it for long because it’s dripping down the back of her thigh. She lets out a soft umph when the badly-heated air in Ben’s flat ghosts across her ass cheeks like his other glove has plucked the fabric of her t-shirt between two fingers and pulled it up for a peek.

“Did your bare ass touch the seats in the Uber?” he asks.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“And?”

“They were black leather.”

He rewards her with a black leather pinch. “Were you thinking of my glove on your ass?”

“Yes.”

“If I rode over with you, would you have wanted my glove between your legs?”

She arches her back and stands up on tip-toes. It’s fucking freezing in here, and her nipples strain against the fabric.

“Just fucking touch me, Ben.”

“Answer the question.”

“You know I would.” They’ve done that before, at night, when they thought they could get away with it.

“Were the seats heated?”

She writhes in frustration, and only stills when those gloves dig like claws into her thighs. “What the fuck, Ben?”

That finally does it. There’s a cold breeze and then a flash of pain and the tacky warmth of black leather across her ass cheek. She lets out a cry of surprise, but she can’t hide the yes that sneaks out with it. Ben’s hand displaced enough air to send a pussy-scented breeze to her nose, and she hears him hold back a groan.

“You little slut,” he says affectionately. “You wanted me to do that.”

“I want you to do it again.”

“How many people do you think are watching you right now? Michigan Ave the week before Christmas? There’s a lot of people down there, Rey.”

Rey exhales slowly, noticing for the first time how the cold air blows right back against against her lips. She must be inches from the freezing window. Twenty-two stories up--no one's gonna get a good look at her, but that's not the fucking point, and Ben knows it. He knows what she's thinking about the image of her body, stripped down to perfume, spread-eagled in front of that huge window with nothing but black gloves to cover it.

“I want you take my clothes off,” she whispers, and then curses and bites her lip when he slaps her ass again.

“I’m filming,” he says against her thigh. He’s flattened one hand against her inner thigh, and she moans at his words, because yes, they’ve talked about it before, they’ve taken pictures—Rey loves to sneak them in public toilets or in the shelves of records at the museum, or the occasional upskirt selfie on the Red Line—but it’s never been like this. He’s always been too shy to start the camera before she gave him express permission. There’s apprehension in his voice now, like he’s been itching to tell her just to hear it’s alright.

“Good,” she says, breathy. “That’s good, Ben, I want to see this later.”

“You want to put it online?”

She moans. “Would you let me? Do you want strangers to see me like this?”

“Why do you think I’ve got you strung up in front of a floor-to-ceiling window?”

“Umph, fuck, Ben. Why do have me tied up like this where so many people can see me? Tell me why.”

He lets one finger trail into the leading edge of the line of fluid dripping down her thigh. “I want them to know you’re mine, Rey. You’re my whore. You’d strip naked for me in the middle of the street, wouldn’t you? Or the museum, right in the gallery like the piece of gorgeous fucking art you are? You’d bend over in front of a crowd with cameras and let me put this glove right in your cunt, wouldn’t you, and you'd moan--yeah, just like that, you'd fucking moan for how much you want it, I know you would. You'd let me spread you open for everyone to see how wet you are.”

“Holy Jesus on a stick, I love you, you sick fuck. I’d do that for you.”

"I know you would, beautiful." Gently, he rests his glove against her ass, and his breath on the freezing wetness between her legs feels so cold. “Tell me you’re mine,” he orders.

“I’m yours, Ben.”

Finally, he presses his lips against the lowest curve of her ass, letting the words out in hot eddies that flutter the hem of her t-shirt. “I know you are, sweetheart. And I’m going to let you prove it.”

Chapter Text

“I’m going to put this online for everyone to see, Rey, because I love you.” Ben continues to stroke the back of her thigh with his thumb as he speaks. She wonders what the other hand is doing, but the press of thin metal between her knees answers the question: he’s moving his phone to get different angles, playing with the light to get the best shot of the reflection off her soaked legs. “But maybe something more personal first.”

“You want to FaceTime someone?” They’ve done this before with friends they trust, mostly friends far away. Ben, as it turns out, has interesting friends.

“I was thinking Hux. I think he’d like to see your pussy soaking wet, don't you think?”

“I think he’d like to see my mouth on your cock.”

She says it for the camera, since Ben’s almost definitely going to send Hux this video, and Ben rewards her by gently prying open her ass cheeks to show her off a little. The cool air on her asshole makes her shiver, but he doesn’t give her any of the glove.

Hux can never decide which gender he likes best, and he has, as he puts it, a “particular fondness” for the way Ben’s stomach ripples while he’s thrusting into Rey’s “perfect little mouth.” Rey likes thinking of the ginger man in his skinny Burberry trousers and ironic cat sweaters, argyle-socked ankles crossed as he sips something pretentious and jerks off to Ben FaceTiming Rey sucking him off in a park. They send him a gift every couple of weeks, and Rey likes it because Ben’s getting some of the spotlight, too, and Rey gets beautiful videos of Ben's nude body.

Rey squeaks as Ben moves his fingers down to pry her open for the camera, moving his fingers so that his gloves on the soft skin there make loud, wet noises for the speakers. “Are you that wet thinking about your mouth on my cock?” he asks. “Are you thinking about taking my cum down your throat?”

“I want to make you scream while you fuck my mouth.”

He slaps her ass again, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, telling her to calm down before he loses control.

“Turn around,” he orders. “You’re gonna show that gorgeous asshole to the whole city.”

Blindfolded and bound at the wrists—and shivering with cold and anticipation—Rey is too slow to obey Ben’s command, so she yelps in excited surprise when those gloves clamp her hips and force her to spin around. She makes a shocked sound when he hikes up the t-shirt and presses her bare, raw ass to the icy window.

“Bend over, beautiful.”

His voice goes straight to her clit. Rey complies as much as she can with her wrists pulled overhead, whimpering as Ben keeps talking into her thighs. One of the hands disappears, probably to pick up the phone he must’ve dropped in his eagerness. He strokes the side of her leg as she wriggles her ass outward, getting the best angle she can. “There you go, sweetheart. I want to see that wet pussy leave a print on the window, my little whore. You see this?" he says to the phone. "Look at my gorgeous slut.”

Rey whimpers because her ass is going numb and she’s shivering and Ben’s not wrong, she wants to be naked, she wants him to lift her up in his massive arms and fuck her right here with her nude back against the frost, she wants to feel little rivulets of ice-cold condensation mix with her juices on her thighs and hear him whisper fuck, fuck against her ear while he comes.

Instead, he slides one glove wetly between the melting frost on the window and the half-numb skin of her ass cheeks, pulling her apart so that everything is on display for the Christmas shoppers down below. Can they see her? On the off-chance anyone glances at this particular window at this particular second, they’ll see her holes, maybe they’ll be able to make out a few of the curling hairs, and they’ll see Ben’s glove clawing into the skin.

She shudders and shivers and moans Ben’s name and begs him to put a finger in her. They’ll have to bleep out his name if this goes up online, but Rey doesn’t care. Hux will like it.

Then, so quickly Rey almost trips, he pulls her away from the window and the fabric of the t-shirt hugs her hips like he’s smoothing it down.

“I’m gonna send this to Hux now,” he says. “You want that? You want me to send him you moaning for me while the whole fucking city can see you?”

This is his way of asking permission, and she nods under the blindfold. “Yeah,” she says. “I want him to see how much I’m yours.”

Ben stifles a moan by sinking his teeth into the place where her right thigh meets her ass cheek, hard. Rey bites her lip and arches her back, banging her head against freezing glass.

“Fuck, I love you,” he murmurs against her hipbone. First one palm and then the other returns to her inner thigh, hesitant again. “I sent it."

"Good, Ben, good."

"God, Rey. Sweetheart.” He uses her name to signal that he’s stopped filming so they can have a potentially un-sexy conversation. “Hux is actually in town.”

Rey swallows, because they’ve talked about this, too, and the bite mark feels so cold and so good by the window. He rests his cheek against the front of her thigh.

“Are you still alright with him watching us?” he asks. "Really watching us?'

“What? Yes, absolutely,” she says without hesitating. “Fuck yes. Invite him over. Put him on FaceTime, I’ll tell him so.”

“Hold on,” he says, and stands up. Everything gets suddenly warmer on the front of her body and then his glove is on her cheek and his thumb is nudging the blindfold upward, and there he is, her beautiful Ben, all the more gorgeous for the scar across his face and the imploring in his eyes. He supports the small of her back and turns her so he’s between her and the window, rubbing her back in little comforting circles.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless at the beauty of his face backlit by the Chicago skyline, all sparkling and multicolored with its Christmas glow. Lake Michigan recedes like an ocean behind the lights, and when she glances down she sees with satisfaction that her ass left two fan-shaped prints in the frost and the drops sliding down from them are slowly re-freezing.

“Hi,” he responds, and he’s actually blushing, because she’s blushing. “I just wanted to see your eyes for a second.”

“You’re amazing, Ben.”

He kisses her at that, just briefly, almost shyly, still being careful not to touch her so he doesn’t get too aroused. They’ve done that before: paused a scene and had to abandon it in the middle because he just needs to fuck her and know it's okay or she needs to look in his eyes and whisper how much she loves him, and then he makes her those shitty American pizza roll-things in the oven and they drink too much champagne and watch Friends.

Tonight is not going to be that kind of night. It’s too early and they’re both too excited and it takes every ounce of self-control Rey has not to step forward and press her jersey-covered body against his black cashmere jumper. He’s biting his lip.

“I talked to Finn,” he says, and Rey swallows. “He could do tonight. I went ahead and had him bring over the camera and everything, since you said you'd be okay--He helped me with the setup.”

She’s not sure if she whispers fuck or just thinks it, but either way Ben’s hands are on her shoulders and he’s kissing her temple just above the blindfold until she manages to steady herself.

“He’s alright with Hux watching?” she asks.

“Yeah. They had drinks yesterday and from what Finn was saying I think he and Hux have something going on. I wanted it to be a surprise, a little gift for both of us.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, because this is their question.

“Good. Excited, and Finn’s excited. And he wanted to talk to you again but he respected that I wanted to talk to you first.” He kisses her cheek like he’s some teenager taking a girl to a movie instead of a huge man talking about fucking her in front of a photographer for a show.

"Ben," she warns.

Another chaste kiss. "I'm--feeling a bit like a psycho for asking you to do this."

"Ben Solo. Look me in the eye."

He does, because he always does, hunching a little like he's ashamed to be so tall and so strong. His hair falls over his eyes in a way that makes her weak, and if her hands weren't bound she'd drag her fingers forward to mess it up just so she could watch him smooth it back. She knows why he asks this, and loves him for that, too. It took a long time to be this honest, for both of them.

"I'm doing this because I want to," she says firmly. "I trust you, and I love you for letting me be a bit psycho. Alright? Now tell me what you want."

He blushes again. “I can’t wait to see your naked body on a gallery wall.”

She whimpers and tugs at the bonds on her wrists. He touches her stomach, and without the blindfold she can see the hunger on his soft face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pulling her just a little closer.

“I’m fucking dying,” she says. “I want you inside me, Ben. I want you to fuck me and know that thousands of strangers will see the pictures, and I want to think about them jerking off to your gloves on me. I want Hux and Finn to come right here in this room while they watch you fuck me."

"Shit, Rey, yes."

"Will you tell them to hurry the fuck up?”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. I’m texting Hux to tell him you said to hurry the fuck up.”

“Good,” she says. “Did he like the video?”

“He’s still watching it—I started filming when I took off your boots.” Rey grins at that. “You want to talk to Finn?” He doesn’t say it, he wants this to be sexy, but both of them know Finn will want to hear a very enthusiastic yes from Rey before he even thinks about coming over here.

“Yeah,” she says. A second later, the phone’s at her ear, but Ben's knelt down again and he's kissing his way up her left thigh. “Hey, Finn.”

“Hey peanut. I talked to Ben—”

“He’s here with me.”

“Yeah? What’s he doing?”

“He’s holding the phone to my ear because my hands are tied up. Oh, and he's kneeling down in front of me.”

Finn chokes on something, probably air. “God, shit, alright, yeah. Listen, do you two need anything? I can bring Chinese—”

“You,” she says, and she grins at Ben’s eyeroll, and then swallows a moan when he licks at the wetness on her skin again. His glove tip-toes its way up the back of her leg under the t-shirt, and he's actually humming itsy-bitsy-spider, because he's a love-drunk, beautiful idiot. “We need you.”

“I—okay. I’ll be there in a bit, okay?”

Down came the rain--he swirls two fingers in her juices and drags them down her quad.

“Hurry,” she orders, and hangs up. Rey chews her lip, spreading her legs a little and digging her toes into the carpet. His lips are so, so close to where she wants them to be.

And the itsy-bitsy-spider went up the spout again. His fingers stop right at the cleft of her thigh, and when she looks down the line of his nose is obscured by the curve of her stomach.

"You ass," she says, but she can't stop a laugh. "That's not even a Christmas song."

Ben smacks her ass and stands again, but without the blindfold she can see him smiling.

“How about something for just the two of us?” he says, tugging at the fabric of the t-shirt, like he needs to touch her but he's trying to keep himself from together. “Just you, and me, and however many hundreds of people who’re down on Michigan Avenure right now?”

“Yeah, yes, good, Ben, just—”

That’s all he needs. He spins her around so she’s facing the window again and grabs her waist, pinching the t-shirt. He lifts her and deposits her, kneeling, on a waist-high side-table that he’s set up in front of the window. That’s what she assumes it is, anyway; it’s covered in some kind of furry blanket that feels wonderful under her shins. It would feel great under her ass, too, if she sat down, but she stays kneeling because his hands on her waist keep her there.

“Look at everyone, sweetheart,” he says against her shoulder. His t-shirt is big enough that the neck leaves one shoulder bare, and his hair feathers the skin as he looks out at the street with her. “Anyone could see you up here, and they’re gonna look up into this window and see my glove on your clit. I’m gonna open the window, and I want you to be as loud as you want. I know you’re gonna think about everyone hearing you when you come.”

She’s already shivering, but she doesn’t mind at all when he flicks the latch and eases the window open a few inches. It’s warm for Chicago in December, only a few degrees below freezing, and the gentle breeze against her nipples is exhilarating but not painful. Some shitty version of Baby It’s Cold Outside wafts up from one of the stores below, and the heat of his body behind her feels amazing.

He doesn’t wait, he slides one glove up the fabric of the t-shirt to tease her breasts through it. “You want me to touch these?” he asks, letting his voice blend into the wind.

“Please. Yes, please.”

“No. And I’m not gonna fuck you either, not yet. We’re leaving that for the company.”

“You’re driving me crazy—”

She stifles another yelp when his hand slides up her inner thigh and his middle finger lands on her clit. He starts to rub in little circles just like she likes, and she can’t help but imagine what she looks like with his black sleeve and black glove cutting across her thigh.

“You’re going to fucking destroy me tonight,” he whispers as he rubs her clit, stroking gently at the underside of her breast through the fabric. “I’m already so hard. You know that, don’t you? I’ve been ready to fuck you since you walked in that door looking like something out of a cheap porno. I’m leaking, beautiful, I’m leaking because you’re so wet on my fingers I can feel it through my gloves.”

“Ben, touch me, please—”

She screams when he grabs the front of the t-shirt and yanks it all the way up to her neck, turning it into a fabric collar, baring her naked body to the open window and the whole city below.

“Look at that, Rey,” he whispers, tugging and twisting the fabric to pull her back toward his body. He slides the glove that touched her clit across her bare stomach and she can’t help it, she starts mewling because it leaves behind stripes of sticky liquid that cut like ice across her skin. She’s shivering in earnest now but she also loves this, and Ben knows it.

“Camera,” she whispers.

He growls and holds the twisted fabric of the t-shirt to keep her naked and still in front of the window while he grabs his phone and turns it to selfie video. “You like seeing yourself like this?” he asks in her ear, loud enough for the phone to pick up over the wind. “You like being this exposed?”

“Ben,” she whines, trying to press back against his body, but he twists the black jersey even more, putting just a touch of pressure on her throat.

He props the phone up against the window—no, Rey has to smile at his forethought when she notices the little velcro patch on the metal divider, perfectly positioned to capture her whole kneeling body. Finn’s cameras will be so much better, but there’s something comforting about his homemade setup, the ingenuity both she and Ben bring to their lust.

She can’t help watching herself in the phone display, Chicago lights splashed across her skin, as Ben slides one glove back down to her clit and the other around her ribcage, teasing but not touching her breasts. His huge body behind her feels hot, and the contrast with the cold on her nipples drives her mad.

“How many times are you gonna come for me tonight, sweetheart?” he asks, kissing her ear.

“Three?” she asks with mock innocence. He does exactly what she hoped he’d do; he forces her down, forehead to the open window, and lays three punishing slaps against her ass. Then the fabric tightens on her neck again and pulls her back up against the warmth of his thin jumper, and his glove slides back to her clit and she’s straining and so close and breathing hard in his hands.

“How many times are you gonna come for me tonight, you filthy, gorgeous little whore?”

“As—fuck, I’m so close Ben, I can’t, I can’t—”

The glove that's not torturing her clit hovers below her collarbone, a five-pointed black star over her heart.

“How many times, sweetheart? Say it.”

Her answer comes out in a near-sob. “As many as you want.”

“Good girl,” he bites her ear, and she chokes off an oomph. “Are you gonna come with my glove in your pussy, bent over for everyone to see?”

“Yes, yes—”

I’m gonna spank you until you cry, Rey. I hope you know that. I’m gonna sit right here in front of this window, with all these people down below, and I’m gonna stretch you naked over my lap and spank you until you’re begging me to take my cock in front of whoever I invite, do you understand that?”

Ben, you son of a bitch, yes—”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” His mouth is wet on her ear, and she opens her eyes, though her vision’s half-obscured the by the blindfold falling back down. She’s bucking against Ben’s touch and he has to bring his glove up to her throat to hold her still while he rubs her with sure, almost careless flicks of his finger. “You see everyone down there?”

“Please, just a finger inside me, please, I can’t—”

“Yes you can, sweetheart. You’re gonna come right here with my glove between your legs, and all those people down there will hear you scream, won’t they, because I’m going to do this—”

Rey is so fucking close, and then Ben slides the glove on her neck up to her lower lip, and teases her with it, darting the point of his index finger from her lip to her tongue and back out again, making her bite outward to chase it.

Ben—” the scream is cut off by two fingers in her mouth, and then she’s coming, and she keeps her eyes open to look down at the city looking up at her naked, wrecked body and Ben’s huge, beautiful hands, and Ben is ordering her to come for him and she obeys, because she’s his, and he’s hers.

His fingers are jammed so far down her throat she comes down from the orgasm with a choking sob, jerking as his fingers slow on her clit. Finally she relaxes against his body and sags under the wrist restraints, spent. With a pinky of his phone-compatible gloves he turns off the video and she slumps against him, surprised when he unhooks the wrist restraints in one deft motion so she can drop her still-bound arms. The bad Christmas music comes to an abrupt halt when he shuts the window, leaving them alone in the quiet flat.

She squeaks when something warm and soft surrounds her. Like she weighs nothing, he scoops her up and bridal-carries her to the sofa.

“What—Is this real fur?” she asks, breathless, a little disoriented.

“It wasn’t being used.” Probably his mother's, then. "I figured your naked body was a good enough reason to keep it.” He somehow manages to sit while still cradling her in the fur coat, and he notices a Halston label peaking out of the lining but she's too comfortable against the fur and his hard body to be annoyed. "Is that weird?" he asks, belatedly.

“It's fucking sexy, Ben. It's winter; I'd love to fuck you a fur rug. I’m just getting pussy juice all over this eight-thousand-dollar coat,” she says.

He lays her down and then stretches out beside her on the sofa, stroking her hair and nuzzling his nose against her temple. “Like I said, a good enough reason to keep it.”

"You're decadent, you know that?" He massages her sore shoulders in response, and sort of--chews on her hair. It's the sort of thing Ben does when he's beyond words but just needs to be close to her. "Will you kiss me?" she asks.

“I want to--but I might actually come. I—I need to calm down.” He flutters little kisses on her cheek as he talks and strokes her face with his glove, letting her steal just the barest taste of herself on his fingers. There will be more of that later; it always sets her off. 

“That’s alright,” she says, stretching her bound hands out from her ridiculously warm and soft fur cocoon to stroke the moles on his face. He lets his eyelashes fall shut when she runs her thumbs over the line of his nose. “Just lay here with me until it's time to get ready.”

He'll probably put her up by the window again, blindfold on, for their guests. The first thing they'll see when they come in is her bare ass, and even freshly-dripping from a fantastic orgasm, her stomach clenches at the thought.

“I will,” he says, tugging the t-shirt down over her chest and resting his glove on her stomach. He smiles into her shoulder. "Are you gonna fall asleep on me?"

"No, Ben. I'm gonna make you feel so good," she says, and she takes his thumb into her mouth.

Chapter Text

Someone in the flat below them is having a Christmas party—which is just as well, because Rey's going to make a lot of noise later—and the muffled strains of “All I Want for Christmas is You” filter through the carpet as the two of them curl together on the sofa. Ben rests his head against her chest, for the moment alright with Rey being in control, and Rey strokes his hair the way he likes, letting the strands catch on her fingers.

"You better not fall asleep," he says after a few minutes.

"Was a good orgasm," she mutters, twisting a lock of his wonderful hair around her pinky.

"Yeah?"

"Mm, yeah."

He raises his head and uses his still-moist glove to hike the t-shirt up, leaving her naked under his hands and his breath and his lips as she rests on the fur coat. He drums his fingers along the lower curve of her breast, teasing, just barely refusing to touch the nipples hardening quickly in the cool air. Rey makes a little sound because she fucking loves this, being naked in his hands, and then, abruptly, he laughs.

She pushes herself up to her elbows to glare at the top of his scalp. "What?"

He kisses one of her scars, the long one running down her side, and shakes his head. Gently, he urges her hands out of the cocoon of the fur coat, easing her back down, and begins to retie the intricate knot around her wrists. Her smile widens, remembering the first time they did this, the way his hands shook because he was so afraid of the darkness in himself, how ashamed she was of wanting this particular pleasure after everything she went through. His hands don't shake now, and she's not ashamed.

"It's like when we met," he says. "Naked in a coat."

"I wasn't exactly wearing fur."

The met when Rey stepped out of the studio for a cigarette, back when she still smoked, before Ben gave her the courage to quit. It’s a cliché, right, the exhibitionist as a nude model. But Rey's SAIC Sculpture scholarship was light on room and board, and that fifteen-an-hour looked damn good, and so many of her fellow broke-ass art student friends did it, Rey didn't even think of it as kinky. It wasn't until the tall awkward man showed up for the fourth week in a row that she started getting wet for him in her poses.

"You didn’t need fur. I couldn't stop thinking about everything you weren't wearing under that coat, how I’d already seen it," he says, brushing the bridge of his nose against her shoulder. She loves his nose—the way he loves her freckles. He'll be working on some report for work, pretending to ignore her until he starts smiling and asks what she's drawing, and it's always his nose. And his lips. He licks them as he says, "I couldn't stop thinking about doing this."

"What, fucking me in front of a window?"

"Fucking you for an audience," he says, and without warning he lifts her almost all the way up and then pushes her back down, face pressed into the couch, and slaps her hard with his glove so she gasps, then moans, and he does it again. "Spanking the shit out of you in the middle of that class, putting my fingers in that pussy I kept sculpting--"

"Fantasizing about the model?" she chokes into the coat. "It's a good thing you dropped out of art school."

He spanks her again for that, three times in quick succession, and before she can even catch her breath he turns her back over and she growls when his hot mouth closes over her left nipple.

"Oh my God--Fuck, Ben--"

He lifts his mouth long enough to talk, replacing it with his fingers, trailing the leather over her wet areolas. "I used to go home and jerk off to bending you over one of the studio tables, letting all those retired moms watch us--"

Rey's stomach clenches, pleasantly aching after her orgasm and already waiting for another one.

"They're all guerilla gardeners and pot farmers. You know they'd be into it," she says, breathing heavy. Her nipples are basically hair-triggers, and every move of Ben's fingers is making her jerk against the fur. "They'd probably hold me while you fucked me and then bake us special brownies."

He chortles, blowing hot air over her right nipple. "Probably," he says as his mouth closes over it.

"Took you long enough to work up the nerve to talk to me, though," she chides. Ben smiles around her nipple, and Rey yanks him up by the hair to look at him. He scrunches his eyebrows and she can't help it, she levers herself up as best as she can with her hands tied, and kisses along his scar from his cheek to where it disappears into his cashmere jumper. He swallows and makes a sound that vibrates under her lips. 

"Shirt," she orders.

"They'll be here in like five minutes."

"And until then I own every inch of you, so take your fucking shirt off, Solo, or I'll fight you for it."

He has the gall to roll his eyes at her, but, a little shyly, he rears up over her and pulls the cashmere over his head. Rey musters all her ab strength to pull herself up, annoyed that the t-shirt falls back down to cover her, and with one arm, Ben holds her waist and twists them so he's lying on the fur and she's free to kiss and lick where she pleases—tormenting him for once. Rey settles in to enjoy him, since she probably won't get the chance for the rest of the night. She leans into his groans as she straddles him, careful not to grind too hard in case things get out of hand, and licks at the scars on his chest.

"I didn't talk to you," he says as she licks, "because you're very intimidating."

Rey snorts and bites his nipple in warning.

"Like an angry squirrel," he says, and cuts off mid-laugh when she thrusts her hips into his already-confined erection. To shut him up, she cants up on her knees above him and slowly, methodically, drags her fingers through the wetness between her legs, then lowers herself back to his chest and shoves three fingers into his mouth. He groans and pulls her t-shirt back up so his nails can dig into her back while he sucks her taste off her fingers and she mouths his skin.

In fact, it was weeks of Thursday-night community studio sessions where Rey caught herself staring at the huge, awkward man at the back of the room—the lone sculptor in a sea of watercolor and charcoal—before she got up the courage to flirt with him when she stepped outside to smoke.

She patted her coat pockets in the universal sign for goddamn it, I’m out of American Spirits , and he shrugged and handed her his e-cig, and when she started coughing and asked what the hell it was, he said “peanut butter cheesecake” and she said, “Jesus, I thought it was pot,” and he said, “oh, you’re English, I worked in London for a while,” and she asked where and he said “for the evil empire,” and she said, “oh, you’re in business,” and he shrugged and said he did the Lehman Brothers-penthouse-cocaine thing for awhile, and the Marines-in-Afghanistan thing before that, so she could pick her evil empire, but then he said he’d been working on redemption, and he used that word, redemption , and he sort of blew it into the cold Chicago night on a trail of peanut butter cheesecake like a prayer, and it was such a crazy thing to say but he believed it, and maybe that was when Rey fell in love—she doesn't know.

"What are you thinking about?" Ben asks, sensing her slowing down. 

She almost says something joking, like how much I want to peg you in front of that window, but he always knows when she's hiding emotion.

"How much I love you," she murmurs into his hair. His lips are so much softer than they have any right to be when they close over her own, and for thirty seconds, maybe four times that, the knots lay forgotten as he clasps her wrists together and presses her with kisses into the coat. Rey's bare leg is hooked over his knee on the couch when she finally becomes aware of what's different.

"Ben," she says half-way into his mouth.

"Fuck, your right, fine, I want you to come for me again." His hand moves between her legs, and then he scoots backward to slide down her body and forces her knees apart.

"Oh, God," Rey manages before his tongue connects with her clit. She throws her head back and bucks, making him growl and push her down into the fur, and the phone buzzes again. Rey really wants to shut up and just keep moaning his name until she comes but after four more texts the image of Finn standing in the lobby wondering if she's changed her mind makes her tangle her hands in Ben's hair and push him away.

"Ben,  your phone."

"What?" He raises his head, and the lower half of his face is shiny.

"Fuck, I--" She glances at the vibrating rectangle on the floor. "Your phone."

Something in his mind finally clicks, and he grumbles and climbs off her, clearly annoyed, clearly rock-hard in his black jeans.

“It’s Hux," he says, breathy. Before she can protest he throws his jumper back on. "He’s in the lobby.”

“What? Already?”

“He’s staying at Trump Tower--”

“Of course he is.”

Ben snorts and rubs the liquid off his jaw. “Damn it, I meant to have you...whatever, fuck, you’re distracting."

Rey smiles and stretches, watching Ben's eyes track her hands as they rise over her head, then behind it, luxuriating in the fur.

“You could send me down to get them,” Rey says. She bends her knees and spreads herself open for him, and Ben's on top of her, biting her shoulder, growling. "Everyone would see the mark you left on my ass."

“You fucking tease, ” he says. He’s heavy, and when Rey hitches her pelvis up to him it feels like a full hip-thrust at the gym. But he doesn’t let her wrap her legs around him, not this time. Instead she squeaks at the sudden rush of cold air when he yanks her out of the shelter of the coat. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Going down to the lobby and showing yourself off, showing everybody you’re my whore--”

She moans his name and overbalances, falling against him, and he grins as he drags her to the kitchen.

“You,” he says, hoisting her onto the kitchen counter, “don’t leave this apartment until I tell you.”

Rey reaches out with her bound hands and tugs his jumper. “What if you just leave the door unlocked and you have your cock in me as they come in?”

He bites her shoulder gently, too gently to leave a mark, since Finn wants her body unmarked for the first round of photos. “I’ve got maybe two loads in me,” he says around a mouthful of skin. “I’m not wasting one before the fun even starts.”

 “It wouldn’t be wasting it,” she complains as she tugs away from him, kicking her feet innocently, “and don’t be modest. You’ve got three at least.”

 He does that thing with his jaw that he does when he’s trying not to do something he really wants to do. Rey holds her breath, waiting for him to pull her knees so far apart it hurts, and thrust himself into her until she throws her head back against the cabinets and he comes shuddering inside her—breathing hard until he pulls out and spills semen and pussy juices all over the granite counter. But the door buzzes, and he takes a deep breath and gives her one last, slow, luxurious, private kiss on her forehead.

“Whose are you?” he asks in a whisper as he slides his fingers over the front of her t-shirt. They’re in the scene now, not that it matters, because the answer is always the same, and Ben’s asking for reassurance.

“Yours. I’m yours, Ben.”

“Yes,” he says, and Rey smiles at how shaky his words are. “Mine, sweetheart. Only mine.”

He moves to let her go, but Rey, hands now out of commission, tugs him back with her teeth on his jumper. The door buzzes again but he doesn’t seem to hear it, caught in the sensation of her mouth on his neck. 

“You’re mine, Ben Solo,” she says, bracing her feet against the bottom cupboards to suck his plush lower lip into her mouth. She bites, just shy of bruising, and he groans and squeezes her waist to push her away before he grinds against her and fucks her on the counter, after all.

He pulls back from her lips when she releases him, and stares down at her with naked hunger. “You’re mine,” she says again.

He swears softly and strokes her cheek.

“Yes, I am.”