RPF: Stick
Fiction.
RPF read at your own risk. Rated MA
*Special thanks to Heather for the photo prompt, Michelle for the scene, and benslerforever7 for the beta.
On her way out, Mariska walks past the props department during a pre-rehearsal when Chris is practicing handcuffing their perp. She pauses momentarily, leaning her weary body against the wall, to watch in amusement. Chris is a pro, but the actor wants to appear hard-working and professional. It’s his first big TV gig, and he wants everything to go smoothly. He needs to look like he’s putting up a fight, but still be subdued enough for Chris to get the cuffs around his wrists for the scene.
Only there's a malfunction with the set that they are using. The lock gets stuck and the actor nervously chuckles. Mariska watches as the prop guys try and unlock the cuffs but more specifically, she watches Chris place his hand on the guy’s shoulder and reassure him that they’ll get the cuffs off.
When they finally manage to get the handcuffs off the actor, Chris makes some sexual comment about being stuck, or something to that effect. The actor is rubbing his wrists and sort of lifts his lips in a smile, but you can tell he’s a little shaken up from the panic. He nods towards Chris as he leaves for the night, and mutters his goodbye to the crew.
The kid brushes past her and he blushes furiously. When they first met, he had made a fumbling comment about his mom being a huge fan of hers, when in all honesty he was a little star-struck and didn’t mean it to sound like she was old. He then tried to cover his tracks and called her hot just as Chris walked up to meet him, causing the older actor to bristle a bit and give the kid a hard time. Ever since, the poor guy can’t look Mariska in the face. He prefers to keep his head down and himself, out of the way.
She laughs a bit as the kid breezes by and Chris looks up to see her standing against the wall. The cream shift dress compliments her abnormally tan skin and gives her a summery glow even in the dead of winter. His tired face brightens just a touch and he makes his way towards her.
Just her mere presence makes him feel settled.
Mariska watches him walk with a swagger only Meloni possesses, the broken handcuffs still in hand. He tosses them towards the supervisor as he heads her way. Her grin spreads even wider and her mind instantly recalls how he asked her once if she's ever been tied down during sex. She secretly thinks of what she could do with and to him if he couldn't get away.
"And what are we smiling about?" he asks her, gently poking her side.
"Nothing," she innocently tells him, squirming slightly away from his tickling touch.
Chris walks just out of sight past her but before she can turn and walk away, his breath is hot on her ear. “That’s too bad. I thought it might be something we could both smile about.”
The suggestion sends a shiver down her spine and covers her skin in goose bumps. She feels hot all over and she turns to watch him strut down the hallway towards his dressing room, shaking his million dollar ass as he goes. He knows she’s watching him and she just laughs as she turns around in time to see the prop supervisor walking away with the broken cuffs. He’s about to discard them when Mariska stops and asks if she can have them. He tells her that they stick, but she lies and says it’s for a gag gift so the locking mechanism doesn’t matter anyway. He shrugs and hands them over and bids her a goodnight.
Tucking them safely in her purse, she turns and heads home for the night.
[]
After a long shoot a week later, she decides to put her plan into action. Not surprisingly, the door to Chris’ dressing room is unlocked when she tries it. This room is bigger than his at the Jersey studio, the couch sets way back into the room and there’s even room for a full-size refrigerator and coffee station. The door squeaks and she sees Chris’ topless body bent over the coffee table, going through mail and other paperwork. She quietly eyes the muscles in his shoulders and back, watching them flex and stretch under his reddened skin. His back is majestic and strong, and the view sends a fire licking up inside her. He looks up and smirks as she quickly turns, poking her head out into the hallway to see if anyone has seen her.
When her head whips around again and the door shuts, she sees that he’s smirking at her with an open mouth and a twinkle in his devious, blue eyes. His head is tilted back slightly so he’s looking at her down his nose. His arms hang down his sides, chest heaving, legs sprawled in a wide linebacker stance. It’s enough for her breath to catch.
She blinks and like a wildfire their passion spreads. Hands and lips collide with rumpled clothing and skin. His tongue snakes up and around her ear and back down her neck as she struggles to gain control of not only her sense, but the situation.
“Chris,” she whispers, breathless from the exchange.
He says nothing but moans into her nape as his hands find their way to the zipper at the back of her dress. His hands are firm and unforgiving, much like everything else about him, and she is suddenly beside herself. Her arms slide up his and push gently but firmly at his shoulders, breaking their connection. His long face pensive and worried, he begins to utter his objections but she shushes him with a pair of sturdy, well manicured fingers.
“I have a surprise for you. Meet me in an hour. Our place,” she murmurs in a hoarse whisper. Kissing him softly on the mouth, she releases something like a sigh before strutting out of his room.
The spittle hadn’t dried on his mouth before he began to wonder what exactly he’d stepped into.
[]
With a snap, the final clip lands in place. Her stockinged feet ease towards the shoe box on the bed and pull out the five inch black stilettos with the ankle cuffs. She smiles as she slides them on; they’re not the only cuffs she’ll be seeing tonight.
She hates surprises, but he loves them. The knots in her stomach tighten, even though this isn’t the first and most definitely won’t be the last, she finds comfort in the anxiety. Somehow she feels that if she were to stop feeling that way, then the experience would no longer be worth the deception.
On cue, he knocks on the door impatiently before sliding in his key. This condo has served them well in the past, and he’s infinitely glad he purchased it. Long gone are the days of sneaking around their trailers and dressing rooms; they now have a place of their own close to their new studio. Chris pulls his grey T-shirt over his head with one hand and drops his keys into the tray by the door with the other as he toes off his shoes.
“M’riska,” he sing songs in a thick, Brooklyn dialect. “Where are ya?”
The sound of his belt hitting the floor elicits a hidden giggle from the bedroom.
Chris smiles widely and begins to walk towards the intoxicating sound of his lover’s laughter. His smile disappears, though, the moment he rounds the corner leading into the room and sees something he’s not expecting.
She’s standing against the wall nearest the window, one leg drawn up with her foot flat on the wall, arms crossed under her breasts. The black corset she wears pulled tightly around her body, the one accentuating the dangerous curves she’s been blessed with, is trimmed with red lace. A band of black tops the sheer thigh highs that are clipped into place by a matching black satin garter belt. The light from the open window reflects the shimmering fabric of the stockings that end in extremely tall black stilettos. His heart raced at the sight of her, ready for action, in his condo. Against his wall. His eyes trace back up her body and stop at her hands.
Dangling in the left hand is a pair of silver handcuffs.
He swallows thickly, a sheen of sweat pushing out of his pores. Chris takes a step towards her, tentatively. His tongue darts out to lick his dry lips as he waits for what’s in store.
Mariska makes her way over to him. They are both aware of their even stature now with her heels. Equal footing. Her mere presence causes him to step backwards until he’s nearly against the back wall. Grabbing his wrist firmly and pulling it up to her face, she inserts one of his fingers into her mouth and sucks slowly, never breaking eye contact.
The lights still off, a tranquility coats their surroundings. Odd, really, because what she has in mind is far from peace and quiet.
He shudders, easily distracted, and she snaps one side of the cuffs into place. The sound of the metal teeth clicking together snaps him out of his reverie and Chris’ lips twitch like he’s a reborn Elvis. Her lips reach forward and brush against his and with his free hand, he captures the back of her head like he’s cradling a large mango and is preparing to devour it. His fingers tangle in her hair and his mouth opens wider than hers, enveloping her pouty lips.
He just wants to slam her down and plow inside of her but before he can start to move, she’s pushed him onto the bed and snapped the other cuff around his wrist, binding him to the metal framed headboard. “I want-”
Momentarily struggling with the restraints, Chris grits his teeth. He’s never been the one restrained - other than a tie that he could easily escape - but rather the one doing the restraining.
“I know what you want. And I know what I want. Guess who’s going to win?” she mocks, climbing over him and leaning her breasts towards his face. He makes a move to mouth one of them, but she sways away before he can get his lips close to her satin covered flesh.
“You don’t play fair,” he says in mock complaint, pulling against the cuffs again with a jiggle. The rattling sound pleases her and an evil smile spreads rapidly across her face.
Her chest slides up the hard surface of his; the dusting of hair tickling her cleavage. She’s mounted like she’s ready to go, but she has a bit of teasing up her sleeve. The sado-masochism streak in her is timid; she’s not into the whipping and spanking (well, sometimes she likes that) and pain that is associated with it, but she loves the dominance. Most days, she would prefer to be the submissive type, allowing her personality to shine through into the bedroom. On these rare days, she craves being on top, being in control, and damn if that doesn’t turn Chris on.
Their mouths mesh together, a cacophonous symphony of wet sounds and moans. In between, during their breaths, they take turns whispering.
“I want you.”
“I need you.”
“God damn.”
She can’t wait any longer as she slides her hand down his body and wraps her fingers steadfast around him. It never ceases to amaze her how hard he gets and she wonders for a minute if he thinks the same thing about how wet he makes her. If he compares her. If the natural reaction to sexual stimulation such as this is normal or if, after so many years, they are unusual.
Backing slowly down his body, she finds herself face to face with his proudly twitching penis. Her tongue darts out to remove the clear jewel of moisture at the tip and he inadvertently thrusts his hips towards her face, grunting and clanging above her.
A few strokes and she releases him, throws her leg over his body and climbs back onto her feet next to him. Her hands adroitly reach behind her and loosen the ribbon laced across her back. Chris cleverly maneuvers his leg up when she turns around to tease him. His toes munch at her fleshy behind, eliciting a high-pitched squeal and bout of laughter before Mariska spins around and nearly scolds him for beating her at her own game.
He just smiles.
Smirking instead, she unpalms her breasts to him. Chris pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and licks his bottom lip. She quivers.
Standing with her legs wide, her hands run down her chest, over her stomach, down her sides, and slowly slide down and up the insides of her thighs. She drags her nails over the fabric there, a small buzzing sound from the friction fills the room. Her thumbs slid just inside the crotch of her underwear, pulling them ever so slightly from her body without revealing anything to him.
“M’riska,” he warns, his gaze striking and narrowed to her. The shadows seem to settle around his face, making him a seductive sight for sore eyes.
She says nothing and continues to slide her thumbs up the inside seam until she reaches the thing strings that lay under her garter on her hips. She slides them from her body, bending from the hips and making sure to flip her hair up on the return back upright.
Chris’ gaze lowers from her face and travels down her body. The garter belt is still in place and he watches her walk towards him, panty-less. She straddles his legs quickly and begins to tease and touch him, carefully avoiding the parts she knows he’s dying for her to touch. He aches with want and desire and can’t help but moan his frustrations to her as he tries to free his legs. He wiggles his hips south but she’s too quick and follows suit.
“Uh, uh, uh,” she scolds, wagging her finger in his face. “You want me?”
“Fuck yes I do, shit.” His wrists are red and raw from the struggle.
Without warning, she sheaths him within her, and he cries out, arching his back and pulling on the cuffs. Her pace is torturously slow, steady. In his seated position, he can do no more than try to tongue her bouncing tits as they tap him in the face.
He’s so painfully hard, so close from all the anticipation, and being the experienced lover she is, she knows that. She stops and he quakes beneath her and it’s not long before she slides him out of her and grabs the head of him firmly and squeezes just so. He’s slippery from her secretions. His body is flushed a bright red, she notices, as her eyes climb upwards.
A sheen glistens on her body, making her nearly sparkle in the dim room. It’s enough to practically dare him to come. He can’t see anything beyond the impending climax and her legs strapped into those thigh-highs and heels still straddling him on the bed. It’s too much and not enough and he shuts his eyes as the pressure inside him builds. His arms are still trapped and he wriggles and groans but it’s too late and she starts stroking him just as the cliff nears. He’s over the edge and screaming; torrents of hot, white nectar slide down her pumping fist. She stops just at the frenulum, gripping firmly until his air returns.
With one knee in between his legs, she carefully leans up towards his arms; her breasts wild in his face. She feels the nibbling of his teeth against her nipple before he clamps down, bringing the bud into his mouth as she tries to undo the cuffs. It’s distracting, of course, but she can’t seem to get them to unlock even as she goes to brush Chris away. He relishes the feel of the ridges and the saltiness of her skin dancing on his tongue.
“Stop, stop a second, will you?” she admonishes from above him. Chuckling, she returns to the metal restraints keeping his skillful hands from her body.
Oh fuck, she thinks.
They stick, the prop supervisor had told her.
She sits back on her heels, demurely. Deceiving. He cocks his head, unsure of what’s going on.
“Mariska,” he begins. “Are you going to let me out now?”
With a quirk of her lip, and a raising of her eyebrows in guilt, he knows something’s wrong.
“Rish, where did you get these?” he asks, pulling on the cuffs so they make a clattering noise.
She shakes her head.
His eyes widen.
He knows.
And at the moment, he likes it.
RPF read at your own risk. Rated MA
*Special thanks to Heather for the photo prompt, Michelle for the scene, and benslerforever7 for the beta.
On her way out, Mariska walks past the props department during a pre-rehearsal when Chris is practicing handcuffing their perp. She pauses momentarily, leaning her weary body against the wall, to watch in amusement. Chris is a pro, but the actor wants to appear hard-working and professional. It’s his first big TV gig, and he wants everything to go smoothly. He needs to look like he’s putting up a fight, but still be subdued enough for Chris to get the cuffs around his wrists for the scene.
Only there's a malfunction with the set that they are using. The lock gets stuck and the actor nervously chuckles. Mariska watches as the prop guys try and unlock the cuffs but more specifically, she watches Chris place his hand on the guy’s shoulder and reassure him that they’ll get the cuffs off.
When they finally manage to get the handcuffs off the actor, Chris makes some sexual comment about being stuck, or something to that effect. The actor is rubbing his wrists and sort of lifts his lips in a smile, but you can tell he’s a little shaken up from the panic. He nods towards Chris as he leaves for the night, and mutters his goodbye to the crew.
The kid brushes past her and he blushes furiously. When they first met, he had made a fumbling comment about his mom being a huge fan of hers, when in all honesty he was a little star-struck and didn’t mean it to sound like she was old. He then tried to cover his tracks and called her hot just as Chris walked up to meet him, causing the older actor to bristle a bit and give the kid a hard time. Ever since, the poor guy can’t look Mariska in the face. He prefers to keep his head down and himself, out of the way.
She laughs a bit as the kid breezes by and Chris looks up to see her standing against the wall. The cream shift dress compliments her abnormally tan skin and gives her a summery glow even in the dead of winter. His tired face brightens just a touch and he makes his way towards her.
Just her mere presence makes him feel settled.
Mariska watches him walk with a swagger only Meloni possesses, the broken handcuffs still in hand. He tosses them towards the supervisor as he heads her way. Her grin spreads even wider and her mind instantly recalls how he asked her once if she's ever been tied down during sex. She secretly thinks of what she could do with and to him if he couldn't get away.
"And what are we smiling about?" he asks her, gently poking her side.
"Nothing," she innocently tells him, squirming slightly away from his tickling touch.
Chris walks just out of sight past her but before she can turn and walk away, his breath is hot on her ear. “That’s too bad. I thought it might be something we could both smile about.”
The suggestion sends a shiver down her spine and covers her skin in goose bumps. She feels hot all over and she turns to watch him strut down the hallway towards his dressing room, shaking his million dollar ass as he goes. He knows she’s watching him and she just laughs as she turns around in time to see the prop supervisor walking away with the broken cuffs. He’s about to discard them when Mariska stops and asks if she can have them. He tells her that they stick, but she lies and says it’s for a gag gift so the locking mechanism doesn’t matter anyway. He shrugs and hands them over and bids her a goodnight.
Tucking them safely in her purse, she turns and heads home for the night.
[]
After a long shoot a week later, she decides to put her plan into action. Not surprisingly, the door to Chris’ dressing room is unlocked when she tries it. This room is bigger than his at the Jersey studio, the couch sets way back into the room and there’s even room for a full-size refrigerator and coffee station. The door squeaks and she sees Chris’ topless body bent over the coffee table, going through mail and other paperwork. She quietly eyes the muscles in his shoulders and back, watching them flex and stretch under his reddened skin. His back is majestic and strong, and the view sends a fire licking up inside her. He looks up and smirks as she quickly turns, poking her head out into the hallway to see if anyone has seen her.
When her head whips around again and the door shuts, she sees that he’s smirking at her with an open mouth and a twinkle in his devious, blue eyes. His head is tilted back slightly so he’s looking at her down his nose. His arms hang down his sides, chest heaving, legs sprawled in a wide linebacker stance. It’s enough for her breath to catch.
She blinks and like a wildfire their passion spreads. Hands and lips collide with rumpled clothing and skin. His tongue snakes up and around her ear and back down her neck as she struggles to gain control of not only her sense, but the situation.
“Chris,” she whispers, breathless from the exchange.
He says nothing but moans into her nape as his hands find their way to the zipper at the back of her dress. His hands are firm and unforgiving, much like everything else about him, and she is suddenly beside herself. Her arms slide up his and push gently but firmly at his shoulders, breaking their connection. His long face pensive and worried, he begins to utter his objections but she shushes him with a pair of sturdy, well manicured fingers.
“I have a surprise for you. Meet me in an hour. Our place,” she murmurs in a hoarse whisper. Kissing him softly on the mouth, she releases something like a sigh before strutting out of his room.
The spittle hadn’t dried on his mouth before he began to wonder what exactly he’d stepped into.
[]
With a snap, the final clip lands in place. Her stockinged feet ease towards the shoe box on the bed and pull out the five inch black stilettos with the ankle cuffs. She smiles as she slides them on; they’re not the only cuffs she’ll be seeing tonight.
She hates surprises, but he loves them. The knots in her stomach tighten, even though this isn’t the first and most definitely won’t be the last, she finds comfort in the anxiety. Somehow she feels that if she were to stop feeling that way, then the experience would no longer be worth the deception.
On cue, he knocks on the door impatiently before sliding in his key. This condo has served them well in the past, and he’s infinitely glad he purchased it. Long gone are the days of sneaking around their trailers and dressing rooms; they now have a place of their own close to their new studio. Chris pulls his grey T-shirt over his head with one hand and drops his keys into the tray by the door with the other as he toes off his shoes.
“M’riska,” he sing songs in a thick, Brooklyn dialect. “Where are ya?”
The sound of his belt hitting the floor elicits a hidden giggle from the bedroom.
Chris smiles widely and begins to walk towards the intoxicating sound of his lover’s laughter. His smile disappears, though, the moment he rounds the corner leading into the room and sees something he’s not expecting.
She’s standing against the wall nearest the window, one leg drawn up with her foot flat on the wall, arms crossed under her breasts. The black corset she wears pulled tightly around her body, the one accentuating the dangerous curves she’s been blessed with, is trimmed with red lace. A band of black tops the sheer thigh highs that are clipped into place by a matching black satin garter belt. The light from the open window reflects the shimmering fabric of the stockings that end in extremely tall black stilettos. His heart raced at the sight of her, ready for action, in his condo. Against his wall. His eyes trace back up her body and stop at her hands.
Dangling in the left hand is a pair of silver handcuffs.
He swallows thickly, a sheen of sweat pushing out of his pores. Chris takes a step towards her, tentatively. His tongue darts out to lick his dry lips as he waits for what’s in store.
Mariska makes her way over to him. They are both aware of their even stature now with her heels. Equal footing. Her mere presence causes him to step backwards until he’s nearly against the back wall. Grabbing his wrist firmly and pulling it up to her face, she inserts one of his fingers into her mouth and sucks slowly, never breaking eye contact.
The lights still off, a tranquility coats their surroundings. Odd, really, because what she has in mind is far from peace and quiet.
He shudders, easily distracted, and she snaps one side of the cuffs into place. The sound of the metal teeth clicking together snaps him out of his reverie and Chris’ lips twitch like he’s a reborn Elvis. Her lips reach forward and brush against his and with his free hand, he captures the back of her head like he’s cradling a large mango and is preparing to devour it. His fingers tangle in her hair and his mouth opens wider than hers, enveloping her pouty lips.
He just wants to slam her down and plow inside of her but before he can start to move, she’s pushed him onto the bed and snapped the other cuff around his wrist, binding him to the metal framed headboard. “I want-”
Momentarily struggling with the restraints, Chris grits his teeth. He’s never been the one restrained - other than a tie that he could easily escape - but rather the one doing the restraining.
“I know what you want. And I know what I want. Guess who’s going to win?” she mocks, climbing over him and leaning her breasts towards his face. He makes a move to mouth one of them, but she sways away before he can get his lips close to her satin covered flesh.
“You don’t play fair,” he says in mock complaint, pulling against the cuffs again with a jiggle. The rattling sound pleases her and an evil smile spreads rapidly across her face.
Her chest slides up the hard surface of his; the dusting of hair tickling her cleavage. She’s mounted like she’s ready to go, but she has a bit of teasing up her sleeve. The sado-masochism streak in her is timid; she’s not into the whipping and spanking (well, sometimes she likes that) and pain that is associated with it, but she loves the dominance. Most days, she would prefer to be the submissive type, allowing her personality to shine through into the bedroom. On these rare days, she craves being on top, being in control, and damn if that doesn’t turn Chris on.
Their mouths mesh together, a cacophonous symphony of wet sounds and moans. In between, during their breaths, they take turns whispering.
“I want you.”
“I need you.”
“God damn.”
She can’t wait any longer as she slides her hand down his body and wraps her fingers steadfast around him. It never ceases to amaze her how hard he gets and she wonders for a minute if he thinks the same thing about how wet he makes her. If he compares her. If the natural reaction to sexual stimulation such as this is normal or if, after so many years, they are unusual.
Backing slowly down his body, she finds herself face to face with his proudly twitching penis. Her tongue darts out to remove the clear jewel of moisture at the tip and he inadvertently thrusts his hips towards her face, grunting and clanging above her.
A few strokes and she releases him, throws her leg over his body and climbs back onto her feet next to him. Her hands adroitly reach behind her and loosen the ribbon laced across her back. Chris cleverly maneuvers his leg up when she turns around to tease him. His toes munch at her fleshy behind, eliciting a high-pitched squeal and bout of laughter before Mariska spins around and nearly scolds him for beating her at her own game.
He just smiles.
Smirking instead, she unpalms her breasts to him. Chris pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and licks his bottom lip. She quivers.
Standing with her legs wide, her hands run down her chest, over her stomach, down her sides, and slowly slide down and up the insides of her thighs. She drags her nails over the fabric there, a small buzzing sound from the friction fills the room. Her thumbs slid just inside the crotch of her underwear, pulling them ever so slightly from her body without revealing anything to him.
“M’riska,” he warns, his gaze striking and narrowed to her. The shadows seem to settle around his face, making him a seductive sight for sore eyes.
She says nothing and continues to slide her thumbs up the inside seam until she reaches the thing strings that lay under her garter on her hips. She slides them from her body, bending from the hips and making sure to flip her hair up on the return back upright.
Chris’ gaze lowers from her face and travels down her body. The garter belt is still in place and he watches her walk towards him, panty-less. She straddles his legs quickly and begins to tease and touch him, carefully avoiding the parts she knows he’s dying for her to touch. He aches with want and desire and can’t help but moan his frustrations to her as he tries to free his legs. He wiggles his hips south but she’s too quick and follows suit.
“Uh, uh, uh,” she scolds, wagging her finger in his face. “You want me?”
“Fuck yes I do, shit.” His wrists are red and raw from the struggle.
Without warning, she sheaths him within her, and he cries out, arching his back and pulling on the cuffs. Her pace is torturously slow, steady. In his seated position, he can do no more than try to tongue her bouncing tits as they tap him in the face.
He’s so painfully hard, so close from all the anticipation, and being the experienced lover she is, she knows that. She stops and he quakes beneath her and it’s not long before she slides him out of her and grabs the head of him firmly and squeezes just so. He’s slippery from her secretions. His body is flushed a bright red, she notices, as her eyes climb upwards.
A sheen glistens on her body, making her nearly sparkle in the dim room. It’s enough to practically dare him to come. He can’t see anything beyond the impending climax and her legs strapped into those thigh-highs and heels still straddling him on the bed. It’s too much and not enough and he shuts his eyes as the pressure inside him builds. His arms are still trapped and he wriggles and groans but it’s too late and she starts stroking him just as the cliff nears. He’s over the edge and screaming; torrents of hot, white nectar slide down her pumping fist. She stops just at the frenulum, gripping firmly until his air returns.
With one knee in between his legs, she carefully leans up towards his arms; her breasts wild in his face. She feels the nibbling of his teeth against her nipple before he clamps down, bringing the bud into his mouth as she tries to undo the cuffs. It’s distracting, of course, but she can’t seem to get them to unlock even as she goes to brush Chris away. He relishes the feel of the ridges and the saltiness of her skin dancing on his tongue.
“Stop, stop a second, will you?” she admonishes from above him. Chuckling, she returns to the metal restraints keeping his skillful hands from her body.
Oh fuck, she thinks.
They stick, the prop supervisor had told her.
She sits back on her heels, demurely. Deceiving. He cocks his head, unsure of what’s going on.
“Mariska,” he begins. “Are you going to let me out now?”
With a quirk of her lip, and a raising of her eyebrows in guilt, he knows something’s wrong.
“Rish, where did you get these?” he asks, pulling on the cuffs so they make a clattering noise.
She shakes her head.
His eyes widen.
He knows.
And at the moment, he likes it.