"Mmmm, no, I think I'll pass~"
Slowly, as if the tiny voice in her head were controlling it with a crank, Emma's head swiveled around. With an almost mechanical shudder, her incredulous gaze landed on the mischievously smiling face of the late 20's-odd dirty blonde man sitting on the couch beside her. The man was wrapped tightly in a large blanket that hid every one of his features apart from his messy hair and an adorably soft face that made him seem a good five years younger than truly he was.
"You'll
pass
? It's right next to you!"
The "it" in question was the remote for the TV, whose stagnant black screen had remained unfilled since the man had turned it off a few minutes ago.
"But it's outside the blanket," the man pouted.
"Well that sure didn't stop you from using it to turn the TV off in the first place, now did it?"
"That was before. It's cold out there now!" The man snuggled deeper into the blanket until Emma could barely see the catlike glow of his eyes within the bundle.
"Owen, turn the TV on," the woman rolled her eyes.
"Come and get it yourself~"
"Excuse me?" Emma chuckled.
"Come. And. Get. It. Yourself." Owen stuck his tongue out of the blankets, and retreated once more.
Emma shook her head with a smile. Ever since she'd met Owen slightly over a year ago, it had always been like this with him. Cute, charming, playful -- Emma imagined that other women might not have been as receptive to the last part, but she couldn't help but admit to being attracted to the whole package. It was certainly a refreshing change of pace from the more rigid, serious workplace she'd been attempting to manage for the past few years.
This wasn't the same kind of playfulness that she'd initially experienced, though. Owen was quick with a joke, liked to poke harmless fun, and enjoyed exchanging banter with Emma; in public, those were his go-to behaviors. But here, in the apartment that they had been sharing together for the past five months?
He was a total brat.
That wasn't to say that he was rude, or unhelpful, or anything like that. No, he pulled his weight just as much as Emma did when it mattered. But it always came with some pull: a joking remark, a childish refusal, a stuck-out tongue -- whenever it wasn't inappropriate, there was always some playful pushback from Owen.
Usually, it was all in good fun. Emma had her limits, though, and given the rather stressful week she'd been having, they were being reached sooner than usual. Between this, teasing her while she was working, being intentionally frustrating while they were trying to pick a place to eat the previous night, and an ongoing effort to pretend not to hear her when she was making requests of him, he'd been riling her up near her breaking point all week. She was about one antic away from not being able to hold herself back any longer.
With a recomposing sigh, she adjusted her deep blue nightgown so she wouldn't pull on it as she reached over the bundle of Owen. Clearly visible on his other side was the jet black remote, not nearly as far away as he'd made it out to be (of course). The second she grabbed for it, though, a hand shot out from underneath the blanket and snatched it away from her.
"Oh, sorry! Seemed like it warmed up out there, so I thought I'd get it myself," Owen teased.
And that was it.
Limit reached.
With almost superhuman swiftness, Emma tore the blanket off of Owen. It happened so quickly and caught Owen so off-guard that the man could provide no resistance as he was once more exposed to the outside world. In a single move, Emma tossed the blanket neatly to the side, pinned her partner's arms down, and straddled him.
The playful teasing ceased as the blood rushed to Owen's face. It wasn't as noticeable when they were both sitting, but Emma was a tall 5'11" to his 5'6", and with him being sunk and pinned into the couch, those five inches felt more like five feet. He stared up, smile gone, blushing madly at the cold, narrow glare of the daunting beauty above him. His chest tightened, and though his heart rate began to skyrocket, his breathing had completely cut short. Whereas before he'd have done nothing Emma asked of him, now he felt as though he couldn't breathe unless she allowed it.
Emma noticed the transformation, and it caused her heart to begin fluttering as well. She loved Owen when he was being cute and playful, but this Owen? The one beneath her, under her control, unable to do more than stare in awe of her and her commanding presence? This was the Owen that she
craved
.
Without releasing her grip, Emma leaned in closely to Owen's face. The mixture of enticement and fear in the young man's eyes was driving her wild with lust. She wanted, desperately, to have her way with him right then and there.
But that's what he wanted. And he needed to learn his lesson first.
Avoiding his quivering lips by a hair's width, Emma pressed her body's weight against his chest and brought her lips up to Owen's left ear.
"You've been a very, very bad boy lately, you know that?" she whispered.
She could feel the pounding heart threatening to beat out of his chest as the words left her lips.
"Ah-I-"
Emma's right hand left Owen's pinned arm and quickly, but lightly, wrapped around his throat. He went quiet instantly.
"Now, now. I didn't give you permission to speak. You nod your head, understand?"
Under her hand, she could feel his head lift itself up and down ever so slightly.
"Good. Now, again: you've been a very..."
Her grip tightened a bit.
"Very..."