Re: 2nd Floor: Beds and Couches - Rajani and Magnus
Janie knew very well that she was testing Magnus' boundaries, and that it was a dangerous game. Never would she try such a thing with a leash-yanking, strictly mannered master, but sir had been rather lax and informal in their interactions thus far. And though many Supernaturals were mistresses or masters, that did not mean all of them would prefer to be as dominant as social norms suggested. So now and again, it paid off to press a client, to see if they would truly remain rigid or if they would bend in a needed way they may not know to ask for.
Magnus Bane was not the latter, it became very clear, even for his easy flattery and flashy appearance. Janie knew it in the abrupt surge forward that forced her onto her back, the clutch of his hand over her narrow throat that left her gasping up at him. Was it the title, or the tone? She wasn't scared, not yet, and not truly - she had been at the mercy of monsters before, and she did not count this man in with them. And though she'd rather to forget it at times, she was a Were, and any injury that came to her was unlikely to remain on her person for very long. Her dark eyes certainly flashed with surprise, however, his words sounding like nonsense in their taut rhythm, though she understood precisely what he was saying. Of course she did not want him to finish so easily. In a sense, she did not want him to finish with her at all, feeding on his expert attentions as if they were a decadent meal.
She found that her hands had instinctively risen to protect her throat, the both of them clasped around his wrist. Though she had known in the next moment that they were not necessary, her pulse still pounded a beat harder than it had before, drumming against his palm. As she collected herself, Janie writhed with the whole of her body up into his hold, her fingers squeezing over his hand, in nothing like an attempt to pull them away - as reassurance, as encouragement, not that he needed it, but as a gift to him. She would take his rougher, more demanding touches just as willingly as the soft, gentle way he had held her before. She understood that this was only one more kind of affection, if a darker sort.
"I do not need you to be cruel, sir," her whisper almost imperceptibly shook as Janie spoke, more from submissive arousal and anticipation than anything. "I need you to use me." If it came in whisper-soft kisses or in stripes torn out of her back, if it were Magnus Bane or a master who would never debase himself so far as to give her a name - she did not exaggerate to call it a need. It never mattered that she was Supernatural, it never mattered how much money she was able to make as a working girl. She needed this, to give until she was gone, if only for a short while.