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Autobiography	By : tartausucre Category: 1 through F > Firewall Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Firewall is the property of Warner Bros. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Bill lifted his hips a little, giving her room to tug at the combined obstacle of his boxers and jeans.
When his erection sprang free, there was a moment of strange, total stillness. Her eyes strayed upward and met his, and he looked down at her with a half-lidded gaze, his lips parted. The closest he’d ever get to begging. A slow, confident smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She dipped her head and planted a kiss on his bare hip. The softer flesh of his thigh. The base of his cock, where she felt his pulse tick against her bottom lip. Margaux slid a finger to either side of him, angling his erection upward. She tilted her head and trailed her kisses up his shaft, back down, failing to suppress a giggle at the way it twitched with each touch from her lips. She followed the same path with the tip of her tongue, fluttering across the thick ridge that ran along his whole length, back up to that swollen, twinned curve where it took on a purplish hue, the satin-smooth skin on his shaft giving way to taut, sensitive flesh that drew a soft, appreciative groan wherever her lips fell.
She hovered, letting him suffer for a moment while her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Then she dipped her head.
Her lips slipped down over that heart-shaped head, meeting every millimetre of skin with a slow caress. Her tongue traced spirals around him, occasionally straying away to explore and tease at some warm contour.
“Oh, fuck…”
Her hair fell over one shoulder, tickling across his bare flesh. It blocked her view of the door and the hallway beyond it.
Bill’s hand returned to the back of her neck, that warm, slight roughness sliding over her skin, fingers curling possessively around her. She pulled her head back, wetting her lips again before she slipped back down, taking more of him into the heat of her mouth. Still not enough. His size continued to pose a challenge. Margaux slid the fingers of one hand around him and gripped firmly, holding his skin taut while her mouth worked at him. She fluttered her tongue along his frenulum, sucked at the delicate, responsive flesh, losing herself in the the primality of the moment, charged by his unreserved expression of pleasure.
His hips began to match the rhythm of her mouth, thrusting up to meet her lips, falling when they drew back.
A thrust went too deep, made her choke, and he backed off a little, stroking the back of her head apologetically.
Margaux introduced her other hand, gripping him just above the first, rippling her fingers to massage him as her tongue teased at the slit at his tip, tasting the salt of pre-ejaculate. She drew her mouth back a little, letting the saliva gather in her mouth and run down his shaft, over and between her fingers. She worked around him until he was slick with it, until her hands slid easily up and down and his hips bucked a little with each movement. Margaux took up the rhythm again, sliding her lips down over him, drawing her hands down as her head moved up. Her jaw ached dully with the exertion of keeping her teeth distant, keeping her tongue moving.
She heard the scuff of soles on the hall carpet and froze. Bill groaned his frustration.
“Has Rothstein called?”
She’d known it was Robert — who else would it be? — but the sound of his voice still made her jerk, hands pulling away to her lap. Bill’s grip on the back of her head halted any attempt to move away completely. She began wiping her hands on her skirt. Her hair veiled her face from view, but that small mercy did nothing to lessen the swell of shame growing in her chest. There was no hiding what she’d been doing.
“Where were you?”
“Out.” Robert’s tone was sullen. There was no indication that what he’d walked in on surprised him in the slightest. It made her wonder whether this was something that happened a lot. All the same, she would have given anything for him not to have seen her like this. The abstract notion of what he could demand from her, even the camera footage showing it, was one thing, but seeing it made it real — at least to her.
Bill tapped Margaux sharply across the back of the head.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
She looked up at him. He frowned coldly back at her. This wasn’t the man of only moments ago, she realised. Suddenly he was all dominance and barely-suppressed aggression. Whether these sudden changes were an act or a reflection of his true mental state, she was still trying to decide. His fingers twisted back into her hair without an ounce of tenderness and pushed her head back down. She fought it at first, but her sense of self-preservation intervened: were the consequences of challenging his authority really worth it?
“Good girl.”
Robert took a step into the room, or sounded like he had. She had a sudden image of him pulling aside the coffee table, kneeling behind her — of his hands shoving her skirt up over her hips, his mouth hot in the hollow of her shoulder while she tried to fight him off, unable to scream. But the risk of something like that was low, surely, she struggled to remind herself as fear began to gnaw at her insides. Bill seemed to have laid claim to her — as some token of his superiority, his alpha masculinity. He wasn’t the sort that shared. That thought triggered the image of Bill pushing Robert away, the two of them tearing at each other like animals fighting over meat. It wasn’t any better than the first image. Certainly no more comforting.
“No. David hasn’t called,” Bill answered Robert at last. “We’ll give it — ah—” He slowed Margaux’s movements with a firm grip on her hair. She resisted the growing compulsion to bite. “Slower, darling. We’ll give it another hour.”
Robert didn’t speak again, but she imagined him nodding passively. He turned and left, his footsteps moving back towards the kitchen.
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Autobiography