by B. Cavis

This story is a sequel to Entertainment

by B. Cavis

“What would he think if he saw you now?” Ari growls into her throat as her hips take on a mind of their own and arch up towards where she knows his cock is. “What would he think if he saw you, desperate for me, his archenemy, to bang you until you dripped with sweat?”

One of his hands reaches down to grasp the back of her knee and lift it up. She can feel her bones start to sizzle and crack under her skin as his cock presses against her, Gucci on Victoria’s Secret. The thong is rubbing in all of the right place, and he is rubbing in all of the wrong ones, and everything is just too unreal to be believed.

This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. She so does not fucking care.

Her skin is fire and her hair is brimstone, and he is looking at her like she is nothing and everything at the same time. Nothing to him. Everything to his cock. Release. Satisfaction.

A good tight fuck, she reads in his eyes, and shivers.

She is about to have a one night stand, with a man who kills people without remorse, up against a wall in a club, with his gaze grinding into her.

And if the look in his eyes is any indication, it’s going to be hard, fast, rough, and oh so good.

She clutches at the leather of his jacket, fingernails desperate for a hand hold. The bulk of him is holding her against the wall. The threat in his eyes is holding her barely contained cunt against his cloth covered cock.

She couldn’t move even if he wasn’t fucking her with his eyes.

“Caitlin,” he purrs wickedly, that damnable smirk firmly in place. He’s laughing at her, and she knows it, and for some reason the fact that she can’t stop it from happening makes it all the more hot. “If your Gibbs saw you here, about to be taken up against a wall by me, what would he do?”

His lips take her throat and his tongue learns her skin. She is soaked-- it’s a wonder he can’t smell her. She can feel her thong started to chafe, wet and thick with her juices, and she rubs against him like a cat in heat. He chuckles, and the hand that had been pressed against the wall next to their bodies slips down the back of her skirt and cups her bare ass.

Somewhere in her, she wishes that she could close her thighs because if he can smell her, she is done for. Because somehow wanting what he’s about to do to her, wanting it this badly, makes this all much dirtier. Much… worse.

It makes her a masochist, and maybe just a little bit too kinky.

“Shut up,” she gasps, and rubs her wet core up against the hard bulge in his pants that promises relief. Her body is shaking. Her hands are slipping on his arms.

His teeth come out of gentle lips and seize her neck firmly. She gasps, and the sound is swallowed up by the music. His shoulders pin her more firmly to the wall. “You,” he growls against her skin, “have no authority to tell me anything.” Teeth grip and pull, and she knows he’s marking her, and knows that when she steps outside everyone will know that she fucked the Mossad agent up against the wall.

He pulls away, lifting his head up and looking down at her. She feels dwarfed. She feels wanted.

“You,” he says, “are going to do exactly what I want you to do, when I want you to do it, because if you don’t, I will hold you on the very edge until the next ice age.” He inhales deeply, smirking as he does so. “And I can smell just how very much you do not want that to happen, little one.”

“I don’t need you,” she whimpers.

“I think you do,” he answers, pressing his cock against her firmly. She whimpers and shifts, not sure where she’s trying to move-- further into his space or away from the danger in his hnads.

She can’t do either. He won’t let her.

“You fucking love this,” he growls against her throat, and she nods weakly in agreement. It is not in her to argue against the truth. He took the power to deceive him away from her at the beginning of the night.

He breathes deep, filling his dark skinned nose with her, and grins. He can smell her pussy, juicy and ripe underneath her thong. His eyes drip down her meaningfully. “You,” he purrs, “are leaking, darling. You want this so badly, you’re leaking.” He grins, dark and hard. “You want me that badly, do you?”

She has wanted him “that badly” for years. Ages. Since the day she first saw him, when he pulled her up against his body with that all-powerful look in his eyes and a smirk on his face. He is dangerous. He is dark.

Her body had known, right then, that he would be the perfect dirty little fuck. She could never trust him, she could never have a real relationship with him (not like she wanted one, anyhow), and she could never look at him without seeing blood.

But, her body had predicted, those bloodstained hands would be hard and thick on her skin. Those hands would push her, hold her in place, move her to where he wanted her. Those hands could command her. Those hands could dominate her.

Her body had known it before she had. Sitting at that farm house, a blonde’s brains leaking out onto the sand at her feet, she had looked up at him, and (sin on sin) gotten wet. Had wanted him, in all of his wicked, strong, hard glory, and no matter how many times she looked down at the blood near her feet, she still wanted him.

She had wanted him to take her around the waist, push her skirt up and yank her panties off, and spread her out on the table right then and there. She’d wanted him to fuck her until she screamed and cried for help or mercy, and had wanted him to laugh when she begged.

She appears to be getting her wish.

She saw him for just a split second when she entered the club, just a flash out of the corner of her eye, and then he was there. Holding her up against the wall, pressing against her, growling in her face.

And when he had realized that she was alone, that she was not here with Gibbs or Tony on some investigation, he had smirked. Wickedly. And her pussy had started to get unbearably wet.

She whimpers at the thought, her legs shaking in need. The music sends vibrations through the wall up her thighs and into her panties. Her clit just needs a little bit of pressure, and she will come, howling. He knows it; he knows everything right now.

Her pussy contracts around air. Her breath is coming fast and needy between them. She is going to die, here in this club, with a Mossad agent standing in front of her, pinning her body with his. Her pussy is going to rupture from waiting too long, and she is going to explode.

Her head tilts back and she groans.

He jerks her forward again, hand on her necklace, eyes dark. “I do not talk for the simple pleasure of hearing myself talk, Caitlin. I believe I asked a question.” His hand cups her throat, wide and thick, and he could snap her neck right here if he wanted to. “You want me this badly, don’t you?”

She swallows, thighs wet and sticky. The thong is chilled against her. “Y…Yes,” she whispers, and the triumph in his eyes scares her just a little bit. “Yes, I want you this badly.” His hand trails down her throat, stroking gently in reward, and she keeps her eyes on his.

“Oh,” he says, “you do. Then I won’t feel so remorseful about fucking you raw right here.”

Her eyes widen. “H-Here? Right here? No, no, please, my apartment’s a few blocks away.” His fingers start to unbutton her shirt, one flick at the time. His eyes never leave her face.

She squirms, trying to get away from him and trying to get closer at the same time. He holds her firmly against the wall. “Th-They have a bathroom,” she whimpers, the shirt completely open now. He sweeps his gaze over her, eyes darker than normal. A woman gyrates past his arm, dancing to the music that still runs through Kate’s clit. Public, her common sense screams. You are in public!

He pulls her breasts out of her bra, the cups pushing them up and over, exposing her to him. One hand pushes on her shoulder, shoving her back against the wall, and then his mouth is on her right tit, and she is crying out for help, and no one hears her but him, and he is not helping.

“You taste like honey,” he growls out against her, teeth pulling on her nipple as he sucks as hard as he can. And it’s not so much pleasurable as it is… unavoidable. She can’t stop him. She can’t escape him.

He is going to fuck her up against the wall of a public club. And she has absolutely no way of stopping him.

He takes the breast that’s not filling his mouth, and bounces it with his free hand. Like she is a toy. Like she is his toy; to play around with and feel up whenever he wants her to be available to him. God, why is that so hot?

His teeth come, sharp against her breast, and he pulls back as she gasps for breath. The smirk on his face has grown larger. “You love this,” he reminds her, hands already trailing down her body and inching her skirt up. Her juices have streamed down her thighs, and when his fingers tangle in the sides of her thong and pull it down, his hands are coated in her. Her thong falls to the floor, pooled around her fuck me pumps, and he drags one hand back to examine the liquid found there. “Interesting,” he rumbles, and the other hand pushes three fingers up inside her as he speaks.

She wails, arching forward and begging for more movement, more contact, more something. She feels so empty and open, so in need of being filled up. She doesn’t care if he fucks her up against the wall, as long as he fucks her.

“You’re so desperate,” he purrs. “I think I like you desperate, Caitlin. Do you know why?”

His fingers start to move steadily in and out of her. The burn in her clit has started to mount, and his voice is dragging her to heaven as the pressure builds. Her hips have developed a mind of their own-- she is pushing forward against his hand as it moved between her thighs, frantically trying to force more of him into her. He watches her move with that little smirk on his face.

“I’ll tell you why,” he allows, “because I don’t think you can talk right now, can you?” She moans in reply, and he nods. “I thought not. You see, I like you desperate because when you’re desperate, you’ll do just about anything to get that aching little pussy of yours filled. By anyone. But at the moment,” and here, he does the closest thing to a grin she has ever seen him give, “I happen to be the one here. So I think I’ll take advantage of that.”

He pulls his fingers out of her, and her whole body deflates as she cries out in protest. He pulls his heat back from her body, eyes narrowed. She blinks fuzzily at him. “Unzip me,” he commands.

Her fingers shake as she unzips his fly and unbuttons the flap of his boxers. Her hand is cool inside of the silk, and he hisses, thrusting forward. She pulls him, thick and hard out of the clothing, and he looks down at her hand wrapped around his cock with satisfaction. “That’s perfect, little girl,” he rumbles, and she feels ridiculously pleased at his approval. God, what kind of kinky bitch is she?

“My kind,” he answers her unspoken question. “Turn around, hands on the wall. And spread your legs.”

She can’t breathe. God, she can’t breathe. Kate isn’t sure how, but then next thing she knows, she is facing the wall, arms folded against it, legs spread apart. He is hot behind her. “Perfect,” he whispers in her ear. “Just perfect. You follow direction so well, Caitlin. I should have you come work for me; take you away from that man.” He kicks her legs further apart. His hand pulls at her skirt and tucks the hem up into the waistband. She can feel the air washing over her soaked ass and pubic hair.

He pulls her ass out farther, her arms still against the wall, and his fingers cup and squeeze her. “Nice,” he murmurs. “You have such the perfect body for this. For me to fuck. It is as if you were created for that alone. Were you?” His cock is thick against her, and he presses her cheeks tightly around him, rocking slightly. “Do you want me?”

She drags air into her lungs only to lose it a moment later. “Yes.”

“Then beg me for it.” His hand reaches around to cup her, wet and sticky, in his palm. She moans. “Beg me, Caitlin.”

Shame has gone out the window. Dignity is being crushed underfoot. She thrashes her head back and forth, whipping him with her hair, mewling gently. “Please, Ari, please. I need you to fuck me. Please!”

Two of his fingers slip inside of her pussy, and she whimpers at the feeling of some part of him filling her. This is what she needs. This is what she is so desperately afraid of.

“You want me in here?” he purrs, and she nods weakly. “Be careful what you ask for, Caitlin.” He tears his fingers out of her, and she cries out at the emptiness, but he doesn’t put his fingers back. He pulls his cock away from her ass, and she dry sobs at the lack of sensation. Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he know how bad she needs this?

“I know just how badly you want me in your tight little pussy, Caitlin, because you told me. You can not lie to me, and you never will be able to. You are not in control of this situation,” he reminds her. “And you are not in control of me. I decide when and if I fuck you. I decide how long, and I decide how hard. I could hold you here, waiting, forever, and you would just have to adapt, do you know why?”

She is feeling light headed. Her body is on fire, and the flames are consuming all of her oxygen. “W-w-why?”

His hands tighten on her hips, his breath short and jagged against her back. His teeth come on her shoulder blade, sharp and quick, and she feels the words that she has always wanted to hear from a different man, but that she will settle for coming from Ari.

“Because I own you. And you have no choice but to take anything I demand of you.”

And then, finally, he is inside of her. Thick and hard and powerful; hot and silken; rough and unforgiving. He’s got her trapped, stuck in her own need, and he is not giving her any chance of running for an exit. She is his, she is all his, and that is all she can ever be without his permission.

He’s groaning, low and deep, unaffected but enjoying the irony of seeing her impaled on him nonetheless. She can feel him laughing roughly, and when he speaks she can feel her orgasm nipping at her heels.

“You are so tight, Caitlin. So wet and so tight and all for me, aren’t you? All for me, because I won’t let anyone else touch you.” His hands brand her with his fingerprints, and his cock reinforces the mark. Her body is full and thick with him. “No one will ever be in here again, but me,” he promises.

“You wanted me,” he continues, grinning, “and now you have me. For as long as I want you.” And that does it, because she’s gasping, he’s groaning, and the music is running up through the both of them, vibrating their teeth and turning their skin on, and she can feel his heat up against her and his breath against the back of her neck and she has never felt more out of control in her life, and oh…

Kate lets out a little gasping moan in her bathtub, fingers working over her clit furiously as she reaches the precipice and tumbles headfirst down the other side. Her head tilts back, hair spreading out like a dark cloud in the water, and she rides her release as hard and long as it will take her.

This feel so good. This feels wrong, yes, but oh so good at the same time.

Her hands stop moving and her body relaxes back into the hot water, limp and thick with the aftermath of her orgasm. She can feel all of the tension floating out of her to rest among the half dissolved bubbles.

She glances at her mental clock, nods to herself, and lets the water flow in and out of her body with each tensing of her muscles. She still has time, she tells herself. Gibbs isn’t supposed to show up for another thirty minutes to get her for the stakeout.

Oh God, Gibbs…

Kate closes her eyes and breathes deep, in and out, to try and still the quaking of her stomach, with little success. How would Gibbs feel if he found out that she was lying in her bathtub getting off to the idea of fucking his worst enemy up against a wall?

Angry? Hateful? Shocked?

She sighs and tilts her forehead back to let the water clean her eyelids gently for a moment. Probably none of the above. Probably, most likely, he wouldn’t even care. After all, feeling something about her actions would imply that he felt anything at all for her, and she knew that wasn’t the truth.

Her fingers are getting pruney. She stays where she is.

Gibbs has been treating her like sexless entity for years. Another pair of hands, another pair of eyes, another gun-- there is no hint that he even sees her as a woman but for the fact that it is unlikely he would call another guy “Katie.” He has never looked at her like he wants to kiss her, he has never looked at her like she was beautiful, he has never looked at her like he was going to throw her down on the desk, cut off her panties, and fuck her in front of Dinozzo, God, and whomever else wanted to be a voyeur.

Gibbs has always been… her boss. Gibbs has never been her man.

Which might be exactly the problem.

Her fingers twitch inside her body, but she doesn’t go to remove them. She’ll carry this train of thought better when she is distracted by pleasure.

She wants Gibbs. Has for a long time, if she’s honest with herself. She can’t remember when it started, but one day it was just… there. She just woke up, and there the lust was. Like a switch had been flicked or a button inside her brain pressed; something had happened, something indescribable, and she had just… wanted him.

Of course, as much as her heart pounds whenever he comes near her, logically, she knows it would never work. Gibbs isn’t… old, per se, but he’s been around the block a couple of times. He’s damaged goods, as stupid as the term sounds, and she knows that he would never dream of dating a co-worker and further damaging himself. She is not an option, in his eyes.

Plus, he is not the kind of man who could handle her. Maybe Tony, if he wasn’t such an asshole, but not Gibbs. Kate isn’t leather and sadomasochism kinky, but she does have her fetishes. She thinks that Gibbs would suffer three simultaneous heart attacks if he ever heard her calling him “master” or “sir.” The fact that she has found many men in the past who not only enjoyed playing, but actively encouraged it, is not withstanding-- Gibbs is different.

Which is exactly why she wants him. Which is exactly why she can’t have him.

Hence her little fantasy. Hence Ari in her head. Fucking a man who she knows is dangerous and more than willing to play is safer than rejection, even if it is perverse. And maybe, as pathetic as it sounds, fucking his arch enemy is as close to Gibbs as she is going to get.



Freud would have a field day, she decides. But then again, Freud wasn’t having enough sex.

Kate dips her head back in the water, letting the warmth coat her ears and throat. The fragrant water swallows her tension and she sighs deeply to let it all out of her body.

She doesn’t hear her cell phone ringing, and knock at the front door, or the subsequent entry by one of only four people in the world besides her who has a key. She doesn’t hear the shuffling around her apartment, her name being called, she doesn’t hear the knock at her bathroom door. She doesn’t see the doorknob turning.

When she opens her eyes to blink the water away from them, Gibbs is standing in the doorway.


The Skin Within Series gets its name from an Incubus song, "Priceless" off the album "A Crow Left of the Murder." It goes:
“The fact that you think you can
Speak to me the way you do
Bleeds me to believe that you
Have never stepped out of the
Skin you live within.”
You know.
Just in case you cared.

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