Once inside the room, the door locked behind them, Natasha tried to avoid the roaming hands and lips of her mark. “I’m not that, easy,” she said, slipping out of his hold and giving him a pointed yet seductive look. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman who likes to be in control. The question is, can you submit to being controlled?”
Polanski, for his part, seemed rather excited by the idea, so when she ordered him to lay on the bed, hands gripping the headboard, he did as he was told. Removing the sash from her dress and unhooking the few hooked that held it together, she let the long, cumbersome skirt fall to the floor. Joining him on the bed she straddled his hips and used the long sash to tie his hands to the headboard above him. She noted the glassy look in his eyes; the drugs were starting to take effect. Grinning wickedly at him, she slid her hands back behind her, gripping his legs as she leaned back, effectively pinning him down.
“Now, why don’t we start with you telling me everything you know about Michelson?”
It took Polanski a moment to process what she said, and when he did his eyes went wide and he tried to buck her off, but she dug the nails of one hand into his leg, her other shooting up to clap over his mouth.
“In case you haven’t noticed yet, you’ve been drugged. In about three minutes you’ll start to feel your toes go numb, then your legs, and it will continue to creep up your body, slowly, until you’re completely paralysed,” she leaned in close, her voice deadly cold. “I have the antidote, and if you tell me everything I ask I will give it to you and you can walk away with just a little muscle stiffness. If you don’t...”
She didn’t finish the threat, she didn’t need to. Pulling a small device out of the bodice of her dress, she hit a button that would record their conversation while simultaneously transmitting it to an identical device that Clint held. It was good to have a back-up, just in case. Now as long as her partner could buy her a good ten minutes they should be in the clear.
no subject
Polanski, for his part, seemed rather excited by the idea, so when she ordered him to lay on the bed, hands gripping the headboard, he did as he was told. Removing the sash from her dress and unhooking the few hooked that held it together, she let the long, cumbersome skirt fall to the floor. Joining him on the bed she straddled his hips and used the long sash to tie his hands to the headboard above him. She noted the glassy look in his eyes; the drugs were starting to take effect. Grinning wickedly at him, she slid her hands back behind her, gripping his legs as she leaned back, effectively pinning him down.
“Now, why don’t we start with you telling me everything you know about Michelson?”
It took Polanski a moment to process what she said, and when he did his eyes went wide and he tried to buck her off, but she dug the nails of one hand into his leg, her other shooting up to clap over his mouth.
“In case you haven’t noticed yet, you’ve been drugged. In about three minutes you’ll start to feel your toes go numb, then your legs, and it will continue to creep up your body, slowly, until you’re completely paralysed,” she leaned in close, her voice deadly cold. “I have the antidote, and if you tell me everything I ask I will give it to you and you can walk away with just a little muscle stiffness. If you don’t...”
She didn’t finish the threat, she didn’t need to. Pulling a small device out of the bodice of her dress, she hit a button that would record their conversation while simultaneously transmitting it to an identical device that Clint held. It was good to have a back-up, just in case. Now as long as her partner could buy her a good ten minutes they should be in the clear.