Wrestling 1. You're So Hypnotizing

_**You're So Hypnotizing**_

Sheamus sighs softly, carding his fingers through his hair as he stares at the closed locker door. Since he couldn't very well just wander into the women's locker room, he had to stand outside and wait for someone to come out so he can ask her to fetch Marta for him. At least, he hopes Marta is inside. Otherwise, he won't be able to find her before the end of the night.

The suggestion was Drew's; how he and Marta became close enough to discuss things such as their sex lives, Sheamus has no idea and he has no particular reason to want to know. But somewhere in the middle of one of his regular rants about never finding a woman who suits him, Drew interrupted and told him to talk to Marta, that she was interested in what he was and the two of them had a common ground on not finding someone to complement them. Though he had been hesitant at first, he's here, isn't he? Here and hoping and praying that the tall, leggy Swede can help him with this problem and, in turn, he can help her with hers.

Ironic how she had caught his eye when she was first drafted into the main roster from NXT, but he never did anything about it but look from time to time. She seems worldly enough and on the mic, she can be well-spoken and intelligent, but she never gives off that vibe that advances are welcome, and enough Divas complain about the men harassing them as it is.

Besides, Sheamus doesn't believe in hitting on someone who doesn't want the attention.

Not to mention how poor he is at reading people and how few women find redheads as pale as he is attractive. It just isn't worth trying to guess anymore, and considering the fact he no longer goes for vanilla in any shape or form, he has no desire to wager a guess at whether or not he found a woman who can give him what he wants. Most of them cannot, and even if it means spending night after night alone, he can take that just a little better than sending someone away halfway through the act because he can't find the mindset to follow through. For a few years at the very start of his career, he blamed himself for his inability to make it work before a lot of soul-searching convinced him that he just isn't wired for what most people like. So be it; he just needs to find someone wired like himself. If Wade, Drew, and Heath can find each other and somehow not only make a three-person relationship work, but a relationship that involves a careful balance of power, then surely he can find one woman.

And the majority of the Divas are just not interested in the same things he is. Beyond a few he talks to every now and then, he mostly leaves them to their own devices and hangs out with the handful of friends he has within the company. Which he spends more time with Drew than anyone else just because they happen to be of like minds on almost every subject they discuss, and Drew never judges him like so many others would if they knew the truth. Some would call him paranoid for keeping so much of himself inside, but the fact is that people would look down on him for this. Men are not supposed to be weak. Men are not supposed to want to be helpless. So he keeps his secrets between himself and Drew, where they will be safest.

He glances up when the door opens and holds his breath; _Please let it be somebody I actually know and can ask for a favor, please._ Not that he won't ask whoever it is—she'll want to know what he's doing standing out here anyway, and there is no point in lying—but he would prefer someone he knows and is comfortable with. He _might_ have just a tad bit of a shy streak when it comes to people he hardly talks to. Might. It really is pathetic, but so be it.

Tamina Snuka appears in the doorway, stopping when she sees him. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

"Hi, Tamina." Well, he doesn't talk to her per se, but he's much more comfortable with her than some of the others. "Is Marta still here, or has she gone back to the hotel?"

If she's gone back to the hotel, there is no way he is going to hunt her down because that would be just plain creepy. He needs her to be here, in the locker room, because he can talk to her while they walk out of the building. It's a fair distance, which is good because he has no doubt he is going to end up tongue-tied as hell asking her about this. Why does talking about this have to be so hard? Drew does it with such ease, and Heath is comfortable with it, too.

"Yeah. Want me to get her for you?" When Sheamus nods gratefully, Tamina flashes him a smile and ducks back into the room with a quick nod.

When she reappears and brushes past him to head out, Marta takes her place in the doorway and just looking at her is like a punch in the gut. She's billed as six feet tall and Sheamus believes it now that he has a chance to stand this close to her. With her dark brown hair spilling around her shoulders in loose, damp waves and her dark gray eyes fixed on his face, he can believe she might even have an inch or two on six feet. Her body is a rare balance between curves and muscle; her arms are crossed, biceps left bare by her tank top clearly defined while the fabric clings to her breasts and hips. Though most of the Divas are more fierce in the ring than they are in real life, Marta gives him the distinct impression that she doesn't put on an act.

"Tamina said you wanted to talk to me. I don't think we've spoken before," she says abruptly before he can gather his wits enough to string words into a sentence. "Sheamus, right?"

"Right. I need your help and couldn't exactly come in and find you myself, so..." He shrugs, and Marta seems to consider before nodding and stepping closer, invading his personal space.

She adjusts the strap of her duffel bag on her shoulder before gesturing down the hallway, but her eyes are locked on him. "I need to get going, but we can talk on the way out if you'd like. Though I can't imagine what the United States champion needs my help for."

"Gold can't fix everything." He falls into step beside her once she starts walking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. _Breathe. You can do this._ "And it can't begin to fix this."

"It sounds serious. Which would make me wonder why you'd be asking a total stranger for help with it." She turns her head, one dark brow cocked up at him in question. _What a good point._

He debates with how to word it for a moment. The last thing he wants to do is come off sounding like a prick about this. "Because I've been told you're the only one around here who can help."

"Oh?" She turns her head, keeping her eyes in front of her once again. "Who told you that then?"

"Drew McIntyre did. We were discussing the problem and he informed me you're the only one he knows who can possibly help me," he admits. _Well, so far, so good. She hasn't run screaming._

Marta chuckles softly, and he wonders what he said that was funny. "What did Drew say?"

"Well..." He glances around, ensuring the hallway is empty. "Drew said you're a Domme."

She stops walking then, her head whipping around, eyes widening slightly as the words no doubt sink in before she moves suddenly. Before he has time to even think about what defense to take, she has a hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the concrete wall suddenly at his back. He realizes she somehow shoved him up against the wall but has no idea how. All he knows is that the moment her hand tightens, the starch leaves his body. _Yes. This is what I want._

"I should have Wade spank him for saying that," she says, tilting her head slightly.

The movement sends a tumble of waves spilling across her shoulder, the fruity scent of what he assumes is shampoo wafting into his face. "So he wasn't fucking with me, then?"

"No. Drew wasn't fucking with you this time. But that means..." She trails off and leans closer, her breath curling across his lips and he whimpers softly up at her. Did he think she was intimidating a minute ago when she stepped out of the locker room? He was wrong; _this_ is intimidating. "I never would have pegged _you_ as the type, Sheamus. At all."

"Most people don't. I..." He wets his lips and sucks in a breath when her fingers flex against his throat, not tightening yet but the promise is there and he wants it more than he wants to admit.

The corner of her mouth tugs upward in the appearance of a smirk, but her eyes are dark and solemn. "I think I see how that can be a problem now that I think about it. A very big one."

"It's not exactly... Easy to find someone." Her gaze softens, and he hopes that means what he thinks it does. Otherwise, this is about to get awkward. "On either side. So I thought..."

"You thought you could come to me and offer sex, and maybe I'd accept and we'd be able to give each other what the other wants. Clever." Well, at least she isn't laughing at him. Yet.

He nods and tries to swallow, but her hand makes that slightly more difficult than he thought. "I just... I know we don't know each other well, but... I'm starting to get desperate."

"You're propositioning me in a hallway because you're _desperate?_" she asks, scowling at him.

"Um... No." _Say something else markedly stupid to top this off._ "I didn't mean to—"

She laughs softly and slides her hand away from his throat, up to his jaw. "Relax. I'm kidding."

"Oh. Well. That was convincing." More than a little, too. God, those eyes of hers...

Marta hums softly and takes another step forward, halving the distance between them and leaving perhaps half an inch of oxygen between their bodies. Not that it bothers him; he just leans back against the wall and concentrates on the hand slowly caressing his face, her fingers warm and gentle on his skin. Usually, that alone would be a turn-off for him, but he can almost see the power radiating off of her frame and he has zero doubts this is finally the right woman.

"Pretty," she muses, and he blinks at her; _what did she just say?_ "I've always liked your skin."

Oh God, that. Yes, because pasty gingers are just so popular with women, and it isn't like his skin has ever even come close to tanning. He just burns. "It's usually half of the, ah, problem."

"Because most women don't like pale men, much less pale redheads?" she asks.

"Exactly." The scowl she sends him makes his knees quiver. "I'm not entirely sure why."

She shakes her head, her free hand catching his wrist before sliding slowly up his forearm. "Stupid bitches. That's a pity, though. Pale skin marks up so prettily, and you're so white."

"Does this mean you're interested in doing this with me?" He's rushing, but he _needs_ to know.

"Absolutely." She flashes him a smile, all pearly white teeth. "Tonight if you have the time."

_Even if I didn't, I would make the time. This is a little more important than work._ "I do."

When she steps away, he mourns the loss of contact so sharply it hurts. Then her hand snaps shut around her wrist and she yanks him forward, dragging him down the hallway as her steps before quicker and more determined. Not that he's going to complain. The faster they arrive, the better.

"What are your hard limits?" she asks, leading him around a corner.

"Cutting, burning, electricity, body fluids in general." He jogs to catch up with her until he's at her side; then she drops his wrist only to twine her fingers with his. "What about you?"

She tosses her hair back; the scent nearly brings him to his knees. "Same. I don't really like humiliation either. Too easy to take a step too far and not realize it until it's too late."

_Good. Not like I need anyone else to make me feel like shit._ "That's fine with me. I don't like being humiliated either. Soft limits are sensory deprivation and over stimulation."

"I won't push those tonight unless you consent to it now. But I'd rather just take it slow tonight and get a feel for what it feels like to work with you." She glances at him, obviously asking.

"Taking it slow sounds good to me." When her thumb strokes along his knuckles, he breathes a sigh and nods, voice gaining more strength. "Since it's been so long for me, anyway."

Her eyes flash in knowing, and he can tell it's been a long time for her as well. Being a Domme isn't much easier than being a male submissive. "I'll take care of you tonight. I promise."

"I know you will. No worries." He squeezes her hand, unsurprised when she squeezes back. They'll work on building up the actual trust, but he knows she won't hurt him. Not on purpose.

He sees a few people glance their way when they step out into the parking lot but ignores them; let them gossip if they want to. If this ends up working out, he's sure he and Marta will see more of each other, so what is the point in denying something that might soon be true?

Considering he occupies one of the buses, he's glad when she leads him to an actual car and makes a mental note to just bring his own car next time. He would rather drive the way himself than have to deal with the pandemonium that occurs on the buses anyway.

"My hotel room, not yours. Tamina already knows," Marta says, pulling out her keys.

_Tamina already..? Oh._ Sheamus shakes his head at himself as he slips into the passenger seat; he unknowingly commissioned her roommate to retrieve her from the locker rooms, but that makes sense. Marta came out pretty quickly; she was probably getting ready to follow Tamina out.

Her hand drops on his knee as soon as his seatbelt is buckled. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. I want this." No hesitation this time, and she nods once before starting the engine and backing out. As if he would even have a reason to be worried when he's _so_ close.

"Good. I have various implements I bring with me when we travel. Just in case. And more than enough to take us through tonight." Her tone is light and easy, and he appreciates how nonchalant she is about all of this. It eases the tension. "We'll work on trust when we get there."

Trust is possibly the most easily botched part of their lifestyle; losing someone's trust or never gaining it properly means the relationship will be strained at best. But even though he doesn't know her well enough to trust her yet, the vibe of calm and control emanating from her soothes him in a way nothing has in quite a long time. She might not have earned his trust yet, but she will soon enough if her demeanor in the bedroom can match to what he feels right now.

She clears her throat when they near the hotel, and he glances over at her silently, waiting for her to speak. "You'll need two safe words. I don't know if you've used two prior to now, but I want you to have two. One is standard and we'll stop completely. One is like a pause button."

"So we can stop momentarily and we can talk about whatever's starting to upset me. Right." No, he hasn't used two words prior to now. Most Dominants he's met just tend to ask for the one and that's it. Unfortunate. "I've always just used the red, yellow, and green system."

Red, yellow, and green are the easiest safe words in his opinion; even out of the bedroom, they have particular meanings everyone associates with them and tend to be easier to respond to than words that sound unnatural in the moment. And red in particular is a good choice because it's only one syllable; gasping out multi-syllable words when things are going wrong can be more difficult than it should ever have to be. Submissives choose their own safe words, but he believes Dominants should still encourage their subs to choose words that will be easiest to say in the moment so they can get it out and the scene can stop. And considering sometimes that word needs to come out through tears? The easier to say, the better it is.

"Okay. We're here." Marta's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he glances over at her to see her staring directly at him, eyes a few shades darker. "Still onboard with this?"

"Yes. Are you?" The question is met with a snort, which he expects but it still makes him smile, and then they break eye contact so they can step out of the car.

She meets him on the other side, taking him by the hand again. "Well, let's go inside then."

The walk inside is just as strange as the walk out of the venue was; several of their fellow wrestlers are milling around in the lobby and double take when they walk by. A few of the guys send them unfriendly looks—looks like Marta has been hit on even when she says not to hit on her—but she simply sends them nastier looks in return and drags him to an elevator with her.

As soon as the doors close, he finds himself pressed into a corner with her in front of him, hands pressed to the walls on either side of his head while one of her legs slides between his. _Fuck, please._ The air between them sizzles, threatening to catch fire while her eyes darken steadily but smolder like low-burning coals. Even though the change was sudden and he barely had time to react before she pinned him to the corner, he can't feel alarmed. This is what he's wanted for so long, this feeling like he's losing control of the situation. No, not losing it. Handing it to her.

Marta holds the position for the entire elevator ride, her eyes more than her body keeping him pinned in place, lips twitching when he exhales shakily and his face begins to heat up. Considering he can't hide a flush to save his life—even the smallest one is obvious a mile away—he knows she can see the effect she has on him. The fact she finds it pleasing heightens his confidence and goes a long way toward relaxing him further, but it's hard to relax when the heat of her body already has him tensing up for far different reasons. If she would just touch him, some of the tension would be eased but he doubts she wants it to ease. If she wants to touch him, she will; she made that perfectly clear back at the venue, after all, and he hardly doubts she would have changed her mind on the ride over. He swallows hard when her eyes darken further, and a whimper slips out against his will. Then she smirks wide, leaning closer to him.

The scent of her shampoo and the muskier scent of her skin is overwhelming at this short distance; his breathing quickens to pants in response and he knows she enjoys that too when her eyes drop his, falling slightly lower. Probably to his lips. He tests his theory and licks them, and her pupils dilate, her arms twitching slightly. Definitely his lips, then. She returns her gaze to his, and he sees the knowledge flicker in her eyes; she knows what he did and that he did it on purpose, and he has no doubt she's going to make him pay for that little trick. _Good._ The thought of being draped across her lap while she warms his ass with her palm of her hand is tantalizing, so he licks his lips again, pointedly. Another flicker, another warning that she knows what he's doing, but he just holds eye contact when she makes it.

When the elevator dings softly, she huffs and pushes herself back, smoothing her hands down the front of her tank top. "I can't believe I didn't peg you as a submissive before now. And I'm going to make you regret teasing me, Sheamus."

"I look forward to it," he assures her, smiling slightly when she laughs.

He holds his hand out to her before she can reach for it, and she flashes him a dazzling smile that hits him in the chest, hard, before leading him down the hallway. Only God knows how many other wrestlers are on this floor, and he wonders if she plans on gagging him or not. Otherwise, he's probably going to get loud and everyone will be able to hear it. Not quite a settling thought, but maybe he can find the self-control to hold in his own sounds.

"Everyone is going to be talking about this tomorrow," she muses, glancing up at him.

He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. "Kind of part of being in the business, really. If it's really a problem, you can just go to your room and I'll go back to mine."

She simply rolls her eyes and smiles before swiping her card through the lock and pushing the door open. Without a word, he follows her inside the room and keeps the door open long enough for her to switch on a lamp on the nightstand, then pushes it shut and lets it latch. The change is instant; she fixes him with a blank face and drops her bag on the floor, her eyes roaming along the length of his body as she closes the distance between them, stalking like a predator.

"How long has it been exactly for you? I want as close to the date as you can get." She stops in front of him, feet set apart, arms crossed over her chest, gaze expectant.

_To the date? Fuck._ "Five months, three weeks, and four days." Well, at least he feels a little less neurotic for remembering so exactly. And she does look pleased with him, so there's that.

"I'm going to go into the bathroom and change into something a little more appropriate for this evening." The corner of her mouth twitches upward again. "Jeans aren't really what I prefer."

"Do you want me to undress while you change, ma'am?" And her pupils dilate once again.

She seems to consider for a moment, straightening before turning slightly to walk around him. It takes all of his self-control not to turn with her. "I don't think I want you to undress, no."

"May I ask why, ma'am?" He keeps his tone level and neutral, though the curiosity is there, too. He's never had a Domme not want him to undress before. It's a little unnerving, actually.

"Because I want to undress you myself." A hand brushes along the small of his back, and his entire body shudders in response. "You're a gift and I want to unwrap you myself. Understand?"

His head bobs in a nod without him realizing it. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. But I do want you in position when I come out of the bathroom." She returns to stand in front of him, the hunger in her eyes piercing straight through him. "And I assume you know what position I'm talking about. Then I'll get around to undressing you myself."

Her eyes stay locked with his until he realizes what she wants and nods again. The last thing he wants to do is rack up too much punishment this early. "Yes, ma'am."

Marta retrieves her duffel bag and heads into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her firmly. Instantly, Sheamus kicks off his shoes and drifts over to the more open part of the floor, dropping to his knees and adopting the typical submissive position. Knees spread wide, hands resting on his thighs, back straight. The fact she wants to undress him herself thrills him; no Domme has ever wanted to do that. They always have him undress himself before they start playing, but clearly Marta wants to enjoy this her way and he is more than willing to let her.

The moment the bathroom door creaks open, he fixes his eyes on the doorway and is pretty sure he's going to stop breathing very soon. Hopefully, he can get this back under control.

_More appropriate_ turns out to be leather. Black leather. Skintight black leather pants that cling to every inch of legs that seem to go on forever, especially when added to the high-heeled black leather boots that hit her around mid-thigh and lace down the sides with bright silver buckles. In lieu of a top, she wears a black leather bra instead. He didn't even know they made bras in leather and assumes it must be extremely soft because she looks comfortable in it.

"I could get used to seeing you on your knees like this," she says, and he swallows hard and nods.

Though it's hard not to react the way he wants to because no one has ever said something like that before. Most of the women he's played with prior to now were never interested in more.

She starts slowly circling him once again, the leather creaking softly with every movement. "I'll try not to mark you up too deeply since you don't wear anything but trunks in the ring."

"I've gone out with welts and bruises before, ma'am," he murmurs, freezing when she stops.

"That's true. You have. I always thought they were from your matches." Her hands are suddenly on his shoulders; she's behind him. "I always just thought your skin bruised easily."

He says nothing, but her hands stay put, warm even through the fabric of his t-shirt. Then they slide down his back; she's lowering herself to the ground as well, until her fingers hook in the bottom of his shirt and drag it slowly up his back. He winces; he can't really help how he feels.

"I saw that. What's wrong?" Her voice is suddenly sharp and oh-so-close to his ear.

How can he put this into words? Of all things to confess to a woman willing to Dominate him, it has to be this. "I'm not exactly... Comfortable with my body." _Which is putting it nicely._

"You have a problem with being fair-skinned?" Oh, what a pretty way to word things.

"Most people do," he hedges. "I guess I'm not an exception to the rule."

She says nothing for a long moment, just eases the shirt over his head and slides it down his arms; he lifts his hands from his legs so she can remove it entirely and toss it aside, then sets them back in their original position. Then her hands smooth down his back, leaving a trail of goose bumps as they go. His breath catches in his throat at the gentle touch. Then her hands reach his hips and curve to fit them, her chest suddenly blanketing his back as she presses her lips to his ear.

"I happen to think you're gorgeous just the way you are, and if someone _else_ has a problem with that, they can go fuck themselves. They're not here tonight," she whispers, voice low and husky.

Normally, something like that doesn't relax him, but his body relaxes back into hers and he nods, wetting his lips so he can speak. "Thank you, ma'am."

She hums and stands once again, returning to her position in front of him with a few rapid steps, her hair sliding across her shoulders before settling once again. Those dark eyes fix on him, and he shudders because _fuck._ He's only shirtless but he feels naked like she can see straight through his remaining clothes, his skin, to his very soul. When she lowers into a crouch, he's reminded of a predator preparing to strike and can't hold back the little moan that trembles on his lips.

"I haven't even really touched you and you're already making pretty noises," she says.

_Pretty noises._ Well, if she likes that, she'll love it when she has him at her mercy in totality because he's vocal as hell and she might just have to go ahead and gag him.

Her hands dart out, easily unbuckling his belt and yanking it from the loops. "I'll be borrowing this tonight. But you won't need it anyway. Hold still."

Like he's going anywhere. But he holds perfectly still just the same while she unfastens her jeans with quick, efficient movements, working the denim down his hips. Maybe he should have—

"You're not wearing underwear, naughty boy." His face burns because no, he's not wearing any. And usually doesn't. "I approve wholeheartedly. Sit back on your ass so I can pull these off."

_Well, nice to know she approves of me not wearing anything under the jeans._

He sits back like she asked and lifts his hips slightly to make sure she can get the jeans past his hips and upper thighs without issue. When she finally gets them off, taking his socks along the way, he moves back into position and tries to ignore the flush slowly working its way down his body. No matter how many times he's naked like this, he never quite erases the embarrassment.

She tosses his jeans out of the way before standing once again, the heels putting her so far above him especially when she's this close. He's starting to understand why the other guys tried to flirt their way into her pants before now even when she asked them not to do it.

One hand comes to rest on his cheek, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone almost absently as she stares down at him. "I think I'll start with the punishment for that little transgression in the elevator. You're going across my lap and I'm going to see just how easy it is to leave marks."

"Yes, ma'am." When she steps back and removes her hand, he rises to his feet and waits.

With a hair toss, she settles into a plush chair against the wall and pats her lap. "Come here."

Sheamus knows better than to hesitate. He crosses the room and positions himself across her lap, tangling his hands in the thick shag carpeting to have something to hold onto.

"Count them out as I go. If you mess up, we restart. Understand?" she asks.

He nods again and takes a deep breath before letting it free. "I understand, ma'am."

Before he even has a chance to finish exhaling, her hand comes down hard on his ass and he gasps out the _one_ as fire blooms in the spot she struck. _Fuck_, she hits hard, and then she cuffs him again and he has to focus on the hits so he can keep track. Over and over, coming down in different spots different spots so hard he chokes out at least half of the numbers. He's used to pauses, building the anticipation, not blows so fast he can't brace himself properly.

This is better, though. The blows strip down the last of his walls one by one until, when her hand comes down the tenth time, he barely gets out the word before tumbling straight into subspace. He shudders across her lap and bites his lip when her hand comes to rest on his ass, his hips lifting slightly in silent offering. He can't see her, but he can feel her approval just the same.

"Are you still good?" she asks, her hand stroking over his burning skin. "Give me a color."

She wants a color. That's just fine with him because he's not entirely sure he can string a sentence together at the moment and the last thing he wants is more punishment because he can't give her what she wants. But he can get out a color, at the very least.

"Green," he murmurs out, and she hums softly in acknowledgement. Then she shifts slightly beneath him, and he hears the familiar sound of a bottle cap being flicked open.

He's pretty sure she didn't have anything in her hip pockets, but she might have back pockets.

"You have a perfect ass. I think I'm going to spend the night playing with it. After all, you took your punishment rather beautifully if I do say so myself." There's another snap, and he exhales shakily once more before nodding and arching his hips up toward her again.

Her fingers drift along his crevice and he bites down hard on his lower lip to hold in a soft whimper at the touch. _Please, please._ He just wants to be touched, to have her fingers inside of him and stroking over that spot that drives him insane and makes his entire body lurch and writhe in response. But she has to know how badly he wants it because she doesn't just press inside of him and work him open. Instead, he feels her fingers sliding between his cheeks, caressing the skin almost reverently. It makes his lip tremble so he bites down on it harder, breathing just through his nose while she continues exploring his skin. It doesn't help that no one, _no one_, has ever touched him like this before, like it's a fucking blessing or something.

He shudders full-bodied, and the hand not on his ass comes to rest between his shoulder blades, petting him there in slow, soothing caresses. How can she be so gentle with him, so attuned to him when she barely knows him? How can a complete stranger know him so well, appreciate him like this, when he can't bear to look at himself in the mirror in the morning?

Something inside of him breaks at the thought, and Marta knows without him saying a word. Her arms suddenly wrap around him, forcing him to turn over so he's half-sitting on her lap, his head pressed against her shoulder a breath before the tears well up in his eyes and threaten to spill over. Though he's heard about this, he's never had his walls stripped away so cleanly until there was nothing inside of him holding back the self-loathing, the distress, the _loneliness_ that he's forced himself into because of how little he can tolerate himself. Before he can scramble for his walls once again, the tears break free and trickle down his cheeks, and Marta smoothes a hand down the side of his neck, lips brushing against his forehead gently.

"That's right, baby boy," she murmurs, and the nickname is like a gut punch. "Let it out."

_No_, he wants to retort, but her hands are so gentle and she's so warm, so comforting, and she's _here_ for him in a way no one else has been in years. So he presses his face against the side of her neck and lets the tears fall, sobbing against her skin as the knot of anguish constricting his heart slowly begins to unravel and fall away. How can she have this effect on him?

The tears finally stop after God only knows how long, but he stays huddled against her as she switches to rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades. This close to her, wrapped in her arms and feeling so damn vulnerable, feels... Right. And it shouldn't; he should be fighting back or trying to erect his walls once again, but he can't. They aren't there when he reaches for them. All that is there is the smooth, steady wave of pain and pleasure she elicited when she spanked him moments ago. Even though he should be embarrassed about just how hard he is after crying on her like that, he can't find it in him to be embarrassed. He just feels... Emotionally wide open.

"You needed that," she finally says, leaning back to look down into his face.

He has no idea what his face is conveying right now, but he nods and she smiles, clearly pleased, before leaning closer to brush her nose against his. If he'd thought her fingers on him was intimate, then he doesn't know how to classify this. It isn't like in the elevator when she was staring him down or when she was spanking him. This is something he doesn't have a name for.

Marta's lips breathe across his before she pulls back. "I'd rather play with you on the bed."

Something has changed, then. Sheamus doesn't know precisely what it is, but he simply nods and wipes his cheeks dry before standing and approaching the bed, stopping to wait for her word.

"How do you feel right now?" She's at his side a moment later, her chin coming to rest on her shoulder while one hand plays down his back to rest on his ass again.

He ponders for a moment before locking his eyes with her. "Better, ma'am."

And he doesn't precisely have a reason for _why_ he feels better except that maybe he just needed to cry it out before they truly began. At any rate, he does feel better. Lighter. Like a lot of what's been weighing him down has been lifted from his shoulders and the ache it left massaged away.

"Good. Have you had your former partners play with your ass before?" She squeezes; he whines.

"Sometimes, ma'am." He feels the question and answers it before she asks. "Not very much."

She hesitates, then drops a small kiss on his shoulder. "I'll enjoy spreading you open, then."

"Yes, ma'am." The words are automatic and come out on a sigh.

"So pretty." She rounds him and snatches the pillows from the left side of the bed, setting them on the middle of the mattress. "Facedown. Hips here. I want your ass in the air for me."

"Yes, ma'am." He crawls across the mattress, settling himself against the pillows.

And he immediately decides he likes the sleek pillowcase because the smooth slide against his aching cock his amazing. He's nearly throbbing, his balls achingly heavy, but it's not uncomfortable enough to be a concern and he knows she will take care of him when the time is right. So he relaxes against the mattress and spreads his legs, not surprised to hear the creak of the mattress or feel a weight settle between his legs. He's never been exposed like this before, not to anyone, but her soft hum of approval tells him he's done exactly what she wants.

Her hands are suddenly curving to fit his thighs, thumbs stroking over his skin, and he lifts slightly into the touch. "You have such sexy fucking freckles. Have you ever been eaten out?"

"No, ma'am." But the idea makes him shiver and bite his lip just the same.

She sighs softly, and he can imagine her shaking her head, dark waves sliding over her shoulders as she laments the missed opportunities of the women who came before her. For some reason, it gives him a little boost in confidence to know she thinks those women made mistakes with him by not going as far as she plans to go, though whether she's thinking of his pleasure or hers, he isn't sure. Probably both. He doesn't know just how well he's going to like what she wants to do because he doesn't have much experience with it, but he senses she has plenty of experience.

Her hands work slowly up his thighs, massaging as they go, relaxing him further until he nearly melts into the sheets beneath her magical touch. When her thumbs graze the area just under his ass, the oh-so-sensitive skin there, her lips are suddenly at the small of his back, her hair spilling from around her face to pool on his back. His skin is heated up enough that the cool strands are a shock to his system, unexpected but wholly pleasant, and he closes his eyes as he tracks her progress down the dip in his back. This is like before when she was holding him, something more than just casual play and yet he still doesn't have a name to put to it.

And still her hands continue their path, fingers creeping up along the still-hot skin of his ass, aggravating the abused flesh and making him grind down into the pillows. The heat cycles through his body, never pausing very long in any one place, thrumming through his cock until a little moan slips from his lips. He feels her pause, her lips curving into a smile against his skin, and then she spreads his cheeks apart and renders him completely exposed to her.

He doesn't have a word to describe her actions but he knows exactly how he feels with her opening him like his, breaking down all of his walls and intent on giving him pleasure; he feels _cherished._ Like she truly does care for him and wants to make this experience as wonderful for him as she can, from working inside of his defenses to lay waste to them to comforting him when he was vulnerable and afraid to now, about to give him pleasure he has never experienced before. The way she touches him, so reverently, and the fact she loves the one thing about him he hates the most... Is there any way to feel but like she does care about him?

Then her mouth slips lower, and he loses his thoughts when he feels warm wetness trailing between his cheeks. It's not unpleasant, just different but he opens himself to the experience and concentrates on processing the physical sensation. And it reminds him of how her fingers felt before he started crying, before he stopped her. So slow, as if she's treating him like a rare treat and wanting to savor every touch, every taste. It's too much, and even though he just wants to keep his mouth shut, he knows he can't. Not right now. He's confused and open and uncertain, and he really does need her to clarify what is going on before they go any further.

It takes him a few times to wet his lips enough to speak, to rein in his power of speech just so he can get the word out. If it's this hard for him to speak now, he might need to get a hold of a washcloth or something he can let go of to use as a safe word. They're usually used for gagging scenarios, but whatever. He might need it now, gagged or not. "Y-yellow, ma'am."

She stops instantly, suddenly leaning over him, hands braced beside his head. "Yes?"

"I... I don't..." He tries again, clearing his throat, and frowns when she suddenly leaves the bed. She returns with a water bottle, and a drink clears his throat. "I don't understand why."

"Understand why you're picking up on something other than lust?" He nods, and she sighs.

He's a breath away from apologizing, sure he just did something to disappoint her, but she suddenly slides her fingers through his hair in a gentle petting gesture. That's a little less strange because petting a sub is normal and it's soothing, but the soft look she sends him is more than a little confusing. She wets her lips before brushing her nose against his again, her breath curling across his lips and tempting him with the promise of a kiss. But kissing isn't on the menu; if she wanted it, she would have taken it by now, right? So she must not want it.

She smiles then, fingers drifting through his hair more slowly. "Because I'm projecting more than lust onto you. And I feel more than lust for you. Your submission is beautiful."

"I don't understand, ma'am." He furrows his brows at her, trying to process her words.

"You gave yourself fully," she explains. "I've never seen that before. Usually, men hold back."

Holding back sounds more like him; no one has ever bothered to try to push him this far.

She surprises him by leaning forward and pressing her lips firmly to his, the touch sending a thrill throughout his body and urging him to yield to her kiss, offering himself to her. Without hesitance, the hand in his hair tightens and angles his head, her tongue swiping across his bottom lip before thrusting into his mouth. He moans and opens wide for her, not bothering to fight back or challenge her. Instead, he simply curls his tongue around hers and lets her explore the inside of his mouth. She tastes sharp, fresh; it makes his stomach tighten.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time," she admits when she draws back.

He frowns, trying to make sense of her words. "But ma'am, I thought you said that—"

"Did I ever say I didn't have an interest in you prior to now?" She cocks a brow, waiting.

_Did she?_ He thinks back to the conversation in the hallway and shakes his head. "No, ma'am."

"It'd make me a goddamn liar if I did." She kisses the corner of his mouth. "Because I did."

He struggles to comb through his thoughts while she trails her lips down his cheek to his jaw, further down to what throat she can reach with him on his stomach. Interest in him prior to now? Well, it makes sense and explains why she had no problem getting in his personal space prior to bringing him into this room. It goes a long way toward explaining why she agreed to this at all when most strangers wouldn't. But that means she does care about him, and he isn't used to the person topping him also caring for him in a way that isn't strictly sexual.

Does this mean she wants to continue this after tonight, though? He was convinced this would be a one-time thing, a way for the two of them to work out their sexual frustration with someone who understands and then go their separate ways like before. Not that he wouldn't like something full-time, especially with someone who understands him and what he needs, but can he be the submissive she wants? Well, even if he can't, he's willing to give it a shot if she is.

"I've looked forward to this a long time," Marta whispers. "Are you still okay with all of this?"

Sheamus sucks in a slow breath and twists his head around, letting his heart spill into his eyes so she knows before nodding slowly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm still okay."

"Good. Just lie there and relax, and I'll take care of you." And the kisses start trailing down.

He nods and closes his eyes, pressing his cheek against the cool sheets once again as he focuses on her mouth, warm and wet and leaving hot kisses in its wake.

Her hands return to his ass, spreading him once again, and he arches up into her touch when he feels a hot swipe of tongue just above his crack. God, she's going to kill him if she keeps this up. But it would be such sweet death, and then she resumes licking her way between his cheeks until he feels her there, a warm breath blowing over his hole, hips bucking forward into the mattress.

"If you like that, you're going to love it when I actually start," she purrs.

Yeah, he's pretty sure he's going to fall to pieces when she finally starts. It's almost a certainty.

She gives him no warning before her lips are suddenly there, pressed against him in a kiss and he sucks in a gasp at the sensation of it. This isn't what he expected, not in the least. Not the sensation nor the way it makes his stomach flutter slightly. She's still being tender with him even now, and he is never going to be able to repay her for this. Hopefully, she doesn't expect him to because he can't even begin to think of a way to do that.

Then she licks, her tongue hot and branding his skin in a wet sweep that saps the remaining strength from his body and leaves him limp against the sheets. Her hands are warm but her tongue is burning, lapping over his skin, teasing him and driving him insane. The tip circles around him, and he can feel it quiver slightly. She's laughing and he can't even be angry at her.

She changes position before he can really get used to it, one hand keeping him spread for her while the other cups his balls and squeezes lightly. _Oh, God, yes._ He presses his face into the sheet and fights not to buck his hips back for more while she starts dragging her tongue down his hole, over his perineum, and back up again. Where the fuck did she learn this?

The thing is, his balls are nearly painfully swollen by this point and her hand on him, massaging him and working him, is helping the pressure be less painful. She has to know it, too, because she's just too good not to know something like this. And then she stops teasing him, her tongue flicking over him once more before pushing inside of him. A choked moan leaves his lips at the sensation, the warm wet glide inside of him unlike anything he's ever experienced before. She's not even hesitating, not giving it a second thought, and it's so reassuring.

"Fuck, _please,_" he whines, half-expecting to get reprimanded for the outburst and laughing breathily when she just licks deeper inside of him. So she does have a bit of an ego, then.

Her tongue twists and curls inside of him, dragging over his walls, teasing him in a way nothing else ever has. It's maddening, the heat and the wetness but it's also perfection and he never wants this to end. When her slender fingers are suddenly slipping just past the rim, pulling him open, he's pretty sure he's on the verge of passing out because her tongue gets even deeper.

"Enjoying yourself, Irish?" she asks, her mouth abruptly gone and he whines at the loss.

"Y-yes, ma'am. S-so much," he shamelessly admits, turning back to look at her. "Please..."

Seeing her poised above him is really too much for him. Her long, dark hair spills around her face in an umber curtain while her smoky eyes regard him with something almost playful. Her lips are wet and he knows it's because she's been licking her way inside of him. More than that, though, is the care lurking in her eyes, meshed so well with the predator inside of her as if it is all natural to her. So easy to take on. Because he's getting the sense she _does_ really care for him.

"I'm going to fuck you now. I've got a few sizes, but I'll not start you out with the biggest one. That'd just hurt you." She rests her chin on his ass, watching his face. Expecting an answer.

He nods and licks his lips, pushing the words out. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm also binding you." She smirks up at him. "With your own belt. You'll enjoy it."

_Fuck, yes._ He nods and turns back over when she gestures for him to, feeling her leave the bed and hearing the sound of buckles unclasping. Her boots. Then the sound of leather being worked down skin. Her pants? Probably. Then the sound of a zipper, various other sounds... He loses track of them all but he knows she's stripping and putting on a harness. He isn't an idiot, after all. When she's back on the bed, he immediately puts his hands behind his back.

"Good boy," she praises as she winds the leather of his belt around his wrists, pinning them firmly in the small of his back. "Now on your back. I want to see those pretty eyes."

She has to help him roll onto his back, and the pull of his arms is only slightly uncomfortable; she's managed to manipulate the buckle of the belt so the metal doesn't dig in. Then he kind of gets lost in admiring her naked body. She's all curves and muscle, firm breasts and wide hips and _fuck,_ he's never seen a woman pull off a strap-on quite as well as she does. It's like in the leather, the way she wears it so effortlessly so that the black straps and the ridged green silicon look almost natural on her. _Green._ He raises an eyebrow up at her and she just grins at him.

Then she produces the lube once again and he watches as she pops the cap, smoothing the slick gel over her fingers before two of them are suddenly pressed inside of him, stroking him open. He spreads wide for her, letting her have as much of him as she wants, his eyelids fluttering at the sensation of being stretched open. When she strokes over his prostate, he moans helplessly and arches his hips up, a silent plea for more. And she gives it to him, pressing in a third finger and teasing over his spot with light strokes before adding a deeper, massaging technique.

"You're open enough now," she murmurs, leaning back to slick the length of her cock. God, those ridges are going to feel _amazing._ "Spread those big, beautiful thighs for me, Irish."

Oh God, she has a thing for his thighs. He can just tell. So he makes a show of spreading them wide for her, hugging her hips when she settles between them. Her eyes dart up to his, puzzled before a bright smile spreads across her lips. As if telling him she knows and approves, she trails her fingers along his sensitive inner thigh before he feels the press of silicon against his hole, slick and warm from her fingers. And he wants it, his hips bucking down of their own accord.

Marta pulls back slightly, one dark brow raised in question. "You're going to hurt yourself if you try to do it like that. Let me. When I tell you to, then you can start pushing back."

He doesn't want to wait, but he knows she's making a point so he holds still and gasps when she presses back up against him. When her hand drops down on his thigh, not hard but more of a gentle pat, he pushes his hips down and shudders as the head of the fake cock breaches his opening, the shaft slowly sliding into his body. Fuck, it feels so, _so_ good to be so full again.

Sheamus wants to turn his head, bite down on the pillow to muffle the low moans and whimpers leaving his lips, but Marta wants to see his eyes so he simply lets the noises out. And her eyes glitter as she slowly pushes inside of him, stretching him open and making him feel so full, so _hers_ that it makes his breath catch repeatedly. She stops when his body seizes up, gives him a minute, pushes in more. It's a slow, gentle rhythm he finds himself getting lost in quickly.

The ridges are a heaven all of their own, stroking at his inner walls, rubbing over his spot in quick succession. It's amazing how it can feel so good so fast, but that's not so much the toy and so much more the woman using it on him. When Marta's hips are flush against his thighs, he doesn't think twice about wrapping his legs around her and holding her close to his body.

She smiles down at him, leaning over him to ghost her lips along his throat. "You like being stretched so wide around my cock? Because I love watching it happen."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies obediently, tilting his head back to offer himself up to her, shivering when her kisses turn to licking and nipping bites. She's so fucking good at this, at just taking his power and bending it to her will, and he loves every minute of it. "Feels a-amazing."

She presses a kiss just over his pulse, then straightens and slowly pulls out, only getting so far with his legs trapping her. He relents a little, allowing her further out, and then she thrusts forward into him. Fire licks at him from the inside, his cock throbbing and leaking against his stomach at the sensation of being so full, so at her mercy. So _hers._ It's ecstasy.

"Such a good boy, taking it so well. I'm glad," she croons, finding an easy rhythm with her hips that slides the toy's ridges over his spot in a slow, even tandem that makes his cock even harder.

He just nods, beyond words and sobs when she thrusts in harder, spearing him open even more.

Her hands slide under his thighs, splaying across his skin as her eyes darken to nearly black down at him. "And those gorgeous eyes of yours just keep getting darker. I love it."

She keeps her hands on his thighs as she picks up the pace, fucking him so slowly and leisurely. It's nothing like what he thought he would get from her—fast, rough, hard—but it's better this way and he opens up to her, unwilling to hide a single part of himself from her. She wants him just like he is, just as he is right now, and he doesn't see the point in hiding himself from her.

"Good. That's what I want. Fuck, your eyes are pretty." She shimmies her hips, and he moans.

Then her hand is around his cock, slowly jerking him off, her grip firm but gentle, the lube giving it a slow slide that makes him buck up into her hand. And he finds his own rhythm, trying to match her hand and her hips while she manipulates his body with such expert precision.

He stares up at her, begging silently with his eyes and breathing out a whine when she nods just once, a barely perceivable nod of her head. When she strokes him just one more time, he nearly screams as his orgasm pounds through his body, spilling hot over her fingers and onto his stomach. She works him through it, her hips gradually slowing to a stop.

Then she stands and retrieves a bottle of oil, rolling him onto his front to deftly unbuckle the belt, freeing his wrists. She massages the feeling back into them, then works the oil into his ass.

"I think you should stay with me tonight. You're exhausted," she murmurs, setting the bottle aside, gathering up the comforter and wrapping it around him. "And you need me right now."

He just smiles sleepily up at her and nods, surprised when she shifts into a sitting position and pulls him up against her chest, his head falling back against her shoulder. "Or just stay. Period."

"I was thinking that, too," she muses, stroking her fingers along his jaw, tilting his head up to lay a gentle kiss on his lips. "I'd prefer if you just stayed, period, too."


	2. Your Touch, Magnetizing

_**Your Touch, Magnetizing**_

It was a week later and Marta still isn't sure how she feels about that night.

Which probably isn't a good thing, but wrapping her mind around their evening is difficult.

She's always had a thing for Sheamus, even back before she was brought to the main roster and actually had a chance to see him every day. Ivory skin, flaming hair, those gorgeous blue eyes and the accent that made shivers dance along her spine—he's everything she has longed for and that night, she had a chance to make him hers. As far as she's concerned, she did just that. He gave himself over freely and she took and gave back to him the way a Domme is supposed to. Now, though, she isn't sure if it was just a one-time thing or if it means more to either of them.

Granted, this is a two-person problem and Sheamus hasn't exactly said much to her since that night, so she has reason to doubt. Her hands have been occupied with her phone the entire seven days, texts firing off to Tamina and Cesaro as she tries to process her hopes and fears and keep them from getting tangled. Cesaro just saw Sheamus at Main Event a few nights ago and surely Sheamus would have said something to him—it's common knowledge Marta and Cesaro are friends—but he hasn't. He also hasn't asked Tamina to fetch Marta from the locker room again.

She should have known better than to get attached, but how could she avoid it? The way he'd responded to her touch, the way he'd confessed his own self-esteem issues, the way he'd given into her without hesitation as they grew closer… How can anyone avoid getting attached to that?

Groaning softly, she rakes her fingers through her hair and leans back into the seat, ignoring the stare Cesaro gives her from the driver's seat. After a few unsuccessful ventures on the buses, the two of them, along with Tamina, Curtis Axel, and Ryback have learned how much easier it is to find a roomy car to rent and drive instead. Less room but also less people and they don't have to deal with anyone they don't get along with. It works, but right now she would kill for a bunk with a curtain she would hide behind and mope. She needs distance and a car does not provide distance no matter how much she wants it to. It just makes it impossible to hide anything.

Unable to stop herself, she retrieves her phone from her back pocket and checks her messages, opening the one from Stephanie—she stays on good terms with the Authority and gets nice texts about her matches while they're on the road, giving her more time to mentally prep. Today is no different. She scowls at the sight of her opponent's name because Nikki Bella isn't someone she stays on good terms with no matter what, but she brightens when she sees she gets to win this match. _Excellent._ Jobbing to Nikki will never be on her résumé. Ever.

"You're moping and I want to know why," Cesaro says abruptly, startling her from her thoughts.

They met back in Switzerland, both of them with the stars in their eyes and their minds set on coming to America and joining the WWE. It only sweetened the deal that he was versatile—she topped the hell out of him for the first few months they knew each other before they realized it was better if they stayed friends. And they were a rare pair who were able to make that work despite the sexual history they shared. It sometimes makes things odd between her and Rybaxel, but it also makes it easier. When they want to introduce something new to their relationship, one or both of them asks her if she's used it before and the way it worked best for her or any precautions they might need to take in order to avoid hurting their Swiss Superman.

"I am not moping," she mutters, scowling at him when he only scoffs and cocks a dark brow up at her. "No, you don't get to raise your eyebrow at me. Put that back down right now."

He shakes his head at her and changes lanes. "You're hung up on your big redhead, aren't you?"

"Who said anything about being hung up on anyone? You're starting to sound dangerously close to insane, Ces. Curtis, get your sub before I do." Marta twists around in her seat, sending a hopeful—if slightly desperate—look at the brunette who just laughs and shakes his head. _Asshole._

"Oh my God, I'm right," Cesaro says. "You really are hung up on him, aren't you?"

If he was still hers, she'd pop him one for making assumptions like this but, sadly, he happens to be one hundred percent correct. Despite the fact she's told dozens of Doms and Dommes not to get hung up on one-night stands, she has broken her own rule and refused to follow her own advice. Instead of letting Sheamus go, she's developed some sort of feelings for him and she wants him to come back to her. Even worse, she doesn't just want him as a playmate.

Which is bad. Very bad. No, she's not one of the girls who doesn't want to have a relationship within the company because she knows how to deal with complex situations and is confident she can keep her personal feelings and her professionalism separate. She also knows she might likely end up with someone in the company because these are the men she sees all the time whereas she would have hardly any time to spend with someone outside of the company. But she never thought she would go from wanting someone as a submissive to wanting them as a partner.

"I am hung up on no man," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing her eyes on the scenery as they pass it by. "I just wonder if something's wrong because he hasn't talked to me."

The stare she gets when they hit another red light is tangible. "You expected him to talk to you after it was over. You _are_ hung up on him. Was the sex really that good?"

"It must have been good because when I came back to get my things, they were both smiling like complete idiots," Tamina pipes up from the backseat. Who invited her into the conversation?

"You know, neither of you were there. Maybe we just had a nice, relaxing… Talk." Christ, that just sounds pathetic and the snorts from all around prove it. "Shut up. It's not your business."

Cesaro playfully punches her shoulder. "You are fooling no one, Marta. Just give it up."

"Okay, so the sex was good. But it wasn't just the sex. _All_ of it was good. The entire experience. I mean, I enjoyed just being with him." There. That makes a little more sense.

"Of course it was," Cesaro says, his tone perfectly reasonable. "You finally found a guy willing to give you what you want. Someone who wants what you give. It makes perfect sense."

She frowns over at him; of course he has his eyes on the road _now._ "He's not the first guy I've met who was willing to submit. Far from the first. That aspect isn't exactly new to me."

"Yeah, but you never really wanted any of those guys," he argues.

She starts to refute his statement, but the words die before they even touch her tongue. In a way, he's right. She never wanted the _men,_ just the sex that would result if she managed to find one of them to play with for the evening. It wasn't about the person as much as it was the sex.

In the case of Sheamus, it was all about him as opposed to the sex; she wants to see _him_ more than she wants to have sex again. There was so much there between them that night, along with the promise of more that never quite made it to dawn. Not to mention the nagging voice in the back of her head reminding her how unhappy he was with his own body. That irritates her more than she's willing to admit, but she knows how women can be because she happens to be one and she works with them. Stupid things that shouldn't matter are given far more consideration than what does matter. Such as how pale his skin is versus how wonderful of a man he is.

Not that she knows him all that well, but she's heard enough about him through Drew to know he's a good person and she got that vibe from him that night. Considering how open she laid him by the end of the night, she's sure the vibe was truer than usual and she wonders about that, too. Honesty is important to her, after all, and there was nothing dishonest about him that night. She's become far too adept at reading into submissives to miss something that vital.

And honesty is vital; it's part of trust and trust holds a D/s relationship together whether it be for only one night or forever. But she could have sworn he was being honest when he said he wanted to stay that night, and yet by morning he was ready to pack up and go back to his room so he could find his bus and head off. It felt like a brush-off and that hurt, too.

"Well, he made it clear he's not all that interested so there's no point in getting hung-up over him anyway," she finally says, waving her hand in Cesaro's general direction. "Let it go."

Tamina, from the back again. "Now that didn't make sense. Did you two argue or something?"

"No. We were perfectly fine when we fell asleep and then this morning, he was just wanting to go. I didn't have a chance to ask." Marta sighs, drums her fingers on the car door armrest.

"Maybe he was nervous?" Curtis suggests. "Like, maybe he's still trying to deny it to himself."

Denial is too easy and too wrong; Sheamus denied exactly nothing about himself that night. He didn't challenge her for dominance or question her once. If denial was a problem, he probably wouldn't have come to her in the first place. Besides, she can read denial. She would have known how to deal with it and coax it away for the evening. It just wasn't there.

She sighs and runs her fingers through the ends of her hair. "I wish it was that easy."

"Find him at the arena and talk to him." Ryback, leaning up to peer around her seat.

"Might as well," she says after a moment, turning to face him. "I don't think Stephanie would mind telling me who he'll be working with tonight anyway. She never has before."

By the time they reach the arena, she has Sheamus's match in mind and a general idea of where he's going to be: the practice ring. She changes into a tank top and a pair of sweatpants, not in the mood to keep up appearances as she chokes her hair back with a black elastic band. Then she bids farewell to her travel companions and makes a beeline for the practice ring.

Sure enough, Sheamus is hanging by the ring and watching Wade and Heath work on something.

Since the two of them aren't in a storyline together, she assumes one or both of them is simply showing the other moves. Or just in general working together because they are together and it's much easier to work with someone you know on moves instead of just random people.

Seeing them together makes her think of the old Nexus days and she can't help but smile.

But she doesn't have time to watch them and simply rounds the ring, ignoring the smirks from the other men as she walks up to the only man she's here to see. After they have their conversation, she might take a few minutes to firmly remind the men on the roster who give her trouble that she isn't interested in any of them. It's starting to border on harassment.

Sheamus catches her eye and swallows hard, offering a slight smile. "Marta. Nice to see you."

_Is it now? Funny, that's not been the general attitude._ "I need to talk to you. Right now."

"I have an opponent to work with after Barrett and Slater finish up," he says, gesturing toward the ring. "After, though, we can talk if you still want to."

"It can't really wait until after your practice match, thanks." _And it's not going to, either._

His eyes widen slightly at the words, and the guys around them stiffen slightly, as if picking up on exactly what she is broadcasting to him: pure Domme. "Are you sure? It'll only take—"

She holds up a hand immediately and he shuts up, swallowing hard once again but so hard she can see his Adam's apple bob. Of course the practice match will only take a few minutes at the most, but she has no desire to wait that long and no patience left. Even if she did, she'd still probably drag him away from the ring. If it won't take that long, it can wait until later.

"You and I need to talk right now. It can't wait until after your practice match." She waits to see if he will respond, then continues when he says nothing. "Unless you want to have it here."

"No, let's go ahead and find somewhere else to talk," he says immediately, moving closer.

_Good boy._ Marta catches him by the elbow and leads him away from the others, not caring if they start gossiping behind her back because she's heard it all before. Once they clear the room, she starts down a hallway, eyes scanning the hallways for a nice, unoccupied niche.

"You weren't really going to say anything in front of them, were you?" Sheamus asks, his voice bordering on slightly panicked as she allows him to drag him along behind her. Smart boy, too. "I mean, I know you're probably unhappy about me not talking to you, but—"

She sighs and breaks off his rambling before he can say something that only makes her angrier, dragging him into a small, secluded space. "I wouldn't have said enough for them to draw conclusions, but I definitely would have said enough to make you uncomfortable."

He leans his back against the wall and she leans against the opposite one, folding her arms across her chest as she studies him. Here, he's allowing the tension to leave his muscles; he still feels relaxed around her. Which is good, but it makes her mind swirl with even more questions.

"We had a good time on Monday night, didn't we?" she asks, not in the mood to play games.

His eyes widen a touch before he nods, combing his fingers through her hair. "Absolutely. I mean, I enjoyed it. It was… Exactly what I was hoping it would be. And more."

"I thought so. Which raises the question…" She pauses a beat, letting him sweat, before continuing. "Of why you were so anxious to leave and you haven't said a word to me."

"Oh. That's what this is about." He breaks eye contact, leans away. Very telling, indeed.

Her eyes narrow slightly as she lowers her voice an octave. "I don't like being played, Sheamus. When I said I wanted you to stay, I meant it. I didn't mean walk out on me and ignore me."

"I didn't mean to walk out on you," he says. "At least, that wasn't what I planned on doing."

"But it's what you did. And then you didn't talk to me." _For seven days, actually._

He nods slowly; at least he's not hiding from the truth. "I kept meaning to talk to you, but…"

_But?_ She wants to push him but knows better, simply settles more comfortably into position and waits for him to take the initiative to finish his own sentence. If he wants to explain things to her, he's going to have to do so without her help or nudging in the correct direction.

"But," he finally says, taking a slow breath, "I wasn't sure if I felt okay about everything."

Oh. She loses some of her starch at that as she processes the words; he was certainly off-balance until she finally reigned in control and broken down his walls. Once morning came, those walls had probably been back in place, leaving him unsure as to how he felt about everything. But seven days of not taking to her is still inexcusable. And it fucking hurt not hearing from him.

"If you had come to me, we could have talked about this," she reminds him, standing straighter.

He nods and slowly lifts his eyes to hers again. "I know. And I should have because not talking to you was worse than not knowing how I felt. You did that for me and I more or less ran off."

"More or less," she agrees, nodding slowly. "I waited seven days for you to talk to me."

"I didn't plan on waiting that long. I just wanted to make sure my head was clear before I talked to you again." He runs a hand through his hair, all that silky orange.

She waits a beat before stepping closer to him, keeping her gaze fixed on him. "And is your head clear now? Are you ready to tell me what you've managed to figure out?"

"Well," he muses, his eyes drifting away, "I feel like I should because you tracked me down."

Yes, she did track him down. No way around that. But considering the circumstances and the fact they really do need to have this talk, she hardly feels bad about it. He had plenty of time to come to her and talk to her, and he chose to wait until her patience ran out and she came after him instead. Did he really expect her to just keep waiting? Surely he knows better than that.

"I really enjoyed what we had together. I felt connected to you more than I have to anyone else. And, provided you want to… I'd like to do it again," he finally says.

It takes her a moment to process the words. "You want to do what again, Sheamus?"

"Submit to you." He breathes the words and it makes her skin break out in goose bumps. "If you enjoyed it, then I think we should do it again. Maybe even make it a regular thing."

_A regular thing._ Truth be told, the idea is not terrible. She can meet his needs when other women can't and he knows her well enough to know she can work with him without hurting him intentionally or _otherwise._ And she likes him. Even if the feelings aren't mutual—she thought they were that night but now doesn't know—he's safer with her than with someone else.

"Are you sure you want to make it a regular thing? It might stop… Being about the sex if we do that." She has to phrase it delicately. There is no other way to phrase it around him.

He only _looks_ big and intimidating, but now she knows just how much of a façade that is.

Sheamus sighs and runs a hand through all that bright, fiery hair. "I thought about it for a long time. I know that emotion will likely get involved. I know the risks. I still want to do this."

_Risks._ That one hurts a little. "I won't be as nice to you as I was that night, you know."

"I know," he says simply. "You'll have to push my limits. That's your job. I know that."

"Are you sure you're not going to run off on me again?" _Because I have my doubts._

He locks eyes with her and nods once. "I'm sure I'm not. I can do this, Marta. Have faith."

In line with popular belief, she can be a bitch and almost wants to. She almost points out that she can't have faith in him when he said one thing and then did another after what she considered a rather intimate act between two people. It wasn't just regular vanilla sex; he _submitted_ to her and gave her more than most men did. That fucking meant something to her even if it didn't to him.

Instead, she simply tightens the elastic band around her ponytail and advances on him, pushing him back against the wall with her hand splayed on his chest. He softens under her touch and she files that away for later. "Give a keycard to Tamina. Your room this time. Not mine."

Once he nods, a suitable enough indication he understands what she has asked, she backs up and gives him a severe look before turning and leaving the hallway. He has had the time he needs to sort himself out, and according to him, he's done just that. She'll see if he shows up tonight. If he doesn't, so be it. She can find another playmate and get over the spurn to her pride; she is _not_ going to chase him down again because doing it once is enough as far as she is concerned. Sheamus is a big boy, and he can make decisions on his own without her asking after him.

Marta studies her appearance in the bathroom mirror yet again. It's not normal for her to spend _any_ time in front of a mirror because she hates wasting the time, but Tamina informed her that _your big ginger boy gave me his room key. I don't want to know this time. Seriously._

When she stepped into the room, Sheamus wasn't there. He'd left her a note instead giving her twenty minutes of privacy to get ready. In ten, she's done and now studying her handiwork.

The sound of the hotel room door opening shakes her from her musings. "Are you in here, lass?"

_Lass._ She files that one away for later, too. "In the bathroom. You have ten seconds to kneel."

No build-up to the command. Nothing. But he came here tonight knowing exactly what he was walking into, and she's giving him that. Nothing more, nothing less. He'll need to obey her now.

Then she silently counts to ten before opening the door, flicking the light off behind her. Like the good boy he is, Sheamus is on his knees beside the bed, his torso hidden by one of his gray Fella shirts and his legs in denim. On anyone else, she wouldn't like it. But it works for him.

"Good boy," she says, coming to stand in front of him, combing her fingers through his soft hair.

He nods and keeps his eyes on hers even when they try to roam lower down to her clothing.

"I'm pushing your limits tonight. One of them, at least." She steps over to the bed and picks up the black silk scarf, running it through her fingers smooth as water. "What is this, Irish?"

His eyes flash with humor and she smiles at him. Most Dominants like _sub_ or _pet_ or something, but _Irish_ is better. It reminds him who he is. That it's not bad. "It's a scarf, ma'am."

"Exactly. What would I be doing with one?" She steps closer, runs it across his cheek for a hint.

"They're used for bondage sometimes, ma'am," he says, leaning into the touch as his lashes flutter oh-so-slightly. "But it's also not sheer so you can also use it for a blindfold, ma'am."

She smiles and nods as the realization flashes through his eyes. _Clever, clever boy, aren't you?_ "Good job. You are correct on both counts. However, I like belts better for bondage. Scarves aren't my favorites when tying someone down. This is going across those pretty blue eyes."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, slowly nodding even as the uncertainty flashes in his eyes.

Marta crouches down on his level, keeping his gaze locked with hers. "You have safe words."

"And I'll use them if I have to, ma'am." He smiles softly at her. "I understand. Go ahead."

That little agreement is what she was looking for; his consent is vital to this. She leans forward, brushing her lips over his in a barely-there kiss, before standing and rounding him. It takes only a moment to fold the scarf to the thickness she likes, and then she lays it over his eyes. His breath catches at once; sensory deprivation scares him. But she just ties the scarf and gives him time.

Maybe they can try Shibari with black silk. And green. He'd look gorgeous in those.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly but letting him know she's here.

"Is this okay? Breathe," she commands, gently squeezing his shoulder until he starts taking the deep, necessary breaths to ease him through his anxiety. "Is this acceptable? May I go on?"

"Yes, ma'am, you may," he says, and his voice is shaky but not the bad kind of shaky. _Excellent._

He can't see what she's doing and that gives her a little more freedom to lose her starch and take a slow breath herself. When he is trusting himself to her in this capacity, she wants to do right by him and make sure he enjoys everything she gives him. If he isn't enjoying himself, then he definitely will not be coming back for more and she cannot have that at this point. She wants to keep him all to herself, and in order to do that, she needs to stay relaxed and in control of this aspect of their relationship. At least, in the control he gives her. Too many Dominants think they have total control when they refuse to realize that a simple safe word can bring everything crumbling down around them. Respect needs to be mutual, after all.

She strokes along his broad shoulders one more time before sliding her hands beneath the back of his t-shirt, flattening her palms against his warm, smooth skin. God, she's going to die just touching him and there is nothing she can do about that. She bites down on her lip, telling herself to stay focused as her hands glide upward, nudging his shirt up along the way. Once she gets it bunched up beneath his arms, she slides her hands around to his front, admiring the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. This man is just a work of fucking art in her book.

And she's had plenty of men grace her sheets; she knows beauty when she sees it, and this is pure fucking beauty. Watching Sheamus hold position for her while she feels him up, keeping his cool even though he can't see and therefore has no way to predict what she might do next—he is so special and there are no guys like him. As hard as that is to admit to herself—it means she really does have to work at keeping him or risk losing this magic—she does it freely because he deserves it. He works hard and this moment is no exception. To treat it as one would be a wrong move and God, she just… She can't. Marta presses her lips to the back of his shoulder, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her mouth. Her tongue smoothes over the pale skin, drawing a shocked little gasp out of him, and she's supposed to be in more control. But not at this moment.

She can spend the rest of the night locked in this room with him, maybe even the next _week,_ and she isn't going to be able to get enough of him. That's a scary revelation but it helps to center her. _If you want to keep him here for as long as humanly possible, you need to get your shit together and give him a reason to stay. And not just for the sex._ True. Very true. Sighing softly, she eases up on his back and instead trails kisses across the back of his shoulders.

"You are absolutely beautiful," she whispers, splaying her hands across the firm muscles of his abdomen. "There is no other man I've seen who even begins to compare with you, Irish."

"Thank you, ma'am," he says, and she kisses the side of his neck to reward him before sliding her hands under his arms and putting just the slightest amount of pressure on them. Reading her mind, he lifts his arms and she eases the t-shirt over his head without disturbing the scarf.

Having him bare from the waist up is a pure delight. Marta tosses the t-shirt away and stands, taking a position in front of him while he resumes the position. He's all bare, creamy skin with a few scratches here and there from wrestling. But they aren't imperfections; he's a warrior carrying the scrapes of a battle well-fought like any true warrior should. It's just… It's _him._

She kneels down again and unbuckles his belt, slowly sliding the soft leather through the loops, admiring just how soft it really is. _Did he pick out this specific belt for tonight, I wonder?_ Probably. The softer the better, and the softer the more expensive; he brought a pricey belt to the table and she can appreciate that. But tonight is not the night to use this on him. She wants him to have his hands so he can touch what she bought for him, and she wants to see him grabbing the carpet when she has him on the floor. Some other time, she'll tie up his wrists and leave him a little more helpless, but not tonight. Tonight, she plans on just pushing him a little and later on, maybe next time, she'll bind him up the way she likes to bind boys up. So she tosses the belt on the bed and presses a kiss to the skin of his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans. Warm, vulnerable. She wants to bite him, leave a mark there, but she manages to resist for now.

"There we go," she murmurs, giving him the sound of her voice to use as an anchor to keep his anxiety down. After all, sensory deprivation was a soft limit for him and she can only imagine how he feels right now. "We're still relatively early, but I want you to give me a color."

"Green," he says without hesitation, and she nods before tugging the waistband of his jeans.

It takes him a moment to understand, but then he rises to his feet awkwardly and spreads his legs slightly, making it much easier to get his jeans off of him. With this, Marta takes her sweet time, unfastening the jeans and nudging them down just a little. They're tight enough without the belt that they don't just fall down his legs and she's ridiculously thankful for stupidly expensive jeans for the first time in her life. They make it so much easier to tease him, stroking that extra inch of bared flesh with the tips of her fingers and watching him shudder at the sensation.

Slowly, bit by bit, she gets the denim down his legs and as soon as he steps out of the jeans, she flings them away to the other side of the room, banishing them from her mind. _Fucking denim._ He's not wearing anything underneath—_Good boy, Irish_—and he's all pale skin with a few scrapes and bruises she expects considering what his job is. After all, she carries her own battle scars from her matches. He's also already hard and the smooth tip is glossy with pre-come, a testament to how aroused he is. Biting down on her tongue to resist making a noise or a comment, she walks circles around him and just admires him like she's always wanted to. Golden freckles against ivory skin, his nipples such a pale pink they're almost as white as his skin. Gorgeous.

"I could spend an entire day just looking at you, you know," she informs him when she returns to his front, tracing a finger through the ginger hair on his jaw. "And one day, I'll do just that."

_But not tonight._ The unspoken afterthought lingers in the air for a moment before she heads for where she placed her bag at the foot of the bed. When he agreed to give her another night, she made sure to pack up what she needed tonight in her normal duffel bag instead of just hauling two bags into the locker room. The questions were just not worth the stress and most of her things were small enough that she could hide them between a few layers of clothing without a problem. And she's stupid excited about the special present she picked up today just for him.

It'd be a lie to say his Irish heritage isn't a huge turn-on; it's the root of his gingery hair and his pale skin, not to mention those blazing blue eyes and the incredibly sexy brogue of his accent. Sheamus just says _Ireland_ in the best and worst ways, and now that she knows there's a good deal of unhappiness about the way he looks, she's going to have to rectify that. The last thing she wants is for him to be upset about himself when she absolutely adores the things he dislikes.

Once she has her chosen implements for the night laid out on the bed, she picks up the small package and tears it open with her teeth. The plastic and cardboard give easily, and she smirks down at the nipple clamps in her hands. She's a genius, if a corny genius. Oh well.

"I bought you something special at the store today," she tells him, noting the way he frowns slightly and cocks his head. "Every big city has a sex shop somewhere. You just have to Google it and there it is. But I didn't it with me originally, and I thought you might like it. So I went to pick it up, and as soon as I saw these, I thought of you and knew they would be perfect."

She takes one of his hands and spills the clamps into it, giving him a chance to feel them for himself. And he does, slowly turning them between his fingers as his cheeks start to redden significantly. Oh yes, he knows exactly what he's holding. If only she could see his eyes—she can just imagine how his eyes are clouded with confusion and his brows are furrowed as he tries to determine just what shape they are. Then his jaw slackens slightly and she is unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face because he has just figured out what they are. She can tell.

"What shape are they?" she asks him, taking them back out of his hand and cupping her palm around them, warming the velvet tips. Pretty dark green velvet to match the decorative design. "I'm sure you can guess the color once you tell me the shape. It's very, very obvious."

Sheamus swallows hard; she can see his Adam's apple bob. "They're shaped like four leaf clovers, aren't they, ma'am? And that would make them green, wouldn't it?"

"Precisely. Good job. Have you ever worn these?" She watches him shake his head and internally cheers. "I promise to be as gentle as they allow, but there will be some initial pain."

He takes a breath and nods, and she admires his courage before stepping closer to him. Their height different puts her eye-level at about his lips, which isn't a bad place to be looking at all. In fact, she leans forward and brushes a kiss over his lips, feeling them soften under hers, parting ever-so-slightly in offering. God, what a dream he is. She _has_ to find a way to keep him.

"Do you trust me, Irish?" she asks because she needs to know, twining her fingers in his hair and tugging the soft locks gently. She'll be pulling this hair when she fucks him later on.

He licks his lips and takes another breath, and she allows it because she knows he needs this. "Yes, ma'am. I trust you." And there it is. Just what she was hoping to hear him say.

She breathes a sigh across his lips, the most audible noise she will make right now, before kissing her way down his throat to the wide, muscled planes of his chest. When she reaches one pale nipple, she glances up at his face, trying to read him even through the blindfold. He exhales steadily and she takes that as a good sign before licking over him with the flat of her tongue, dragging it slowly to hear the low moan leave his lips. God, he's perfect. So responsive and so willing to let her do this. She tugs on the stiffening bud with her teeth, feeling it harden and smirking slightly. Then she pulls back and quickly attaches one of the clamps to his skin.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, the sound reverberating along her spine as his back arches forward.

"Breathe through the pain," she coaxes, cupping the back of his head. "Breathe, Sheamus."

He struggles for a moment but manages to get his breathing back under control, and only then does she move to his other nipple and repeat the process, albeit it a little slower so he can balance the bite of the clamp with her tongue and teeth. When she clips the second one on, his back arches again and he whines, his hands curling into fists as he works to control his breathing again.

It takes him a little longer but he manages it and swallows hard, breathing as close to steady as she would expect given the little bit of unexpected pain. His chest is starting to flush as well and she licks her lips at the sight, tracing her fingers over the heated skin. With his skin so fair, he can't hide his body's natural responses and she loves that far more than she ever thought she would. Funny how at first she had winced when he stumbled backstage covered in red splotches from where he'd been hit in the ring. Different situations, different reactions, she suspects.

And then there's the little green four leaf clovers that look so shockingly vivid against his skin, smooth glass over a green glittery background and outlined with silver. She paid a damn good price for these and so she expects them to last her quite some time, which is entirely necessary until she has the downtime at home to order a few pairs from the place that makes them. Now that she's seen just how good they look on Sheamus, she plans on getting more because nothing is going to beat the way these look right now. And nothing else would suit him quite as well as these—except maybe if she can locate some pairs with Celtic crosses on them. _Hmm…_

"These are just standard alligator clamps. And they're nicer than most. Smooth inside the clamp instead of being teeth. I thought I'd start off easy on you." She strokes the edge of one of the clover's leaves, watching him shudder in response. God, she could sit back and watch him react to feather light touches all day long and never get bored of it. "There are crueler ones. Literal clover clamps come with chains. They tighten when the chain is pulled. Very vicious."

"O-oh?" He trembles again when she touches the other clamp, pressing just barely on the center of the clover, letting the velvety clamp press into his skin the smallest bit before moving her hand. Yes, she made a damn good choice in this pair. She knows her clamps all too well.

She nods even though he can't see her. "Maybe I'll find you a pair. The name is so fitting."

He whimpers audibly and her knees weaken at the sound, but she forces herself to remain standing and has to take a moment to get her breathing under control. Fuck, since when has a submissive ever effected her like this? Fucking never, that's when.

To keep herself occupied and to center herself, she heads over to the bed and combs her fingers through her hair, examining the toys she laid out for use tonight. Her hand drifts over to the ribbon she's lain out, the soft satin like water beneath her fingers and just as cool. Though she's only done this a few times before, she's starting to think he might like it and this is about him.

Nodding to herself, she picks it up and runs it through her fingers as she returns to him, kneeling down to get on the level she needs to be on for this to work. Really, she could have just pulled him over to the bed and made him lie down, but she wants him on his feet for this because he doesn't have anything to support him and hold him up. Through sheer will of his own, he has to remain standing and she wants to know how long he can last. If he needs to lie down, she can have him lie down. But until he gives her reason to think he can't stay on his own two feet, he's standing. She uses the position to admire his glorious thighs, so big and strong and she can't wait to mark them up. He's had a match tonight so they can always pass it off as just bruises from the match if need be. Even if more than half of the locker room suspects the marks came from her instead, they will have zero actual proof and that is more of a comfort than it should be.

She takes a breath to calm her racing thoughts, knowing they will get her nowhere fast and she just needs to relax so he can relax. After all, he plays off of her. That's on purpose, too.

Carefully, she winds the ribbon around her knuckles as evenly as she can until she has only a short length of it held taut between her fingers. _Perfect._ She watches his face as she slowly winds that bit of ribbon around the base of his shaft, loving how the black looks against his flushed cock, and the little intake of breath is more than worth it. He tries to shift and she growls softly, watching him freeze. Watching his muscles tense beneath his milky skin as he regains control.

Considering this is not meant to cause excruciating pain, she takes her time firmly winding the ribbon around his cock, crossing it over the front so it creates a nice little corset pattern. It's thin enough to do so, something she was considering when she chose it out of the others she possesses, and she knows how to wind it so it doesn't slip against his skin. Once she reaches the head, she simply laces up the ribbon in a neat little bow right beneath it—directly on the vein throbbing there. What a tempting little present he is, but she's going to stay strong and do this the way it needs to be done instead of just rushing through it. She wants to savor this.

She sits back on her heels to admire her handiwork, making a mental note to ask for photos later on. In case one of them is injured and needs to go home, for instance, because no way is she going to be able to last without this lovely image burned into the forefront of her mind.

Then she stops being gentle. He's lasted well enough like this and she has things to do, so she simply stands and grabs the back of his head, shoving him forward until he gets the hint and bends at the waist. His forearms and forehead are pressed to the carpet, leaving the gorgeous line of his bare back vulnerable all the way down to his luscious ass. What a wonderful sight.

Her eyes dart over to the bed and she quickly crosses the carpet, her fingers curling around the heavy handle of the flogger as she lifts it from the bed. The fronds are soft leather, not braided or beaded or anything that will cause true pain, but there will be stinging and warmth.

Without a word, she returns to standing behind him and can't help remembering how willingly he gave his body to her, spreading those thighs for her, stretching around her cock. That's going to happen again. Tonight. How she's lasted this long without it, she has no idea but she plans on not waiting until next time to do it again. Sheamus doesn't just need a woman to step in and dominate him; he needs to be fucked, spread and used and tired out from the effort.

With an easy flick of the wrist, she shakes the fronds out and then whips the air, letting them snap so she can watch him twitch. He doesn't make a sound, though, and doesn't attempt to safe word or ask questions. That's just fine with her. She licks her lips, making sure she has a firm and steady grip on the flogger, before snapping the air right next to his body, making sure he feels the air hit his skin. This time he gasps and squirms, no doubt knowing exactly what she plans to do, and yet he still makes no move to stop her. Such a good, smart, trusting boy.

Marta takes a moment to admire her prize once more—really, she can do this all day and like she said, she most definitely will. Then she stops playing games and takes her stance, legs spread just the right distance, and this time aims for the broad canvas of his strong back.

The startled whimper hits her hard in the stomach, making the muscles there coil and heat spread through her lower body. Startled, she takes a breath and whips his back again, watching him jump with the movement. Yet again, he doesn't try to stop her, so she makes a mental note to reward him for this trust and finds a steady rhythm just working on marking up his back.

The leather snapping against his skin, warming it, flushing it first a pale pink and then a deeper red as the same spots are struck again and again is beautiful. But it's the sound that does it; he starts whimpering and fisting the carpet even as his hips twitch forward. He's enjoying this more than she thought he would and this might be something to add to the bedroom on a regular basis.

When she takes a step to the right, however, her mark isn't his back and the flogger doesn't strike it; the fronds snap his ass instead, wringing a startled cry from his throat. She can't help but smirk at the sound, snapping him just a bit harder but still not hard enough to shake him out of this little fantasy. Instead, he just presses himself forward, his ass arched back for more.

"You have no idea how prettily your skin marks up. One day, I'll spend all day marking it. With my mouth alone." She whispers the dark promise and flogs him again, relishing his moans.

When he starts to fall silent, she stops and kneels down, fisting her hand in bright ginger hair and yanking his head up so she can see how flushed he is, how sweaty, hear his heavy breathing.

"Give me a color or I'll stop for the evening," she says, giving his hair a harsh tug.

Sheamus moans again and she mentally adds hair-pulling to the list of things he enjoys as he struggles to find the air to answer her question. "Green, m-ma'am. I'm okay."

With that, she lets him go and returns to whipping his ass, waiting until the skin is a good, flushed red before she throws the flogger violently away. She drops to her knees behind him, smoothing her hands over his warmed cheeks, closing her eyes just to absorb his body shuddering under her touch as he pushes back into her hands, a silent offering.

Then she leans over him and traces the red marks on his skin with the tip of her tongue, the tang of sweat only adding to the moment. With lips and tongue alone, she both soothes and aggravates his tenderized skin, making it even more sensitive to her touch. There's so much of him but she refuses to miss a single inch, ending in the small of his back just above the curve of his ass.

She breathes across his skin before continuing lower, all too familiar with just how edible he is, how good he tastes and feels. He's firm everywhere, including his gorgeous ass and she wastes no time in soothing the angry flushes on his taut cheeks. As soon as she's done, she grips them firmly in both hands and spreads him wide, determined to reward him for being such a good boy and for taking the blindfold as well as he did. Surely he deserves something for conquering it.

Considering how she's mostly miss instead of hit with guys—it's so very hard to pick the ones who want what she can give—she admires him again. Totally smooth, even below the belt, the pink skin puckered and just asking to be stretched and spread. She acquiesces and leans down, pushing his face into the carpet so she can get the proper angle to drag her tongue across his hole.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, and she can't help but grin as she drags her tongue over him again, slowing her pace so he can feel every little glide of slick muscle against his skin.

Enough teasing. She takes a breath before nudging her tongue past the ring of muscle, licking inside of him and damn near falling apart at the taste, the heat, the smooth skin. If this man isn't perfect, then he's the closest thing she's going to find anywhere at any time.

This is her forte; she has a thing for this and Sheamus seems to enjoy it, moaning and pushing his hips back so her tongue slides deeper inside of him. He's still so tight but she expects that because she hasn't had the time to open him up and wear him in like she plans to. But this will definitely help, so she makes sure he isn't going to struggle out of her grip before licking along his walls. His moans become a soft mantra, his hips rocking forward and backward, forward and backward—no doubt grinding his restrained cock into the carpet before pushing back on her tongue, so caught up in sensation he doesn't know which one he wants the most.

Then she shifts a hand to keep him spread while her free hand wanders down between his thighs, cupping his balls and squeezing just enough for it to feel good. Sheamus's moans pick up in pitch and she has to swallow down the chuckle because she knows what she's doing is getting just the right reaction out of him. _Good._ This beautiful man deserves to feel good like this.

Her hand wanders past his swollen balls to his cock, stroking him in slow but firm movements to match the way she licks deeper inside of him with every thrust of her tongue. She's half-convinced she can get him off from just this, just eating out his beautiful ass, and she might just tie him down one day and find out for herself. One day soon. Just settle down between his forcefully spread legs, exploring him until he falls apart in her hands. _Perfection._

But not tonight. Regretfully, she pulls away and snatches the bottle of lube from the bed, spilling the cool silicon-based liquid across her fingers to cover them adequately. She teases him again, massaging the tight rim muscles before slowly easing a finger inside of him.

Tight isn't the word for him and if she hadn't just fucked him last week, she might think he was a virgin. It's enough to slow her down a little, keep her pace a little slower while she works him open with one finger, then two, then three. A bit of probing and he jumps and moans, informing her she's found that spot just inside of him that makes him writhe and whine into the carpet.

When she pulls her fingers free, he slumps against the carpet and pants helplessly, no doubt ready to fall apart for her. Good. She strips quickly, balling up the leather and tossing it aside, grabbing the dildo she's chosen for tonight. It's more or less just a cock with veins and all.

"I'm going to fuck you through the floor, Irish," she growls, smacking his ass hard.

Instantly, he lifts his hips up for more and turns his head to speak. "Yes, ma'am. Please."

She nods and quickly works herself into the harness, having become very familiar with it over the years she's had it, screwing in the dildo like she's done a million times before. But it's not the same, not really, because with Sheamus, everything feels so fucking new and good.

One hand braces in the small of his back, pressing down until his ass arches back again, his crack slick from the lubricant and the sheen of it picking up the light in the room. So pretty.

Then she takes a breath, presses the tip of the cock to his entrance, and thrusts inside.

The sound he makes isn't even human, it's so strangled and choked and _good,_ and she shudders.

She takes her time, using rolling thrusts to cement herself deep inside of him, laying herself over the broad plane of his back to the best of her ability and thank fucking God his height is in his legs because she can breathe in his ear, bite down on his shoulder. She has to because every time she pulls back even just a little, he's so tight the dildo _pulls_ and that's just amazing. It's flawless and wonderful and she is going to come apart fucking him like this. Having him curled up beneath her, offering himself so sweetly and with no inhibition, no shame in wanting what he wants, is the biggest turn-on she's ever experienced and it's mind-numbing.

Once she's deep inside of him, she rests her forehead against his shoulder and bites back a groan; she's wet and throbbing just from this and she's not even touched herself. With him, she hasn't needed to, yet. The right submissive, the right man to kneel to her and succumb to her wishes is more than enough to turn her on and send her over the edge. After all, the mind is the largest erogenous zone, and Sheamus has managed to steal his way inside of her mind more often than not. Admitting that now helps steady her more than she wants to think about, really.

Then she shuts off her brain and just focuses on him, forcing his knees wider apart with her own, spearing him open on her cock. He makes a weak noise into the carpet and arches back, all but _begging,_ and she's not one to hold out on him. So she straightens and pulls out almost entirely, looking down at where he's stretched around her before slamming back into him. Sheamus cries out shamelessly, fucking himself back on her dick, and she lets him. It's not about owning him and marking him, not this time. Instead, she grips his hips and directs his rhythm, pulling him back onto her until he knows the angle. Then she lets him go and focuses on her momentum, drilling into him with rough and steady thrusts that wrangle moans and cries from his throat.

"Fuck, you want it," she growls, her nails digging into his hips as she picks up the pace.

But it's not enough and she snarls as she loses her patience, pulling out and flipping him onto his back in one smooth motion. It shouldn't be because he's twice her size easily but she manages just fine and slots herself between his thighs, manhandling one of his perfect legs onto her shoulder while the other wraps tight around her waist. Good. Fucking _great._ It's easy to thrust back inside of him, watching him arch against the carpet at being opened up again, the green of the clamps and the black of the blindfold and ribbon so vivid against his perfect pale skin.

The clamps catch her eye and she braces herself above him, fucking deeper inside of him as she grabs one of the clamps and pulls it free. He screams and arches his back, and she takes the offering, fastening her lips to the abused skin. Just her tongue, just wet and hot and slick, and then she does the other, the scream even more perfect than the first, shooting heat through her.

She pins his hips down and it shouldn't work because he's stronger. But right now, he's _not_ stronger and she easily holds him down, keeping him still until she strokes along his spot and his entire body flushes from the pleasure, his cock leaking steadily against his stomach.

Her hand grabs him, roughly jerking, the friction of the ribbon and the pressure on his spot no doubt too much to handle if his reaction is anything. "Come!" she orders sharply, squeezing just under the head and relishing the yowl of pleasure as he clamps down around her. It's enough and too much and not enough and she groans his name as her own orgasm sweeps through her, her muscles stiffening and spasming as his cock spills white heat across his stomach.

Marta leans on her free arm, taking slow breaths as she lets him breathe before slowly pulling out of him. The little whimper and the way he flops against the floor are telling; he's done. Slowly, she unties the ribbon and sheds the harness, letting him breathe while she cleans up the room.

She retrieves the bottled water from her bag, along with a couple of granola bars just in case, and dims the lights. Then she kneels beside him and slowly lifts his head, settling cross-legged on the floor before lowering his head onto her lap. Once he's settled, she takes the blindfold off of him.

His baby blues are blissed out, but he still manages to sit up enough to take a few drinks of the water. His hands are shaking too badly, though, so she unwraps a granola bar for him.

"Wow," he whispers, looking over at her with a slow, beatific smile. "Just fucking wow, lass."

Once he's had enough water and one of the granola bars, she helps him up and uses a washcloth she wet down in the bathroom to clean him up. She's already cleaned up, having taken care of herself while she let him breathe, and because she knows she needs to focus on him.

"You're really good at this," she informs him, pushing him down on his stomach and retrieving the oil from her bag. It warms under her touch and she starts massaging it into his back and ass before rolling him over and doing his nipples as well. "You'll be sore as fuck tomorrow."

He yawns and flops back against the sheets, patting the mattress. "I'm fine. Stay the night?"

Marta considers, packing the oil away and reflecting on the evening. If he was serious about making this a thing, and this is his offer of it… "Okay, I'll stay." And so she does.

* * *

_**A/N: I just want to sit back for a minute and say, "Wow." Not only because I've written two 10k plus chapters, but because you guys have been phenomenal. The support for this story was so surprising and I love you all deeply for it. I never thought I would have people legitimately getting behind, and I have, and I love you all so fucking much for it.**_


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Wrestling, Hurt-Comfort, Romance