<em>Holy shit.</em>Jon was a dab hand at poker, and in his experience it wasn't everyday that the other player in a game responded to a daring, chancy gambit by tossing down their cards, pushing everything into the pot, throwing in the keys to their Ferrari, their wedding ring and firstborn child. The suddenness, the vehemence of Hannah's surrender took him by surprise... no less so than the way her body seemed to vibrate with the need to be bound like this, touched like this, like a taut violin string trembling with the need to be played.<br/><br/>At the risk of damaging his dom-credentials, the SFX man was flustered. He'd expected, at best, a little flirting, a little wordplay, but this, this was much more...<br/><br/>“Iiiiii...nnn...ter...esting,” he growled breathily. His eyes raked along her body, from her startlingly eager greens to her breasts rising and falling with quick breaths to his hand resting on her inner thigh to her bound legs. His fingers rhythmically loosened and tightened around the wrist he had pinned behind her head, like he was drumming them on a desk, but they settled back into a firm grasp as he slowly dragged his other hand up, cupping his palm tight against her crotch and pressing the fabric of her leggings against her womanhood until she could feel the rough heat of his hand there.<br/><br/>This was a chance in a million. He had to play it cool... but not<em>too</em>cool or it might become cold. Hannah Tate. Hannah Tate! Sexiest Up-And-Comming Starlet in pretty much every magazine you could name, lying on his prosthetics-application-cum-bondage-chair, thrumming with need and looking up at him with those eyes, those eyes...<br/><br/>Without taking his own gaze off her, Jon tried to stretch his own perceptions back towards the door, wondering what the odds were of them being overseen, overheard through the bustling noise of a set mid-prep and the racks of props and weird oddments that filled the SFX warehouse. Good, but not good enough. This would take more time than they had, for sure. Still, he couldn't resist a taste of the honey while he had the queen bee at his mercy...<br/><br/>Jon's hand squeezed Hannah's sex through her leggings, and he leaned over her, his gaze intent. He bent down slowly, giving her a chance to demure or turn away if she wished... and kissed her. Hard. His lips were warm, firm, and strong as they crushed irresistibly down on her mouth, drawing her in to the kiss. A rumble echoed from deep in his chest as he pressed and enveloped her luscious lips in a lengthy exploration that ended with a sting of pain as he seized the lower petal between his teeth, digging in slightly to leave a soft red mark and stretching it up and back, releasing it with a moist snap.<br/><br/>The tip of his tongue traced over his own lips as he straightened, looking down at the bound woman thoughtfully. “This... is... interesting,” he drawled. “I guess I was right: you like to writhe, more than I supposed.” His thumb swiped across her mons venus, the little bump of flesh above her sex as he studied her. “Seems like something worth discussing... later... in private... wouldn't you say, Hannah?” His eyes were smokey, dangerous, playful as they gazed into hers, promising her delights and devices that she'd only fantasised about... and other beyond her wildest dreams.