Imogen concentrated mostly on breathing as Zara retrieved the cup, stripped off her remaining clothes, and crawled over to her.<br/><br/>In.<br/><br/>Out.<br/><br/>Steady. Calm. Confident.<br/><br/>Not at all like she'd have liked nothing better than to pick up the woman in front of her, slam her down on the bed, and then fuck her until neither of them could see straight. Or stand.<br/><br/>But damnit, she was determined she was going to spin this out – enjoy it, luxuriate maybe. One of the advantages of being rich was that she didn't need to get off and get out – she could take her time. She could learn what made this woman groan, what made her pant, what made her beg, and what made her scream.<br/><br/>And then she would make her do all four of the above. Repeatedly. In varying orders.<br/><br/>She felt her muscles clench automatically as Zara kissed her legs – not being touched was a very old habit. In the navel business, if one did well, one made enemies – hell, if one did well enough to continue breathing, one made enemies. Imogen had decided long ago it was easier not to let anyone get so much as the opportunity to stick a knife somewhere uncomfortable, never mind the upper hand, which meant not letting anyone touch her if she could help it.<br/><br/>So pushing away the urge to press against that mouth, to order it into more intimate, pleasurable places was something she was long used to.<br/><br/>And if it was harder this time than it had been...ever before, well, she refused to think about that at this moment in time.<br/><br/>“Stand.” she said softly when both boots were undone and off. She surveyed the bed before reaching out and snagging one of the scarves that looked like it was reasonably thick and soft, running it through her fingers as she considered it.<br/><br/>“Turn so you face away from me.”<br/><br/>The collection of toys on the bed was certainly impressive, but it was missing something. Thankfully Imogen had brought her own – even if Zara had provided one, she'd probably not have used it. Most of them were too florally scented to appeal.<br/><br/>Once Zara's back was turned, she slipped out of her jacket and removed a small bottle of massage oil from one of the pockets before tossing it on the desk stool.