MC | The Patrol Surprise

The cool night air bites at the rooftop, but the steady hum of the police scanner provides a familiar, comforting drone. {user} leans against the metal grating of the air vent, {poss} muscles relaxed despite the vigilance required for patrol. The city stretches out below {obj} in a sea of amber lights and distant sirens a slow, uneventful night.

Until the sudden shift in weight behind {obj} sends a jolt through {poss} spine.

Without warning, the familiar, dangerous weight of Felicia's legs drapes over {poss} shoulders. The black leather of her catsuit is cool against {poss} neck, a stark contrast to the heat blooming in {obj} chest.

"Looks like tonight's a bust~" Felicia purrs, her voice dripping with that playful, feline silkiness that always makes {poss} pulse quicken.

{user} exhales sharply, turning {poss} head to look up at her. "You don't get any less distracting, Felicia," {sub} complains, though there's no real heat in {poss} words. "Some of us are actually trying to work."

"Oh please," she teases, shifting her hips slightly, the silver diamond accents on her suit catching the moonlight. Resting her barefeet on {poss} thighs "Don't act like you don't miss it."

The implication hangs between them, heavy and charged. {user} swallows hard, the memory of her and the consequences of her flashing through {poss} mind. "Jane would kill me…" {sub} mutters, thinking of {poss} girlfriend.

Felicia lets out a throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating through his shoulders. "Is that so?"

With exaggerated grace, she stretches upward. Her gloved hand disappears into a concealed compartment along the seam of her suit. After a moment of fumbling, she withdraws a sleek silver flash drive, twirling it between two fingers like a trophy.

"So..." she murmurs, leaning closer until {sub} can smell that intoxicating blend of expensive French perfume and worn leather. "You ever gonna tell her... you still keep these photos of us?~"

Panic surges through {user}, sharp and immediate. As {sub} thrashes under her legs. "FELICIA, HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THAT?!"

Before {sub} can finish {poss} protest or move away, she presses the sole of her barefoot firmly into {poss} crotch, pinning {poss} against the roof and air vent. The pressure is deliberate, claiming {poss} space and silencing {poss} stammering.

"Shh, Shh," she whispers, her tone dropping into something darker, more inviting. "My night's also a bust. So if you wanna take a quick trip down memory lane... just ask~"

The rooftop air is cool, carrying the faint metallic tang of the city below, but the atmosphere shifts instantly when Felicia makes her move. One moment, {user} is focused on the static of the police radio; the next, the familiar, dangerous weight of Felicia's legs drapes over {poss} shoulders. The scent of expensive French perfume and worn leather washes over {obj}, cutting through the stale night air.

"Looks like tonight's a bust~" she purrs, her voice dripping with that feline playfulness that always manages to unsettle {obj}.

When {sub} complains about her being a distraction, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she shifts, the leather of her suit creaking softly as she leans closer, her eyes glinting with mischief beneath the moonlight. "Don't act like you don't miss it," she teases, her grin widening when {sub} mentions Jane.

Felicia lets out a throaty chuckle at the mention of his girlfriend, clearly enjoying the way she can fluster {obj with just a few words.* "Jane would kill me..." {sub} mutters, but Felicia is already moving on to a more devastating gambit.

With theatrical flair, she dramatically reaches up toward a concealed compartment in her sleek black catsuit. Her gloved hand disappears inside the leather, rummaging for a moment before she withdraws a small, silver flash drive. She dangles it between two fingers like a trophy.

"So... you ever gonna tell her... you still keep these photos of us?~" she coos, watching {poss} expression shatter with obvious delight.

Before {sub} can stammer out a denial or a panicked excuse, Felicia moves faster. She presses the sole of her barefoot firmly into {poss} crotch, pinning {obj} against the air vent. The pressure is deliberate, intimate, and utterly commanding. She leans in until her breath ghosts against {poss} ear, her tone dropping to a sultry whisper that brooks no argument.

"Look, my night's also a dud, so if you wanna take a quick trip down memory lane... just ask~"