In the cell, dimly lit the by the moon through the heavily barred window, Jerome grinned at the quivering, precious brat beneath him—Danica was a brat, but that was really the only thing that he could find the slightest annoying about her. Her face was caught with arousal, and he found her trembling to be empowering.
Although her wealth had come from drug trafficking, she considered herself one of Gotham's Elite, no less above the totem pole than that of a governor or the mayor of the city.

Jerome's fingers down her panties tapped against her heated flesh playfully; Danica bit her bottom lip with anticipation.

"My mother always told me that I had to stop playing with my food," he said, "before I eat it. But I think she was wrong. It's a lot more fun my way."

A hand on her wrists remaining firm against the sheets, and his other hand playfully rubbing her clit, Jerome watched Danica's face contort into pleasure. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, soft flesh against soft lips.

"Honey," Danica cooed, "please."

"Honey?" Jerome chuckled against her neck. "Been a while since anyone has called me that."

He released her hands, setting them free. And he straightened his back, straddling her waist. He pulled his hand from her underwear, receiving a disappointed moan from his lover.

"So tell me, Honey," he chuckled, "Were you the dealer in your relationship with your former beau or did you stay home and house-sit?"

Danica's panting ceased. Her eyes fell from his face, to his clothed chest and stomach, his hips—Sure, he was barely over the age of consent, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. The smug confidence was appealing, and she found his interest in her felony charges to be different. Not exactly the idle chat for foreplay, but this was *his* game, after all. Danica played along.

"My ex-husband stayed home," Danica answered him. "I made the deals."

"Did you do it because you liked the smell of it or because you liked the money?"

"It started with the money," Danica replied honestly, "then the lifestyle."

Jerome laughed with enthusiasm.
"Mmm, it's always the lifestyle. The sneakiness, the dark and dirty abyss of the underworld, right?"

"Coming out on top," Danica remarked
"So," Jerome drawled, "You were the Michelle Pfeiffer of Scarface, then."

Danica hissed, "Bigger. Much. Bigger."

Jerome cackled—then in his humor, Danica bucked her hips to kn hiock him to the side, where he landed on his back beside her. Danica ceased an opportunity to get the upper hand and straddled his hips, collected his hands in one sweep and pinned them above his head.

Jerome was surprised, but not disappointed at the change of scenery. He did enjoy their game, and he especially found it more invigorating now than he did before. Danica's bright eyes flashed. She lowered her face close to his. Her tongue licked his lips.

"You're so young, Jerome," Danica whispered. "Do you think you have more experience in this field than me?"

"What, Kitten? Going to teach me something?" Jerome remarked. "I'm 18, not 13. How old are you?"

"26, Darling. Not quite off the market, but it's not the age; it's the mileage."

"Well, I have to agree with you on that one." Jerome looked comfortable, as if he had been in many of these situations before, resuming casual conversation, though his own ache was beginning to strengthen under Danica's pelvis.

"Been through the some sticky situations that would make the hair on your pretty neck stand up, Sweetheart," Danica said, though she spoke as if in fondness of recollecting a dreamy childhood.

Jerome answered her with a mocking "Oh".
She released his hands and took up the hem of her dress, pulling it up over head, and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor.
Jerome's face lightened, and he uttered the same word, though dripping with approval.

Danica, while exceptionally pale, had many scars across her stomach, chest, arms, and legs. Under the strain of the moonlight, he could see that some people definitely did not like her trade, or maybe that they thought that she was a bitch too and decided to handle her spoiled attitude in their own way. Blonde, green-eyed, with a devilish smirk on her face—he found her to be the right kind of woman.

There were scars on the swell of her breasts from where he could notice; whatever was hidden under the wireless cotton bra, he could not see. Though he would imagine.

Danica's confidence in her body was obvious, for she didn't flush under his gaze. She reached behind her and unclasped her restraints and also tossed it aside. Jerome lifted a hand to her chest—Danica chuckled and ceased his wrist, batting it away.

"Uh-uh," she sneered, "I'll show you something."

"And what's that?"

"I get the idea that no one has actually ever told you 'no'." Danica answered. She put her hands on her breasts and massaged her nipples, knowing well that he would have liked to do it.
Jerome's face showed interest.

"Were you always this coy with your husband?" Jerome asked, not really inspiring an answer.

Danica rolled her eyes and took one of his hands and replaced it on a breast.

"Better, Dear?"

"It will be."

Jerome pulled her close to him and kissed her roughly. Danica returned it. She slipped a hand down his pants and found him, and uttered a satisfied coo as he hardened under her touch. Jerome didn't hide a pleasured moan as she stroked him, ensuing his assault of her mouth. Danica felt her breathing hitch as he reached between them, a hand down her panties, cupping her bundle of nerves to find her slick with arousal.

Between their fevered kiss,
Jerome said, "This *is* fun, isn't it?"

Danica scoffed, "Shut up."

She pulled away, climbed down his body, pulled down his pants along with boxers and took him swiftly in her mouth.

"Kitten," he moaned quietly. His noises made Danica hot and bothered. Jerome's hand wrapped in her hair, guiding her motions to appease him further. She allowed him this only for a moment, then released him.
When she was in within arms reach, Jerome pulled her to him—

There was a wrestle for power, who would get top or bottom. Although it seemed like they were rough with each other, both of them were grinning, pushing and pulling the other to see whose dominance could outlast the other. Such a fun game in a mad house.
In the end, Jerome's energy won over hers. He was on top of Danica; pulling down her panties, then tossing them aside. Jerome shed his shirt and threw it too. He took her legs and spread them apart and—
"Fuck—" Danica cried out as Jerome's tongue penetrated her slick opening, his hands keeping her legs pried apart during his assault as the reflex of pleasure tried to close them.
Jerome fed from her, gluttonous and eager from waiting. 

Danica's moans were cut with pants along with a struggle to keep quiet, to level off the raging ache that Jerome worsened. But it had been forever since she had been intimate, forget having any special attention in that department. Jerome could tell that just from her slightly bucking she did as his tongue flicked across the sensitive bud.

He'd have her begging, he thought.

With that note, he pushed two fingers into her opening, finding her tight and dripping with need.

Danica uttered a satisfied cry. A soft sheen of sweat had become aware on her face, her breasts, her stomach. Jerome climbed her body, though his fingers continued to pump slowly in and out of her.

"Is this how you like it, Honey?" He asked her knowingly. "I know that I do."

Danica's mouth formed an "O" as his thumb pressed against her clit insistently. She couldn't make any form of an answer to be coherent, but Jerome got the gist.

"I can make you come," he said. "But you have to beg me."

"I'm almost...there," she pleaded with him. "Please don't stop. Oh..."

Her climax started to build higher and higher; her back arched with want. Jerome bit his lip as he pumped his fingers faster into her, wanting more to replace his hand, but not before showing her that he could push her to orgasm on talent alone.

"Yes..." She whispered, bucking her hips against his rhythm, "yes. Ah..."

Danica clasped the bed sheets, white knuckled with delicious anticipation. Her legs pushed up to give him needed access.

"Yes, baby," Danica pleaded. "Oh.Oh..."
"Come for me, Kitten."
As if she needed permission, her body ceased and she moaned loudly to the ceiling—her toes curling with delight.
Jerome withdrew his digits, pulled down his pants to expose an impressive length. Then he climbed on top of her. He held her waist to keep her still. Danica barely caught her second wind as he pushed inside of her, giving her less time to adjust to the new occupation inside of her throbbing sex.

She gasped as he pulled out for a second then slammed back into her.
Jerome's eyes fluttered closed as he grinded against her; his voice crackling with unreserved moans.
Danica's moans grew louder as he continued to push harder into her, building that climax once again. She clasped a hand around his neck.
"Yes, baby, don't stop," she urged him...Oh my God."

Jerome chuckled through his own pants of ecstay, consenting her pleas as a victory. He'd have her begging. He did now. Jerome felt his own climax building as she clenched and throbbed around him.

"*I won't stop*," he hissed. "I don't want to," he added greedily.

He quickened his pace until Danica's moans became cut-off cries of lust. He uttered, "Fuck" as he could feel himself coming close.
 
However Danica's sensitive nerves caved to his aggressive thrusts and she came full force; her body ceased again like last time, but he didn't stop thrusting. Through her wanton cries, she came again; her head went fuzzy.
"You're mine! " He hissed at her.
 
Then as if that sealed the deal, he couldn't hold back and he came inside her with a satisfied groan.
He collapsed onto her, panting.
She didn't mind so much, trying to catch her breath.  He rolled off her, lying on his back.

The room was filled  with panting.

Jerome let out a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Danica breathed.

"I won." Jerome said with a victorious air.

She made a small chortle, wearily slapping him in the arm.

"Shut up."