He bowed to her, letting her feel self-assured for a while, then grabbed her wrist with one hand, while the fingers of his other were working the little black bow around her neck, trying not to undo it in the process of getting her to come closer. She obeyed, submissively looking into his eyes, where she made out a spark of order, and she knew what she had to do. The lady was gone. Long live the rogue. She knelt before him, carefully weighing his jewels as if they were hers to become. Opening her lips, she took him in, making circles with the tip of her tongue while her lips were moving up and down its whole length. She felt it grow with the wetness of her mouth, and soon she knew that would not be the only moist place he'll reach. His hands were tangled in her hair, and holding each side of her head, he lifted her up to his mouth, giving her the promise of an even longer night ahead, apart from the waltzes they had danced for hours.
He laid her on the bed, suddenly giving no damn about the golden sheets, and spread her open, his index drawing a perfect line that split her in two, starting at her hairline and ending at the point where nature itself designed the separation. One half was the perfect lady she was in society, the other was her wild side he was willing to possess. And he broke into the temple, pushing his way through chambers until he found her core, the core that made her start, the core that made her cry to heaven, in an attempt to be redeemed for the burning passion consuming her minute by minute, orgasm by orgasm, along with his thrusts and acid spots his slippery tongue marked on her nipples. With a moaning roar, he finished. He let go of all the boundaries and unleashed his inner abstract painter, spattering her abs with the satine-hued product of his pleasure. Her pleasure.