Chapter 33: The Rabbit Takes Control
The silver server was cold in Harmony’s hand, a stark contrast to the humid, living warmth of the basement. She took it from Ivy’s grip, her movement sudden and decisive. Ivy’s eyebrow arched, a silent, pleased question, but she yielded without a word, taking a half-step back to observe.
“My turn,” Harmony breathed, the words barely audible over the thrum of her own pulse in her ears.
Harley’s gaze, which had been locked on Ivy, snapped down to her. Her eyes were wide, the pupils swallowing the blue and pink almost entirely. A slow, wicked smile played on her lips. “The student becomes the master, huh, Harm?”
Harmony didn’t answer with words. She let the cold, flat edge of the server do the talking. She dragged it slowly, so slowly, up the inside of Harley’s thigh, tracing a path through the smudge of chocolate frosting already there. The metal was a shocking line of cold against Harley’s feverish skin. A muscle in Harley’s stomach quivered. Her breath hitched, a sharp, shallow intake.
The server climbed higher, past the lace edge of her fishnets, over the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Harmony watched the journey, mesmerized by the contrast of hard steel against soft, yielding flesh. She could feel the tension radiating from Harley’s body, the slight strain against the living wood restraints.
When the cold metal finally teased against Harley’s dripping folds, Harley jolted as if electrocuted. A ragged, guttural sound was torn from her throat, part gasp, part laugh. Her head fell back, exposing the long line of her neck.
“F-fuck, Harmony,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “That’s… cold.”
“You’re warm,” Harmony murmured, her own voice gaining a strange, new steadiness. She pressed the blunt edge a little firmer, a gentle, insistent pressure. Harley’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk, a futile attempt to seek more friction against the unyielding metal. A drop of moisture gleamed on the silver.
Ivy watched from the sidelines, her arms crossed, a proud, possessive smirk on her face. “She’s a quick learner, isn’t she, Harl?”
“A-plus,” Harley panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Top of the fucking class.” She strained against the cuffs, the leather biting into her wrists. “Don’t stop. Please.”
The ‘please’ did something to Harmony. It unraveled the last of her nervousness, replacing it with a surge of raw, dizzying power. This was Harley Quinn, suspended and begging for her. For her.
She withdrew the server, watching Harley whimper at the loss of contact. Harmony then deliberately dipped the tip into the cake again, scooping up a generous glob of dark chocolate frosting and a chunk of moist sponge. She held it up, letting it drip onto the workbench below.
Then, with a focus that shut out everything else—the hum of the machinery, the scent of oil and earth, even Ivy’s intense presence—she brought the loaded server back to Harley’s body. Not to her mouth. She painted a thick, messy stripe of cake from Harley’s navel down, through the blonde curls, the chocolate a stark, decadent violation against her pale skin.
Harley cried out, a full-throated shout that echoed off the concrete walls. Her body bowed against the restraints, a beautiful, frantic arc of sensation.
“You’re ruining my dress,” she gasped, though the complaint was layered with sheer, unadulterated delight.
“It was already ruined,” Harmony said, her voice low and surprisingly calm. She dropped the server. It clattered loudly on the concrete, a final, decisive sound.
She stepped forward then, into the space between Harley’s suspended legs. She looked up at the masterpiece of debauchery she’d helped create. Harley was panting, covered in sweat and chocolate, her makeup smeared, her eyes wild and utterly focused on Harmony.
Ivy moved then, a silent predator coming to stand beside Harmony. She slid a cool hand around Harmony’s waist, her touch both grounding and encouraging.
“See?” Ivy whispered into her hair, her voice thick with approval. “You speak the language perfectly.”
Harmony reached out a single, trembling finger and touched the mess she’d made. She traced through the chocolate and cake, her fingertip finding the warm, slick heat beneath. Harley moaned, a long, shuddering sound that seemed to come from the very core of her being.
Harmony looked at her finger, then slowly, deliberately, brought it to her own lips and tasted.
The combination was electric—the rich, sweet bitterness of the dark chocolate and the uniquely salty, musky taste of Harley. Her eyes never left Harley’s as she did it.
Harley stared, her breath catching. The chaotic energy in her eyes softened for a moment into something awed, something profoundly vulnerable.
“My turn,” Harley whispered, her voice hoarse. “My turn to taste.”
Ivy’s grin was a flash of green in the dim light. She looked at the pulleys, then at the two of them. “I think it’s time for the main course.”