The Jester & the Princess

arley’s invitation hung in the air like smoke. Diana’s hands hovered above that pale throat, fingers twitching with the weight of restraint. The collar gleamed in the candlelight—black leather against ivory skin, a ring at the front where a leash might clip. “Do it.” The words came softly. Almost tender. Diana couldn’t. Harley’s legs tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. The heat between them built until Diana felt it through the silk of her dress—damp, insistent, hungry. “Chicken?” Harley’s grin returned, sharp and mocking. She moved fast. Before Diana could react, Harley’s hands found the hem of that midnight blue dress. Fingers curled. Fabric bunched. The Amazon’s breath caught as Harley yanked the silk upward, exposing her thighs, her hips, the dark triangle of curls barely concealed beneath. “What are you—” Harley slipped out from under her. The movement was fluid—acrobat’s grace, dancer’s precision. One moment, Harley was pinned beneath Diana. Next, she was on her knees between Diana’s spread thighs, looking up with those wide blue eyes, the pink and blue pigtails framing her face like presents waiting to be unwrapped. “Now this is a view.” Diana’s hands gripped the desk’s edge. “Harley—” “Shh.” A finger pressed against Diana’s lips. “You had your chance to take control. You hesitated. So now I get to play.” The finger traced down Diana’s chin, along her throat, between her collarbones. Harley watched the trail she left, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip.