...He watched her watching him, as his body betrayed him. Who could resist her? The queen with the body of a concubine. With the morals of a harlot. Looking for a diversionary fuck.
Well, not from him, not his penis, not his body, not his soul. It would cost him nothing less to mount her and pump her, and that was all she goddamn wantedthe length, the hardness and vigor of him.
And to bend him to her voluptuous will.
She was just like the rest of them, damn her to hell, and he would never succumb. He alone had that strength of will.
He turned away abruptly, turning his back on her, on her nakedness, rejecting her so forcibly, she took a step backward.
This wasn't possible. She knew the beauty of her body, the extent of her sensual allure. He was playing games with her. There wasn't one man to whom she offered herself who didn't want her. Not one.
And this one, curse his eyes, would be no exception. She would make this one get down on his knees to her, make him moan and beg. Make him regret he didn't take what she offered.
She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his hips, and pressed just the tips of her nipples against the hot skin of his back. Just the very hard tips, rubbing them lightly back and forth, back and forth.
She felt him stiffen, and smiled to herself. All men were alike. A hard nipple, her questing fingers... yes, that was nextfind him where he lived: she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, working them against his hips, all the while keeping her nipples just touching his back.
His muscles rippled, tightened.
Her fairy fingers slid all over him, inch by inch, over and under, squeezing him and teasing the thick ridged tip that poked out of his trousers so deliciously.
He could not be immune to her touch. She grasped hard and tight with one hand and slipped the other between his legs to take hold of him there. He was taut, ripe, full in the palm of her hand.
"Let go of me." His voice was barely a rasp. She was affecting him, she knew it, and he resisted her. How could he resist her?
She slipped her hand upward on his shaft, rubbing her fingers all over the ridge, stroking him there.
"Let go of me."
She shimmied her breasts against his naked back ... "I don't want to," she whispered. "I love your size. You're so long and strong and hard..."
"Let GO." There was steel in his voice now.
"I'm naked for you, ready for you. Just..."
"Damn you" He grasped her hands and wrenched them away from his body. "Damn you. Get dressed."
She hated him. "That's amusing. I am dressed. So why don't you just... take advantage of that?"
That did it. That question he could deal with. He felt himself coming under control to the point where he could face her. "You're a whore."
She was taken aback by the virulence of his tone. No one had ever characterized any woman in Valley as a whore.
"And you're a man..." She put as much venom into the word as she could. Not that it fazed him.
"So we understand each other. Get dressed."
"This is as dressed as I get when I'm in male company." There, that angered him again. He didn't like bold women, bad women, insolent women.
Did he require a woman to be dressed when he came to her in bed? Did he like burrowing and furrowing before he embedded himself in her naked sheath?
The thought was intriguing: to be wholly covered except for those two naked parts wet and hot, slipping and sliding one into the other... She went hot and shuddery, imagining it.
She edged toward the sofa. This was the challenge now. To have him. To have that long hot length of him inside her and to bring him to moaning groveling surrender.