question.”
It was her turn to drag herself back. For a second, his own fingers resisted her movement, holding her still, but then he relented and she pulled away. “No,” she said, sitting up in the bed, her breasts hanging down, the weight of them suddenly vulnerable against her chest. She scrabbled forward for a sheet which she pulled up towards her chest, seeking to cover her nakedness. This was all wrong.
“Why not?” he asked, leisurely turning his head back to her, sunlight catching the hazel irises of his eyes, suddenly making them flash with an iridescent fire that transformed one to green, the other to a deeper shade flecked with amber. “It’s a simple question. Do you always get what you want?”
“Of course not.” Now her prickliness, the armour that encased her body from morning till night (and then, she suspected, in her dreams), had returned, a freezing all along her limbs and across her torso. It constricted her chest, preventing her fr om breathing freely. This wasn’ t how it was meant to be: she had just had — literally — mind-blowing sex. Now they were meant to lie next to each other and whisper sweet nothings. “Who on earth gets everything they want?” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.
“I do — well, that’s what most people think. I get everything I want, except the one thing I really want.” She looked away from those eyes, which suddenly seemed to be filled with accusation.
“Well, what is it that you want?” Her tone was petulant. This really wasn’t what she had expected at all. The truth, of course, was that nothing that had happened today was what she expected, but this was the worst bit of all.
Then he threw her again, smiling at her with a generosity that surprised her, still watching her intently. “At the moment, you . What do you want? ”
Was he fucking with her mind, she wondered, moving between moods so rapidly that she had no time to comprehend them? Her breath was coming in rapid motions again — that was always a bad sign, something that she hated more than anything. She thought to play him at his own game.
“I told you,” she replied, trying to control her breathing and letting her body snuggle next to his in a faux example of coquettishness.
“And will that make you happy? A fat cock in your cunt?”
This wasn’t working at all well. The sudden unexpected crudity of his words drew her up short. Again, she nearly panicked.
“Well, it’s a start.”
“I suppose it is.” He leaned back on muscled arm, gazing up at the ceiling of the bedroom. Without looking at her, he asked: “How long are you here — at Dalrigh, I mean?”
“Ten days.” She was unsure whether to sulk, cry or simply walk out of the room. Who the hell did this Daniel Logan think he was?
“Ten days,” he repeated softly. “An awful lot can happen in ten days.”
She started to move, and he grabbed hold of her hand, once more entrancing her slightly with those eyes of his, the scars of his face pale in the light. She struggled to pull away, but he dragged her flat on the bed, rolling one of his legs across her thighs.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She was getting tired of this game. “I told you,” she replied sarcastically, trying to catch her breath and genuinely a little frightened now, but also strangely excited. “I want to get fucked. Nothing more.”
“You sure?” he asked, and there was suddenly a glint in his eyes.
“Yes.” She bit her lip after she spoke this word, suddenly realising that — yes — that was just what she wanted at that moment.
When he lifted himself up over her, he was already hard. Christ! His erection must have been some ten inches in length, and when Kris reached down with her small hand she couldn’t entirely circle him with her fingers. When he began to penetrate her, it hurt, a deliciously sweet pain that made her cry and bite his arm hard. His movements were firm and assured, he holding himself above her on his
It was her turn to drag herself back. For a second, his own fingers resisted her movement, holding her still, but then he relented and she pulled away. “No,” she said, sitting up in the bed, her breasts hanging down, the weight of them suddenly vulnerable against her chest. She scrabbled forward for a sheet which she pulled up towards her chest, seeking to cover her nakedness. This was all wrong.
“Why not?” he asked, leisurely turning his head back to her, sunlight catching the hazel irises of his eyes, suddenly making them flash with an iridescent fire that transformed one to green, the other to a deeper shade flecked with amber. “It’s a simple question. Do you always get what you want?”
“Of course not.” Now her prickliness, the armour that encased her body from morning till night (and then, she suspected, in her dreams), had returned, a freezing all along her limbs and across her torso. It constricted her chest, preventing her fr om breathing freely. This wasn’ t how it was meant to be: she had just had — literally — mind-blowing sex. Now they were meant to lie next to each other and whisper sweet nothings. “Who on earth gets everything they want?” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.
“I do — well, that’s what most people think. I get everything I want, except the one thing I really want.” She looked away from those eyes, which suddenly seemed to be filled with accusation.
“Well, what is it that you want?” Her tone was petulant. This really wasn’t what she had expected at all. The truth, of course, was that nothing that had happened today was what she expected, but this was the worst bit of all.
Then he threw her again, smiling at her with a generosity that surprised her, still watching her intently. “At the moment, you . What do you want? ”
Was he fucking with her mind, she wondered, moving between moods so rapidly that she had no time to comprehend them? Her breath was coming in rapid motions again — that was always a bad sign, something that she hated more than anything. She thought to play him at his own game.
“I told you,” she replied, trying to control her breathing and letting her body snuggle next to his in a faux example of coquettishness.
“And will that make you happy? A fat cock in your cunt?”
This wasn’t working at all well. The sudden unexpected crudity of his words drew her up short. Again, she nearly panicked.
“Well, it’s a start.”
“I suppose it is.” He leaned back on muscled arm, gazing up at the ceiling of the bedroom. Without looking at her, he asked: “How long are you here — at Dalrigh, I mean?”
“Ten days.” She was unsure whether to sulk, cry or simply walk out of the room. Who the hell did this Daniel Logan think he was?
“Ten days,” he repeated softly. “An awful lot can happen in ten days.”
She started to move, and he grabbed hold of her hand, once more entrancing her slightly with those eyes of his, the scars of his face pale in the light. She struggled to pull away, but he dragged her flat on the bed, rolling one of his legs across her thighs.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She was getting tired of this game. “I told you,” she replied sarcastically, trying to catch her breath and genuinely a little frightened now, but also strangely excited. “I want to get fucked. Nothing more.”
“You sure?” he asked, and there was suddenly a glint in his eyes.
“Yes.” She bit her lip after she spoke this word, suddenly realising that — yes — that was just what she wanted at that moment.
When he lifted himself up over her, he was already hard. Christ! His erection must have been some ten inches in length, and when Kris reached down with her small hand she couldn’t entirely circle him with her fingers. When he began to penetrate her, it hurt, a deliciously sweet pain that made her cry and bite his arm hard. His movements were firm and assured, he holding himself above her on his
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