Implying we aren't somewhat already? I'm wounded Sandy, truly.
[Yeah, subtlety is overrated in the highest degree. And maybe the wait had been unseemly, but as she's likely gathered it's not from lack of interest. Richie had pondered the merits of swooping her into the crook of his arm and giving her a hell of a lot more than a kiss before this. Had planned to do so long before this, thinking on the innate privacy of the setting.
And that thought led to something like why, she's not likely to fuck off and leave him high and dry while attending business elsewhere. Then the horror of that thought took an axe to any romantic intentions he might have had. Sandra couldn't fuck off in any sense. She was a prisoner in several fashions and somewhat at the mercy of her visitors. While he has no doubts she'd make her displeasure known and known violently, or simply boot him back out of the orb if he crossed a line, making the first move now seemed gauche. It wasn't as if he'd kept popping in to visit just on the hopes that one day she'd take him to bed, or would cease contact if the pleasure was denied to him. Yet it could so easily be construed that way.
He'd been coming back around to the idea, the righteous hesitation wearing off in the last month or so. They were grown, he was sure he could rebound and mend the fences if he misconstrued her interest. He'd remained friends with previous paramours before, or women who'd taken a pass from him and shot the operation down from the get go.
Perhaps it was for the best that the drug had loosened them both up. It gave them both an excuse to shuck the old shackles. Richie grins in the precious seconds he has before she's dipping back in to kiss him a second time. The wait was long indeed, but the payoff's worth it.
Though he's still taking potshots between pecks. What gives?]
Do your worst then. I dares ya.
[She moves to the seat of his lap and he shifts his legs to make a better cushion of them. Puts a hand at her waist, obscured by linens though it might be, and deigns to go for thirds. He lets his tongue venture further, clutches the back of her head and the silken cowl of her hair as trades modesty for rising passion. She's sweet and soft, full-lipped. A good kisser, lucky him.]
Or I'll do my worst and you'll be so sickened by me you'd have to shunt me back to the outside world in nothing but my underpants.
no subject
[Yeah, subtlety is overrated in the highest degree. And maybe the wait had been unseemly, but as she's likely gathered it's not from lack of interest. Richie had pondered the merits of swooping her into the crook of his arm and giving her a hell of a lot more than a kiss before this. Had planned to do so long before this, thinking on the innate privacy of the setting.
And that thought led to something like why, she's not likely to fuck off and leave him high and dry while attending business elsewhere. Then the horror of that thought took an axe to any romantic intentions he might have had. Sandra couldn't fuck off in any sense. She was a prisoner in several fashions and somewhat at the mercy of her visitors. While he has no doubts she'd make her displeasure known and known violently, or simply boot him back out of the orb if he crossed a line, making the first move now seemed gauche. It wasn't as if he'd kept popping in to visit just on the hopes that one day she'd take him to bed, or would cease contact if the pleasure was denied to him. Yet it could so easily be construed that way.
He'd been coming back around to the idea, the righteous hesitation wearing off in the last month or so. They were grown, he was sure he could rebound and mend the fences if he misconstrued her interest. He'd remained friends with previous paramours before, or women who'd taken a pass from him and shot the operation down from the get go.
Perhaps it was for the best that the drug had loosened them both up. It gave them both an excuse to shuck the old shackles. Richie grins in the precious seconds he has before she's dipping back in to kiss him a second time. The wait was long indeed, but the payoff's worth it.
Though he's still taking potshots between pecks. What gives?]
Do your worst then. I dares ya.
[She moves to the seat of his lap and he shifts his legs to make a better cushion of them. Puts a hand at her waist, obscured by linens though it might be, and deigns to go for thirds. He lets his tongue venture further, clutches the back of her head and the silken cowl of her hair as trades modesty for rising passion. She's sweet and soft, full-lipped. A good kisser, lucky him.]
Or I'll do my worst and you'll be so sickened by me you'd have to shunt me back to the outside world in nothing but my underpants.