12-26-2023, 09:20 PM
Brave boy wasn’t afraid of a little dirty talk. She liked it. There hadn’t been much talking the night he was caught in her web. That was why she came away not even knowing his name, the heat between them had been that intense.
She liked this attention. He wasn’t the first to worship at her altar, but there was something different about the intensity with which he went about it. He was his own man, confident that he could satisfy her, and able to stand beneath the directness of her presence. Other men were so awe-struck and obsessive, they were pathetic about it. The mafia connection explained some of it. Those types were always so full of themselves, and some of them deserved the engorged ego, but Spectra rarely found the full package: brains, brawn, and sheer cockiness wrapped up in one body so attractive, she could quiver just imagining it against her.
To that end, she tilted her chin as if studying him with the same question he posed at the end. Why would Spectra dally with a nobody? Especially when she could have almost anyone she wanted? She recently blew off the son of Moscow’s patron, a powerful man in his own right with connections to the types of echelons that Spectra intended to rule, but he was an insect of a man and no amount of pretty face and sky-high strings could make her see past the veneer of masculinity he wore like a ratty scarf. She’d rather fuck old man Myshelov himself than dawdle with his boy like a child on pursestrings.
“New guy, modesty doesn’t become you.” She pressed against him, using her thigh to rub against his. “And you’re certainly not little.” They both knew of what she spoke.
“Maybe I will tire of you, eventually, but until then, enjoy the attention, won’t you?” She kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck and twining her legs between his. She enjoyed the weight of his body against hers, even as she pressed him into the wall behind him.
She liked this attention. He wasn’t the first to worship at her altar, but there was something different about the intensity with which he went about it. He was his own man, confident that he could satisfy her, and able to stand beneath the directness of her presence. Other men were so awe-struck and obsessive, they were pathetic about it. The mafia connection explained some of it. Those types were always so full of themselves, and some of them deserved the engorged ego, but Spectra rarely found the full package: brains, brawn, and sheer cockiness wrapped up in one body so attractive, she could quiver just imagining it against her.
To that end, she tilted her chin as if studying him with the same question he posed at the end. Why would Spectra dally with a nobody? Especially when she could have almost anyone she wanted? She recently blew off the son of Moscow’s patron, a powerful man in his own right with connections to the types of echelons that Spectra intended to rule, but he was an insect of a man and no amount of pretty face and sky-high strings could make her see past the veneer of masculinity he wore like a ratty scarf. She’d rather fuck old man Myshelov himself than dawdle with his boy like a child on pursestrings.
“New guy, modesty doesn’t become you.” She pressed against him, using her thigh to rub against his. “And you’re certainly not little.” They both knew of what she spoke.
“Maybe I will tire of you, eventually, but until then, enjoy the attention, won’t you?” She kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck and twining her legs between his. She enjoyed the weight of his body against hers, even as she pressed him into the wall behind him.