03-28-2014, 04:07 PM
He secretly enjoyed the brief flicker of dissaproval that ghosted Spectra's features when he corrected her. She enjoyed her won little games at his own expense; he had little doubt she had shared many a steamy glance with the driver. Hood crossed into the side of the room devoted to serve as the kitchen, and produced two bottles of water from the fridge, then turned to examine her as she straddled his weight bench.
The view was, of course, stunning. Made all the more striking for how dangerous he knew her to be. She could easily ruin him, and quite possibly might some day, if it were of value to her. That made it all the more tempting though. It was not her physical form that tempted him (although her body was certainly appealing), but the mind that inhabited it. Devious, sly, cold, and calculating. Perfectly adapted to survive and thrive in her element.
He crossed the room towards her and tossed the two bottles to the floor next to the bench, where they would likely lay forgotten, lost from sight as his shirt was dropped atop them.
She held his undivided attention for the evening and well towards morning. For that time, she was the only point of interest in the world, a puzzle to be understood. He knew there had been many before him, and did not care that lesser hands had soiled her flesh. It was his intent to be the one she would remember most clearly, and he had no intentions of letting the opportunity she had provided him with go to waste.
The patience he has shown earlier in the evening returned over time, but when they first came together it was all hunger and impulse. But in time he slowed and his focus shifted to be focused solely on her desires and sensations. He would not be satisfied till the memory of 'better' men were burned from her mind. Unsatisfied till any man she deigned to allow her this opportunity, past or future would be compared and pale to this night.
When exhaustion finally took them, he slept only a few restless hours before rising quietly to leave her curled among the blankets that had been thrown on the floor in what passed as the master bedroom. The cot that was one of the only pieces of furniture in that spartan room simply would not have served their purposes.
Restless, he busied himself with tasks unfinished or imagined; when she would rise, the weight bench sported a heavily loaded bar, the fading smell of fresh paint was rivaled with a hint of gun oil, coming from a kitchen counter where three different pistols sat cleaned and readied once more. And the scent of breakfast was heaviest in the air.
He doubted she would have any interest in the bacon and eggs and beans-n-molasses, but there was fresh fruit and yogurt and granola. Coffee was fresh made, and he sipped from a small cup. He wore a simple pair of gray sweatpants and little else, and for how little sleep he had he seemed rested and alert. Always alert, in fact.
"Morning." He sounded rested too, no hint of exhaustion in his voice or his stance. He was a man ever wound tight, but it did not seem to wear him down. Not yet, at least. He turned to face her as breakfast simmered on frying pans behind him, one hand on his hip as he sipped his coffee, boldly memorizing her from head to toe and back again.
The view was, of course, stunning. Made all the more striking for how dangerous he knew her to be. She could easily ruin him, and quite possibly might some day, if it were of value to her. That made it all the more tempting though. It was not her physical form that tempted him (although her body was certainly appealing), but the mind that inhabited it. Devious, sly, cold, and calculating. Perfectly adapted to survive and thrive in her element.
He crossed the room towards her and tossed the two bottles to the floor next to the bench, where they would likely lay forgotten, lost from sight as his shirt was dropped atop them.
She held his undivided attention for the evening and well towards morning. For that time, she was the only point of interest in the world, a puzzle to be understood. He knew there had been many before him, and did not care that lesser hands had soiled her flesh. It was his intent to be the one she would remember most clearly, and he had no intentions of letting the opportunity she had provided him with go to waste.
The patience he has shown earlier in the evening returned over time, but when they first came together it was all hunger and impulse. But in time he slowed and his focus shifted to be focused solely on her desires and sensations. He would not be satisfied till the memory of 'better' men were burned from her mind. Unsatisfied till any man she deigned to allow her this opportunity, past or future would be compared and pale to this night.
When exhaustion finally took them, he slept only a few restless hours before rising quietly to leave her curled among the blankets that had been thrown on the floor in what passed as the master bedroom. The cot that was one of the only pieces of furniture in that spartan room simply would not have served their purposes.
Restless, he busied himself with tasks unfinished or imagined; when she would rise, the weight bench sported a heavily loaded bar, the fading smell of fresh paint was rivaled with a hint of gun oil, coming from a kitchen counter where three different pistols sat cleaned and readied once more. And the scent of breakfast was heaviest in the air.
He doubted she would have any interest in the bacon and eggs and beans-n-molasses, but there was fresh fruit and yogurt and granola. Coffee was fresh made, and he sipped from a small cup. He wore a simple pair of gray sweatpants and little else, and for how little sleep he had he seemed rested and alert. Always alert, in fact.
"Morning." He sounded rested too, no hint of exhaustion in his voice or his stance. He was a man ever wound tight, but it did not seem to wear him down. Not yet, at least. He turned to face her as breakfast simmered on frying pans behind him, one hand on his hip as he sipped his coffee, boldly memorizing her from head to toe and back again.