09-21-2013, 07:42 AM
Hood's initial reaction wrapped a silken shade of satisfaction around Spectra. No few onlookers missed her interest in the stranger with whom won her undivided attention, for her posture presented the clues to such inner works of sexual politicking. Delayed though it would be, his acceptance of her invitation was gratifying. Spectra brushed a dark lock of cinnamon tinged curls behind her shoulder and pivoted to better angle her legs for those insects dangling from the periphery of her web wondering when the glittering spider would return to the nest.
However, the latter half of his answer severed any such pleasure she'd derived from their encounter, if not clean through, then the head of the beast dangled by a swatch of skin sure to split at any minute and send heads rolling.
She straightened. If not by tension, then by disappointment. Spectra was not accustomed to being blown off. No amount of money purchased her allowance to be treated such - at least figuratively speaking. Literally, on the other hand, was another story. In the world of beauty, she was reigning empress; in the adult film industry, she was the newest star gilding her luscious name on the city's version of Hollywood Boulevard.
Not even Hood's threat to pop the heads off a few cameramen was enough to reconcile the previous insult. For she knew it was not for her benefit he was willing to dirty his hands, but rather his own. He slept in the heavy blankets of secrecy, while Spectra spread her legs to the spotlight.
"Then whenever you can spare the moment,"
her lips twisted the generally accepted response to being dismissed. She knew what it was, of course. Powerful men fully aware of their own sphere's of influence always descended into the same condescending tone. Spectra was a master at deferring to such chauvinistic desires. For the right price. For Hood, who consented to carving a few moments to spare for her, she expected adequate reparation as apology--with his tongue particularly.
She recrossed her legs the other direction so the slit in her dress fell provocatively along the unforgiving length of her thigh. Symbolism, yes.
Gaining access to her was not going to be easy, even for an American Spook. A name would need given to her handlers, otherwise he might lose himself in jungles of conduct so thick he might never find his way out again. "Mira, don ocupado,
she teased in return, referencing his schedule, "by what name do you call yourself this month? Or is it still,"
her lips formed a perfect ring as she whispered his secret tag, "Hood?"
Identity was one layer of mystique Spectra respected. After all, Hood knew her given name. So long as he never betrayed it, she would do him the same favor.
However, the latter half of his answer severed any such pleasure she'd derived from their encounter, if not clean through, then the head of the beast dangled by a swatch of skin sure to split at any minute and send heads rolling.
She straightened. If not by tension, then by disappointment. Spectra was not accustomed to being blown off. No amount of money purchased her allowance to be treated such - at least figuratively speaking. Literally, on the other hand, was another story. In the world of beauty, she was reigning empress; in the adult film industry, she was the newest star gilding her luscious name on the city's version of Hollywood Boulevard.
Not even Hood's threat to pop the heads off a few cameramen was enough to reconcile the previous insult. For she knew it was not for her benefit he was willing to dirty his hands, but rather his own. He slept in the heavy blankets of secrecy, while Spectra spread her legs to the spotlight.
"Then whenever you can spare the moment,"
her lips twisted the generally accepted response to being dismissed. She knew what it was, of course. Powerful men fully aware of their own sphere's of influence always descended into the same condescending tone. Spectra was a master at deferring to such chauvinistic desires. For the right price. For Hood, who consented to carving a few moments to spare for her, she expected adequate reparation as apology--with his tongue particularly.
She recrossed her legs the other direction so the slit in her dress fell provocatively along the unforgiving length of her thigh. Symbolism, yes.
Gaining access to her was not going to be easy, even for an American Spook. A name would need given to her handlers, otherwise he might lose himself in jungles of conduct so thick he might never find his way out again. "Mira, don ocupado,
she teased in return, referencing his schedule, "by what name do you call yourself this month? Or is it still,"
her lips formed a perfect ring as she whispered his secret tag, "Hood?"
Identity was one layer of mystique Spectra respected. After all, Hood knew her given name. So long as he never betrayed it, she would do him the same favor.