"Is that all?" she laughed, and it was tempting to ruffle his hair back into disarray. "Well if you just think I act like a whore, that's completely different. Obviously." He was unbelievably bad at this, but in a way that she actually quite enjoyed. Intelligent people made it so much easier to tell when they were getting flustered, because they suddenly turned into idiots.
"So you are the head of the homeowner's association," she said as she followed him, crossing her arms across her ribcage. "How long did it take you to decide on the ideal number of centimeters for the length of grass? More, or less than a month? I'm guessing there was extensive research involved."
From an objective perspective she knew everyone's needs were different. Some people needed space. Some people didn't like living with other people, near other people. Some people liked having possessions, didn't feel the need to be ready to leave everything at a moment's notice. Most people, probably.
Still, the men who lived in houses like this weren't usually the ones who wanted to bring her home, and if they were, they weren't usually the kind she'd want to come home with. Photographs on the wall, actual framed photographs with sentimental value. "I don't know why you assume that for me to like it the apartment has to have dinge," she murmured, taking in the details of the room. "I prefer my balls without sleaze, as a general rule."
She stopped a few feet short of him as he set his things down, clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on wobbly heels so that he could take a good long look at her. Having no shortage of self-esteem, she liked being looked at, particularly if it felt like admiration. Even if it was secret admiration.
"You seem really determined to convince me that you don't want to have sex with me," she said finally. "Except you haven't actually said that you don't, or else I would have left you alone by now." She stepped closer, slow and deliberate steps that had her legs crossing over each other, until she could reach out and grab hold of his tie. "So," she said, catching grey eyes with green, "if you really don't want my legs around your waist, if you're absolutely not interested in my face in your lap, if you aren't even particularly tempted by the thought of giving me the spanking I've practically been begging for – say it. I don't want to fuck you. Look me in the eye and say it, and I'll go straight to a bed that isn't yours like a good girl."
She smelled, she knew, like appletinis and cigarette smoke, like smog, like glittery green apple body spray that a grown woman absolutely should not have been wearing. She was not a traditional beauty nor a prototypical fantasy, neither beauty nor grace, the very opposite of class. She was not a woman that men imagined themselves with, not until they'd met her; she was dark-skinned and bright-eyed, all hard edges and sharp angles with as few curves as puberty could have given her, all the least forgiving kinds of femininity. But damned if she wasn't good at getting what she wanted.
"So you are the head of the homeowner's association," she said as she followed him, crossing her arms across her ribcage. "How long did it take you to decide on the ideal number of centimeters for the length of grass? More, or less than a month? I'm guessing there was extensive research involved."
From an objective perspective she knew everyone's needs were different. Some people needed space. Some people didn't like living with other people, near other people. Some people liked having possessions, didn't feel the need to be ready to leave everything at a moment's notice. Most people, probably.
Still, the men who lived in houses like this weren't usually the ones who wanted to bring her home, and if they were, they weren't usually the kind she'd want to come home with. Photographs on the wall, actual framed photographs with sentimental value. "I don't know why you assume that for me to like it the apartment has to have dinge," she murmured, taking in the details of the room. "I prefer my balls without sleaze, as a general rule."
She stopped a few feet short of him as he set his things down, clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on wobbly heels so that he could take a good long look at her. Having no shortage of self-esteem, she liked being looked at, particularly if it felt like admiration. Even if it was secret admiration.
"You seem really determined to convince me that you don't want to have sex with me," she said finally. "Except you haven't actually said that you don't, or else I would have left you alone by now." She stepped closer, slow and deliberate steps that had her legs crossing over each other, until she could reach out and grab hold of his tie. "So," she said, catching grey eyes with green, "if you really don't want my legs around your waist, if you're absolutely not interested in my face in your lap, if you aren't even particularly tempted by the thought of giving me the spanking I've practically been begging for – say it. I don't want to fuck you. Look me in the eye and say it, and I'll go straight to a bed that isn't yours like a good girl."
She smelled, she knew, like appletinis and cigarette smoke, like smog, like glittery green apple body spray that a grown woman absolutely should not have been wearing. She was not a traditional beauty nor a prototypical fantasy, neither beauty nor grace, the very opposite of class. She was not a woman that men imagined themselves with, not until they'd met her; she was dark-skinned and bright-eyed, all hard edges and sharp angles with as few curves as puberty could have given her, all the least forgiving kinds of femininity. But damned if she wasn't good at getting what she wanted.
The following 1 user Likes Tindome's post: megs
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Do Not Cross [Closed] - by megs - 03-15-2015, 12:08 PM
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RE: Do Not Cross [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-19-2021, 12:25 AM