Picking Up Strays [Closed]

    She couldn't decipher his expression, but she could tell it wasn't helping.

    "I don't know!" she complained, impatient and harried and still in his face. "I don't know why you do anything! Nothing you do makes sense, and I don't even think you like me except to fuck me. Which, I mean, join the fucking club! Get off and move on, drop me off at a club after, everyone has a good time." She let him go, stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest with her hip jutting out to one side. "And I don't have a problem with sexy roleplay, except it kinda seems like you just wanna remind me that I'm a fucking dog. Which is rude, and I don't fuck people who think I'm literally a gross animal."

    She paused. "More than human beings are always gross animals," she amended. "Subhuman? I feel like that's more accurate." She raked her nails through her curls, to little effect. "So, like. Does this," she said, pointing to the ground and making a face in a vague approximation of him, "just mean you think I should get one last mouthful of dick before I'm a dog again? Or do you just think it's funny when I do weird animal shit."

    One of those should not have been significantly better than the other, and yet.

An uncharastic grin spread over Grayson's features as she performed her little tirade. He watched her with unabashed amusement as she toyed with her hair and mocked him. He did had not know that his intention was to get a rise out of her until it had happened, and now he was having fun.

A strangely foreign concept to him, lately.

Grayson pushed himself out of the chair and stalked to where she was standing so sassily away from him. He towered over her so easily. He wouldn't admit he found it delightful. He stood close, but didn't immediately touch her. "Do you want me to like you?" He grabbed her around the waist without waiting for an answer. He turned with her and pushed her towards the chair he'd left unoccupied. "I thought you just wanted me to fuck you. And buy you things while you built forts in my living room and watch all my movies."

His hands smoothed over the fabric of his sweater as they walked together until they caught at her hips and he pushed her into the chair. He placed his foot on one of the legs to keep it from rolling with her weight. Even though he had been making all sorts of rude commands for her earlier, it was actually Grayson who dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her. "You would have to be likeable, then," he explained, hooking one hand beneath one of her knees and draping her leg over his shoulder. He made it sound as if it were not his own personality that rendered him incapable of finding anyone likable at first.

She wore nothing beneath his sweater and was already exposed to him, before he grabbed the underside of her thigh on the opposite leg and pushed it upwards towards her chest. "Hold this," he demanded. He let go of her leg, expecting her to follow his directions, and used his freed hand to slide one finger inside her. "You don't seem to like me very much either," he pointed out, a second finger joining the first to stroke her slowly.

    Nadine's heart raced, taking a reflexive step back as he came closer. It leapt into her throat as he started to manhandle her, fingers gripping his arms, a sensation in her stomach like falling. She couldn't decide if it was good or bad, running hot and cold, what he said and the way he said it. Her eyes were wide, ears pinned back into her hair like a scolded dog. "I—"

    She fell back into his chair, lifting her feet off the ground and pressing her knees together like she might kick him. Instead he knelt, and started moving her legs where he wanted them. Her nails dug into the armrests of his chair. "I'm very likeable," she managed. "Lots of people like me! You're just a dick."

    Her breath caught when he pushed her knee upward. She gripped her thigh with a shaky hand, if only because she wasn't sure what else to do. She hadn't decided yet if she was entirely on board with whatever this was, if this might yet turn into some attempt to punish her. She gasped when his finger entered her, bit back a strangled sound on the second. What wetness there was annoyed her, remnants of that rush of arousal when he'd so crudely directed her to the floor. "I—I like you fine," she protested. "I wouldn't ha—have stayed this lo—oh—ng if I didn't like you."