Post by JR on Dec 8, 2015 2:17:37 GMT -8
Characters: Hugh Crowne, Isla Byrne
Summary: Hugh shows up at Isla's, where she's feeling rather poorly, and proceeds to do what Hugh does best. Evade and distract, while arousing Isla's budding suspicion that he's not exactly the man he says he is.
TW: Some sex talk.
wrecked ships [12:26 A.M.]: Surprisingly enough, our Isla wasn't in stalker mode today. It wasn't exactly ideal weather for it, not with the rain that was pouring down -- the chill in the air threatening to turn that rain to ice. Already it was more sleet than rain, pelting at the windows with the little ting ting ting of almost-ice hitting the glass. The headache that had been plaguing her for the past few days was a dull throb at her temples at the moment, dull enough to pull Isla from her spot she'd claimed on the couch to take a hot enough to turn the skin red shower, heat up something or another and fill her belly without feeling like it was going to come up, and reclaim the couch again. Only this time, she'd started a fire in that big hearth that besides the piano against the windows was the centerpiece of her sparsely decorated living room. She had a small flat screen TV, but it was off -- the only entertainment in the room coming from the sound system set up to some state of the art player -- given her interests tended to lay more in music than anything else, it was always her first choice above anything. So she lay, at the midnight hour, unable to sleep and a bit restless from the performance that night and the way her head had pounded through it, listening to Tchaikovsky -- loud enough to flood the room with it's beauty, but low enough to not add to the throb in her head. She hadn't redressed after the shower, but simply wrapped herself in a silk kimono style robe the color of ripe plums. A soft blanket covered her lap, and the only light in the room came from the fire, and the illumination of the phone in her hand. She was too restless to just lay there and rest, so she scrolled through some of her social media; catching up on family and friends from home, and other musicians and the like. It was only making her homesick though. Hardknock life, for our Isla. -d-
one reaI bad man [12:55 A.M.]: It was easy to tell which days he was going to see her, it was the days it was raining. Or snowing. Which mean in London he'd see her quite often. It was during the downpour that he pulled up into her lot and meandered on into her building, having ignored the 'jellybean request the night prior', only to drop by now with requested goods in tow. An American sized bag, about the size of a pillow, was conveyed in fireman's carry across a shoulder. Black and white tuxedo turning the lion into a penguin, all fancied up and reeking of vanilla and berries. He didn't give much time for the door to be answered, sensing her laziness and undoubtedly slow meandering to the door he gave it another quick rap only a few seconds after the first one. That ought to hasten her up a bit, right? Probably not in the least, but at least it would show how anxious he was to see her, right? Bag of jellybeans was shifted from one shoulder to the other, only because it started to feel funny with constant pressure on one side of his body and nothing on the other. Slightly damp from the short sprint through the rain, it mostly had accrued atop the messy deep brown (nearly black) of his hair, partially matted and dripping across his face. Through the door, or once if opened if she did quicken her step, Hugh rumbled out his baritone chords. "I've got a delivery of jelly beans here." <done>
wrecked ships [1:03 A.M.]: Who the fuck was knocking on the door at midnight? The first sound of it had her head lifting and turning in the direction of it, a frown deepening on her face. She could easily just ignore it. It was so late, and there was no light on. Not home, move along. So in fact, she hadn't even gotten up -- just went back to reading a post about a marriage proposal back in the homeland -- by the second insistent knocking. Exasperation escaped out of her in a sigh, and her phone was set on the arm of the couch she chose for her after-symphony sprawl. Isla chose then, to just stare at the door, and will whoever was there to go away. Lashes narrowed at it, her face beautifully cleaned in the shower and still rosy cheeked from the heat of it. Go away, go away, go away. But then the deepness of vocals that were seared on not just her brain, but her skin, lifted through the wood of the door, and Isla perked a little. Jelly beans, he said. Maybe she should answer the door. She thought about it a few moments longer, and then finally peeled the blanket from her legs to swing her feet to the floor and take her sweet time in padding barefoot across the long room to the door. She gave a little peek through the spyhole to make sure for herself that it was for certain Hugh Crowne at her door. And holy moly. What the hell did he have on his shoulder. Wide eyed, she leaned back from the door -- and another moment or two went by before he heard the locks begin to twist, and the door finally opened to reveal her standing there in her deep reddish purple robe and still damp hair. "That's a feed bag. You've brought a feed bag of jellies?" -d-
one reaI bad man [1:14 A.M.]: "Uh huh. Here." He took it from shoulder with a feigned groan, and hit her with the eight pound sack. Well, more like put it into her chest for her to grapple onto, and he simultaneously ducked his face forward to press it against the top of wet gold. Kiss was pressed to her crown and nose gave a wrinkle, frame easily and nimbly sliding on past her before an invitation was offered. "I'm going to grab a drink, where is.. it.. over here..." It really wasn't hard for him to find, the scent of it strong and he headed straight for whichever cabinet had the most potent of liquors to offer. One hand opened cupboard while other plucked at the bow under his chin, loosening and peeling it off before chosen bottle of something random, and strong, was plucked as the winner. Removed from the general public to be enjoyed, barbarian style as he intended on going straight from the bottle unless deterred. Unscrewing the top and loosening the top buttons of collared garment beneath the tuxedo jacket. Open mouth of the bottle met parting lips and bottom went topside, pouring into his mouth and straight to his belly to get a rich, deep burn going early. It took a lot to get buzzed, but a few quick chugs could probably get him feeling good for a little bit. He glugged a second and third, till his eyes watered and cheeks went red, gasping into his forearm with a cough before bottle was curled up against his chest. "Mmm. mmm.. So, hey, how goes it, love? Everythin' sunny in your life?" He breathed fire from his belly, the burn of alcohol felt like it could melt paint as it blew from his mouth. <done>
wrecked ships [1:24 A.M.]: Let's recap what just happened here. Hugh Crowne just slapped her with a gigantic bag of jelly beans against her tits, forcing her to grab the thing or it would have fallen straight to the floor, and while she was preoccupied with that, he gave her a far too familiar kiss to the top of her head, and helped himself to her whiskey? Not just helped himself. He was chugging the stuff. Isla turned, shutting the door with her foot and flipping the locks again, arriving into the kitchen area in time to watch him go from one gulp to the next. And then! Then, to top it off, he was asking after her life? What the hell was this? Were they suddenly friends? Suspicion rose up along the back of her neck, and then Isla remembered something as she set the heavy bag down on the counter. There'd been no mention between them of jelly beans. She'd written something yesterday in an online journal she kept for herself, and rarely actually posted in. Running her tongue along the inside of her upper lip, Isla glided her fingertips along the brand lable on the back, watching the progression before swinging eyes the same color as what he was so carelessly chugging. Teeth sank into the tip of that tongue to keep from saying something snarky, a long the lines of reminding him that a whiskey that expensive was made for sipping, not chugging as if he were a young lad amongst brothers in a fraternity. Instead, what came out .. "How did you know I like these?" The bag crinkled a bit beneath the way she smoothed a wrinkle out of the plastics corner, and her pretty lips pursed some with the end of the inquiry. -d-
one reaI bad man [1:46 A.M.]: "Who doesn't like Jelly beans?" He said with an eyebrow up and tongue dipping out to capture the glaze of whiskey that lay on freshly shaved chin. The spilled splotch take care of in a slow swipe, while icy blues of the crystal-clear variety sifted over the girl who watched him now. It was obvious he wasn't aware of how expensive it was, or didn't care, probably the latter, because the bottle was up and a mouthful or two guzzled down before he brought the bottle to the table and returned cap to its top. Another deep breath was sucked in to soothe the burn and then he jerked left shoulder back, pulling tuxedo coat from it and followed suit with his right side immediately after. Folded over his arm in a quick movement and he set it down on the little island counter in the kitchen, the one he chased her over the first time around here. "You should pretty much assume I know most everything about you Isla, I'm very observant." And snoopy. And had the means to satisfy that curiosity, and was big enough not to get killed by it. Not to mention he was hired to keep tabs on her, but he could just pass it off as creepy obsession. "What'd you have for dinner? Anything left?" He crinkled his nose a little and took a tilt of his chin towards the fridge, padding on over and opening it open. Yep, he owned the place. <done>
wrecked ships [1:56 A.M.]: That was a good question, he asked a lot of good questions. But it did nothing to ease her suspicions, and now she rocked back on her heels; abandoning the bag to move closer to the man who was drinking all her favorite whiskey. Lashes narrowed at him, aggravation set in the expression etched within her stunning features -- though she looked years younger without any makeup, bare footed and damp curls meeting her waist. "Not everything," she was very very quick to retort, conviction alive and well within the tones of her Nordic accent. "Did you hire someone to get into my computer?" Hire? Simply because a man of his means certainly wouldn't do such dirty work himself, would he? Bruce Wayne wouldn't. A breath sucked in through her teeth when he asked about dinner, and she was just about to jab a finger into his chest when he saved himself from that by turning about and hauling open her fridge. "I didn't have dinner," she snapped, and pressed a few fingers against her temple to ease the throb that had -- wait. No. Even the dull ache that had been there when he'd knocked on the door was gone. There was no trace of the headache, or the fatigue that lead to dizziness or weakness that she'd been feeling for days now. It was like it had never even existed. Puzzled, her hand fell back down, pressing on the counter as a frown pulled once again at her lush mouth. "There's leftover Thai from the other night. Noodles." But if he was looking for anything .. meat .. he wasn't going to find it in Isla's kitchen. She did not eat red meat, or poultry. She spoke the words absently, a far cry from the way she'd snapped at him a moment ago, and turned slightly -- still standing at the counter just a few feet from where he was at the fridge, but her back was to him; shoulders tense beneath the dark colored silk. The bottle, so close to empty now, was lifted up, and inspected. There was only an inch or so left, and she sneered at it; tilting it this way and that so that the amber color caught the light from the open fridge on one side, and the glow of the fire on the other. "Having a rough day, are we?" -d-
one reaI bad man [2:12 A.M.]: The absence of meat was a nuisance as he made a face while browsing through the contents of her fridge. A few grunts and sighs when he came up empty of anything worthy of consuming, at least in his opinion. The man was a predator, he liked his meal to go down kicking and screaming; bloodier the better. Door was swung shut and he turned about to put ass against it, fingers working at white sleeves, unbuttoning and rolling them up to his elbows. Glittery gold watch sat on his right wrist, but even that was unlatched and slipped into a pocket. "Eh, just busy. Haven't had much time to eat or relax any, you didn't... say how your day was... or did you?" Maybe he missed it, he didn't think so though. Hand scratched up at his neck, sunkissed skin clawed at in a drag of nails along collarbone. He shoved off from the fridge and moved on towards the blonde. "What you wearing under that?" From booze to food to girl. Priorities, eh? Not that she was the third on the list, he merely thought food and booze would've been the proper ingredients to fuel him up before turning his eyes to the goods that could turn him ravenous. Grin shifted up onto his handsome cut features, larger hands moving towards the front of prune colored robe's sash. Pulling at the tie to try and loosen it up, and take a gander at the woman beneath. <done>
wrecked ships [2:22 A.M.]: "I didn't," she answered, not elaborating any as she pivoted on the balls of her feet to face the man; her spine meeting the lip of the island counter. She was given a first hand look at the way he closed the gap between them; abandoning all hope of a decent meal in favor of Isla herself now. About damn time. He comes in, invades her space, gives her things that he should have no way of knowing she liked, consumes expensive drinks like she has disposable income - he might, but she doesn't! That wasn't quite true though. She made more than enough money to support herself, and the few expensive habits she had. On her own too, not just by way of the bank of Alistair Byrne. Had he asked a question? The sash to her robe came undone just as slowly as he pulled it, and just before it was fully free, Isla answered him. "Nothing." The silk moved, falling away from the way she'd closed it not too long ago, and she hadn't lied. There was nothing but golden curves beneath. The long willowy frame he was so familiar with. Heavy breasts and full hips, and miles of legs demurely pressed together with one knee raised along side it's dimpled twin. Her hand came up to find the top button of his dress shirt, causing the silk to slide down her shoulder and bare that too. She toyed with that button, but didn't undo it -- rather settling her stare on his. "You didn't answer my question, either. Did you hire someone to go into my things, Mr. Crowne?" Her raised knee knocked in between his own then, sliding up between his thighs in a slow,fashion to provide deliberate friction. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:31 A.M.]: Eyebrows were up together and inquisitive attention met her own gaze that flicked up at him. "No, I don't believe I did. I suppose I'm just a terrific guesser." He said with a devil's smile all genuine and bright left gleaming on his strong-cut features. He emitted a sound when knee nudged him and he swept a hand downwards, catching her limb by the bend and he dragged it across his thigh before hiking it up against his hip and yanking her up into a crush. Gaze tilted away from her face, straightening down
to the dual swells of pillows that were crushed up against the granite of his torso. Opposite hand swept in around, smacking down on silk clad ass and giving it a firm squeeze through the smooth kimono, voice kept low. "How obsessive and possessive do you think I am, eh?" One brow must have lowered because only one was up when question was plied, thumb stroking in a long stretch up and down convex curve of rounded ass. Grip clenching and loosening in a casual grind of his palm against that plump derriere, the press of arousal firmly nudged up against her abdomen, held up against it by the tug he had on her limb still. <done>
Summary: Hugh shows up at Isla's, where she's feeling rather poorly, and proceeds to do what Hugh does best. Evade and distract, while arousing Isla's budding suspicion that he's not exactly the man he says he is.
TW: Some sex talk.
wrecked ships [12:26 A.M.]: Surprisingly enough, our Isla wasn't in stalker mode today. It wasn't exactly ideal weather for it, not with the rain that was pouring down -- the chill in the air threatening to turn that rain to ice. Already it was more sleet than rain, pelting at the windows with the little ting ting ting of almost-ice hitting the glass. The headache that had been plaguing her for the past few days was a dull throb at her temples at the moment, dull enough to pull Isla from her spot she'd claimed on the couch to take a hot enough to turn the skin red shower, heat up something or another and fill her belly without feeling like it was going to come up, and reclaim the couch again. Only this time, she'd started a fire in that big hearth that besides the piano against the windows was the centerpiece of her sparsely decorated living room. She had a small flat screen TV, but it was off -- the only entertainment in the room coming from the sound system set up to some state of the art player -- given her interests tended to lay more in music than anything else, it was always her first choice above anything. So she lay, at the midnight hour, unable to sleep and a bit restless from the performance that night and the way her head had pounded through it, listening to Tchaikovsky -- loud enough to flood the room with it's beauty, but low enough to not add to the throb in her head. She hadn't redressed after the shower, but simply wrapped herself in a silk kimono style robe the color of ripe plums. A soft blanket covered her lap, and the only light in the room came from the fire, and the illumination of the phone in her hand. She was too restless to just lay there and rest, so she scrolled through some of her social media; catching up on family and friends from home, and other musicians and the like. It was only making her homesick though. Hardknock life, for our Isla. -d-
one reaI bad man [12:55 A.M.]: It was easy to tell which days he was going to see her, it was the days it was raining. Or snowing. Which mean in London he'd see her quite often. It was during the downpour that he pulled up into her lot and meandered on into her building, having ignored the 'jellybean request the night prior', only to drop by now with requested goods in tow. An American sized bag, about the size of a pillow, was conveyed in fireman's carry across a shoulder. Black and white tuxedo turning the lion into a penguin, all fancied up and reeking of vanilla and berries. He didn't give much time for the door to be answered, sensing her laziness and undoubtedly slow meandering to the door he gave it another quick rap only a few seconds after the first one. That ought to hasten her up a bit, right? Probably not in the least, but at least it would show how anxious he was to see her, right? Bag of jellybeans was shifted from one shoulder to the other, only because it started to feel funny with constant pressure on one side of his body and nothing on the other. Slightly damp from the short sprint through the rain, it mostly had accrued atop the messy deep brown (nearly black) of his hair, partially matted and dripping across his face. Through the door, or once if opened if she did quicken her step, Hugh rumbled out his baritone chords. "I've got a delivery of jelly beans here." <done>
wrecked ships [1:03 A.M.]: Who the fuck was knocking on the door at midnight? The first sound of it had her head lifting and turning in the direction of it, a frown deepening on her face. She could easily just ignore it. It was so late, and there was no light on. Not home, move along. So in fact, she hadn't even gotten up -- just went back to reading a post about a marriage proposal back in the homeland -- by the second insistent knocking. Exasperation escaped out of her in a sigh, and her phone was set on the arm of the couch she chose for her after-symphony sprawl. Isla chose then, to just stare at the door, and will whoever was there to go away. Lashes narrowed at it, her face beautifully cleaned in the shower and still rosy cheeked from the heat of it. Go away, go away, go away. But then the deepness of vocals that were seared on not just her brain, but her skin, lifted through the wood of the door, and Isla perked a little. Jelly beans, he said. Maybe she should answer the door. She thought about it a few moments longer, and then finally peeled the blanket from her legs to swing her feet to the floor and take her sweet time in padding barefoot across the long room to the door. She gave a little peek through the spyhole to make sure for herself that it was for certain Hugh Crowne at her door. And holy moly. What the hell did he have on his shoulder. Wide eyed, she leaned back from the door -- and another moment or two went by before he heard the locks begin to twist, and the door finally opened to reveal her standing there in her deep reddish purple robe and still damp hair. "That's a feed bag. You've brought a feed bag of jellies?" -d-
one reaI bad man [1:14 A.M.]: "Uh huh. Here." He took it from shoulder with a feigned groan, and hit her with the eight pound sack. Well, more like put it into her chest for her to grapple onto, and he simultaneously ducked his face forward to press it against the top of wet gold. Kiss was pressed to her crown and nose gave a wrinkle, frame easily and nimbly sliding on past her before an invitation was offered. "I'm going to grab a drink, where is.. it.. over here..." It really wasn't hard for him to find, the scent of it strong and he headed straight for whichever cabinet had the most potent of liquors to offer. One hand opened cupboard while other plucked at the bow under his chin, loosening and peeling it off before chosen bottle of something random, and strong, was plucked as the winner. Removed from the general public to be enjoyed, barbarian style as he intended on going straight from the bottle unless deterred. Unscrewing the top and loosening the top buttons of collared garment beneath the tuxedo jacket. Open mouth of the bottle met parting lips and bottom went topside, pouring into his mouth and straight to his belly to get a rich, deep burn going early. It took a lot to get buzzed, but a few quick chugs could probably get him feeling good for a little bit. He glugged a second and third, till his eyes watered and cheeks went red, gasping into his forearm with a cough before bottle was curled up against his chest. "Mmm. mmm.. So, hey, how goes it, love? Everythin' sunny in your life?" He breathed fire from his belly, the burn of alcohol felt like it could melt paint as it blew from his mouth. <done>
wrecked ships [1:24 A.M.]: Let's recap what just happened here. Hugh Crowne just slapped her with a gigantic bag of jelly beans against her tits, forcing her to grab the thing or it would have fallen straight to the floor, and while she was preoccupied with that, he gave her a far too familiar kiss to the top of her head, and helped himself to her whiskey? Not just helped himself. He was chugging the stuff. Isla turned, shutting the door with her foot and flipping the locks again, arriving into the kitchen area in time to watch him go from one gulp to the next. And then! Then, to top it off, he was asking after her life? What the hell was this? Were they suddenly friends? Suspicion rose up along the back of her neck, and then Isla remembered something as she set the heavy bag down on the counter. There'd been no mention between them of jelly beans. She'd written something yesterday in an online journal she kept for herself, and rarely actually posted in. Running her tongue along the inside of her upper lip, Isla glided her fingertips along the brand lable on the back, watching the progression before swinging eyes the same color as what he was so carelessly chugging. Teeth sank into the tip of that tongue to keep from saying something snarky, a long the lines of reminding him that a whiskey that expensive was made for sipping, not chugging as if he were a young lad amongst brothers in a fraternity. Instead, what came out .. "How did you know I like these?" The bag crinkled a bit beneath the way she smoothed a wrinkle out of the plastics corner, and her pretty lips pursed some with the end of the inquiry. -d-
one reaI bad man [1:46 A.M.]: "Who doesn't like Jelly beans?" He said with an eyebrow up and tongue dipping out to capture the glaze of whiskey that lay on freshly shaved chin. The spilled splotch take care of in a slow swipe, while icy blues of the crystal-clear variety sifted over the girl who watched him now. It was obvious he wasn't aware of how expensive it was, or didn't care, probably the latter, because the bottle was up and a mouthful or two guzzled down before he brought the bottle to the table and returned cap to its top. Another deep breath was sucked in to soothe the burn and then he jerked left shoulder back, pulling tuxedo coat from it and followed suit with his right side immediately after. Folded over his arm in a quick movement and he set it down on the little island counter in the kitchen, the one he chased her over the first time around here. "You should pretty much assume I know most everything about you Isla, I'm very observant." And snoopy. And had the means to satisfy that curiosity, and was big enough not to get killed by it. Not to mention he was hired to keep tabs on her, but he could just pass it off as creepy obsession. "What'd you have for dinner? Anything left?" He crinkled his nose a little and took a tilt of his chin towards the fridge, padding on over and opening it open. Yep, he owned the place. <done>
wrecked ships [1:56 A.M.]: That was a good question, he asked a lot of good questions. But it did nothing to ease her suspicions, and now she rocked back on her heels; abandoning the bag to move closer to the man who was drinking all her favorite whiskey. Lashes narrowed at him, aggravation set in the expression etched within her stunning features -- though she looked years younger without any makeup, bare footed and damp curls meeting her waist. "Not everything," she was very very quick to retort, conviction alive and well within the tones of her Nordic accent. "Did you hire someone to get into my computer?" Hire? Simply because a man of his means certainly wouldn't do such dirty work himself, would he? Bruce Wayne wouldn't. A breath sucked in through her teeth when he asked about dinner, and she was just about to jab a finger into his chest when he saved himself from that by turning about and hauling open her fridge. "I didn't have dinner," she snapped, and pressed a few fingers against her temple to ease the throb that had -- wait. No. Even the dull ache that had been there when he'd knocked on the door was gone. There was no trace of the headache, or the fatigue that lead to dizziness or weakness that she'd been feeling for days now. It was like it had never even existed. Puzzled, her hand fell back down, pressing on the counter as a frown pulled once again at her lush mouth. "There's leftover Thai from the other night. Noodles." But if he was looking for anything .. meat .. he wasn't going to find it in Isla's kitchen. She did not eat red meat, or poultry. She spoke the words absently, a far cry from the way she'd snapped at him a moment ago, and turned slightly -- still standing at the counter just a few feet from where he was at the fridge, but her back was to him; shoulders tense beneath the dark colored silk. The bottle, so close to empty now, was lifted up, and inspected. There was only an inch or so left, and she sneered at it; tilting it this way and that so that the amber color caught the light from the open fridge on one side, and the glow of the fire on the other. "Having a rough day, are we?" -d-
one reaI bad man [2:12 A.M.]: The absence of meat was a nuisance as he made a face while browsing through the contents of her fridge. A few grunts and sighs when he came up empty of anything worthy of consuming, at least in his opinion. The man was a predator, he liked his meal to go down kicking and screaming; bloodier the better. Door was swung shut and he turned about to put ass against it, fingers working at white sleeves, unbuttoning and rolling them up to his elbows. Glittery gold watch sat on his right wrist, but even that was unlatched and slipped into a pocket. "Eh, just busy. Haven't had much time to eat or relax any, you didn't... say how your day was... or did you?" Maybe he missed it, he didn't think so though. Hand scratched up at his neck, sunkissed skin clawed at in a drag of nails along collarbone. He shoved off from the fridge and moved on towards the blonde. "What you wearing under that?" From booze to food to girl. Priorities, eh? Not that she was the third on the list, he merely thought food and booze would've been the proper ingredients to fuel him up before turning his eyes to the goods that could turn him ravenous. Grin shifted up onto his handsome cut features, larger hands moving towards the front of prune colored robe's sash. Pulling at the tie to try and loosen it up, and take a gander at the woman beneath. <done>
wrecked ships [2:22 A.M.]: "I didn't," she answered, not elaborating any as she pivoted on the balls of her feet to face the man; her spine meeting the lip of the island counter. She was given a first hand look at the way he closed the gap between them; abandoning all hope of a decent meal in favor of Isla herself now. About damn time. He comes in, invades her space, gives her things that he should have no way of knowing she liked, consumes expensive drinks like she has disposable income - he might, but she doesn't! That wasn't quite true though. She made more than enough money to support herself, and the few expensive habits she had. On her own too, not just by way of the bank of Alistair Byrne. Had he asked a question? The sash to her robe came undone just as slowly as he pulled it, and just before it was fully free, Isla answered him. "Nothing." The silk moved, falling away from the way she'd closed it not too long ago, and she hadn't lied. There was nothing but golden curves beneath. The long willowy frame he was so familiar with. Heavy breasts and full hips, and miles of legs demurely pressed together with one knee raised along side it's dimpled twin. Her hand came up to find the top button of his dress shirt, causing the silk to slide down her shoulder and bare that too. She toyed with that button, but didn't undo it -- rather settling her stare on his. "You didn't answer my question, either. Did you hire someone to go into my things, Mr. Crowne?" Her raised knee knocked in between his own then, sliding up between his thighs in a slow,fashion to provide deliberate friction. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:31 A.M.]: Eyebrows were up together and inquisitive attention met her own gaze that flicked up at him. "No, I don't believe I did. I suppose I'm just a terrific guesser." He said with a devil's smile all genuine and bright left gleaming on his strong-cut features. He emitted a sound when knee nudged him and he swept a hand downwards, catching her limb by the bend and he dragged it across his thigh before hiking it up against his hip and yanking her up into a crush. Gaze tilted away from her face, straightening down
to the dual swells of pillows that were crushed up against the granite of his torso. Opposite hand swept in around, smacking down on silk clad ass and giving it a firm squeeze through the smooth kimono, voice kept low. "How obsessive and possessive do you think I am, eh?" One brow must have lowered because only one was up when question was plied, thumb stroking in a long stretch up and down convex curve of rounded ass. Grip clenching and loosening in a casual grind of his palm against that plump derriere, the press of arousal firmly nudged up against her abdomen, held up against it by the tug he had on her limb still. <done>