02-04-2014, 03:06 PM
The dress shirt and holster were familiar sights to a woman of Colombian "nobility". Hood wore them better than most, but Spectra paid the constant reminder of danger little mind.
His compliment flushed an agreeable sensation over her like silk floating on warm skin. A dazzling smile accompanied while she absently brushed loops of hair behind one shoulder. She was a trophy to be admired, adored, and coveted. The golden statue would weep to be molded from her image. "You cheat, Hood. Using the way to my heart by telling me how young and desirable I am."
He may not have uttered the latter, but by the gleam in his eye, she knew he meant it.
He had at least ten years on her, but she'd known men twice his age when she was half hers, but none were chiseled from anything resembling his physique. Her eyes lifted the tshirt from his waist and tugged it over his head. Yet, Spectra continued to lean, unmoving, in place while he undressed. What a fine show it was.
"You know, you used to be one of those suit-and-tie pansies."
She prodded. "I was a fruit ripe for plucking. Who am I to care whose hand wants me most."
The insult about Manifesto didn't diminish her mood. She used the club like a stage, and so far, the stage met her needs.
Her gaze trailed his placing the gun aside. A coy smile flickered a far-away light through thick jungles. "You're going to feel naked again,"
and she crossed as a serpent finally roused from its place in the sun. Before him, she slipped from her dress like a snake from its skin.
She kicked the thing aside with the toe of her stiletto, and graciously let him soak her in. It was almost business-like, their interactions, but here Hood was observing a secret alter-ego kept hidden beneath designer gowns. Her choice in couture lingerie was shown only to him tonight, and he won the privilege of knowing Spectra amplified. She modeled the seemingly vintage cuts with a modern, nearly fetish twist of her own style. Slinky, sexy and utterly sensual, the red satin against her cinnamon skin seemed hand-made for Spectra Lin.
Her hands went to the tab of his pants. "No, mío. You're the only one giving me trouble."
His compliment flushed an agreeable sensation over her like silk floating on warm skin. A dazzling smile accompanied while she absently brushed loops of hair behind one shoulder. She was a trophy to be admired, adored, and coveted. The golden statue would weep to be molded from her image. "You cheat, Hood. Using the way to my heart by telling me how young and desirable I am."
He may not have uttered the latter, but by the gleam in his eye, she knew he meant it.
He had at least ten years on her, but she'd known men twice his age when she was half hers, but none were chiseled from anything resembling his physique. Her eyes lifted the tshirt from his waist and tugged it over his head. Yet, Spectra continued to lean, unmoving, in place while he undressed. What a fine show it was.
"You know, you used to be one of those suit-and-tie pansies."
She prodded. "I was a fruit ripe for plucking. Who am I to care whose hand wants me most."
The insult about Manifesto didn't diminish her mood. She used the club like a stage, and so far, the stage met her needs.
Her gaze trailed his placing the gun aside. A coy smile flickered a far-away light through thick jungles. "You're going to feel naked again,"
and she crossed as a serpent finally roused from its place in the sun. Before him, she slipped from her dress like a snake from its skin.
She kicked the thing aside with the toe of her stiletto, and graciously let him soak her in. It was almost business-like, their interactions, but here Hood was observing a secret alter-ego kept hidden beneath designer gowns. Her choice in couture lingerie was shown only to him tonight, and he won the privilege of knowing Spectra amplified. She modeled the seemingly vintage cuts with a modern, nearly fetish twist of her own style. Slinky, sexy and utterly sensual, the red satin against her cinnamon skin seemed hand-made for Spectra Lin.
Her hands went to the tab of his pants. "No, mío. You're the only one giving me trouble."