11-03-2013, 11:44 AM
Oriena's fiery promises licked in his ear, and he barely withheld the hellish eagerness she elicited. Thoughts of force sparked spitefully as he pulled her in.
There was a small corner of Jaxen's brain that would have been disappointed with Oriena's quick consent. A very small corner. That would have been forgotten quite quickly had things gone differently. Her defiance played into the pleasure of eventual conquest, and delayed gratification was the cornerstone of Jaxen's life. He could play Oriena's game all night. So long as they were both clear. It was going to happen eventually. Just a matter of time.
His skin still prickled warm with afterthought of denial, pinched by the bite on the lip. Still in control of the elevator, he didn't release her yet; the boys monitoring security footage probably paused their swapping out of lost bets about now until seeing what Jaxen would do. Surprisingly, he submitted to the treaty, but only to plant vicious promise of reciprocation.
"I will make you scream,"
he nibbled softly. A tearing ache delivered with such sweet potency. Jaxen was a man balanced by contradiction. He was the solid gaze of Moscow's legacy edged with agility and finesse. His was a grip that could choke defiance out of society while yet graze the contours of a woman until she shuddered. Oriena could experience him, and she would shudder and scream and sob for his attention that he not stop. The moment she begged 'please', the greatest sound in the world, he would yield, but with a bright hunger in his eyes that every man after would disenchant all illusion of future satisfaction in comparison. That was the smile that agreed to her armistice. That was the lead by which he escorted her to one of the most exclusive barriers of entry in all of Moscow. And that was the coy air by which they were welcomed in it. This was his world. His board. Oriena was merely allowed to play on it.
First things first, he gestured toward one of several bars. He was kind of in the mood for champagne.
There was a small corner of Jaxen's brain that would have been disappointed with Oriena's quick consent. A very small corner. That would have been forgotten quite quickly had things gone differently. Her defiance played into the pleasure of eventual conquest, and delayed gratification was the cornerstone of Jaxen's life. He could play Oriena's game all night. So long as they were both clear. It was going to happen eventually. Just a matter of time.
His skin still prickled warm with afterthought of denial, pinched by the bite on the lip. Still in control of the elevator, he didn't release her yet; the boys monitoring security footage probably paused their swapping out of lost bets about now until seeing what Jaxen would do. Surprisingly, he submitted to the treaty, but only to plant vicious promise of reciprocation.
"I will make you scream,"
he nibbled softly. A tearing ache delivered with such sweet potency. Jaxen was a man balanced by contradiction. He was the solid gaze of Moscow's legacy edged with agility and finesse. His was a grip that could choke defiance out of society while yet graze the contours of a woman until she shuddered. Oriena could experience him, and she would shudder and scream and sob for his attention that he not stop. The moment she begged 'please', the greatest sound in the world, he would yield, but with a bright hunger in his eyes that every man after would disenchant all illusion of future satisfaction in comparison. That was the smile that agreed to her armistice. That was the lead by which he escorted her to one of the most exclusive barriers of entry in all of Moscow. And that was the coy air by which they were welcomed in it. This was his world. His board. Oriena was merely allowed to play on it.
First things first, he gestured toward one of several bars. He was kind of in the mood for champagne.