Chapter6
1159 Words
Something heavy and sodden thumps onto the floor. Hanzo's arousal becomes acutely aware that she's standing there in nothing but her undergarments.
There's a pause, followed by the sound of wet underwear hitting the floor. Hot, raw blood throbs through the length of his arousal. She's standing right behind him. Completely bare.
His mouth goes dry as he allows the bottle of sake to land on the desk beside him. Damn, that slender know-it-all! He bets she isn't even worth a look. But he's no gentleman. All he had to do was sneak a little peek over his shoulder. Three seconds, tops. She won't even notice.
He does exactly that and spots Jessamae with her back turned to him, his silken shirt gliding over her petite frame.
No, she's already dressed. Disappointment seizes him. All because he spent too much time deliberating over the decision.
A pounding begins in his temples as she unexpectedly bends over to dry her brown locks with the miniature towel, the strands messily interwoven between each other. His arousal rose to attention, intoxicated to a stupor at the sight of her shapely thighs. Oh well, the deed is done, he might as well enjoy it.
Her backside remains completely bare, her hips swaying from left to right, breasts jiggling, n*****s straining through the thin, almost transparent fabric under the fluorescent lighting above. He places a hand over the swell of his growing arousal. Damn.
She doesn't have a large chest, but what she does have is perfectly formed. Enough, he guesses, to appropriately fill the palm with his hands. He then watches her bronzed backside and those matching lips peeking from beneath his shirt, rubbing back and forth, slick and enticing. Damn. He couldn't look away...
His jaw goes slack, his tongue wet at the sight. What the hell!! Why, why would anyone cover this work of art underneath that hideous suit?!
Jessamae finishes drying herself and drapes the towel over the back of a chair, oblivious to his stares. She then collects her clothes and piles them over the towel. His feet become cemented to the floor. Maybe she was sent here to kill him?
Her hips sway from left to right, an erotic pendulum that beats with rhythmic hypnotism. Maybe she'll wait till afterward to try and kill him? Good enough. He'll play.
Jessamae blinks, and her dark brown eyes, surrounded by even darker lashes, seem to grow, pulling him in deeper. And it's as if he's drowning in her. His feet moved forward of their own volition, drawing closer with each unintended sway. He slips his fingers into the waistband of his slacks, unable to control his arousal from rising to full attention. That's right, Sweetness, plant that perfect body right here.
"Is everything alright?" She asks and turns her head up to him, the towel partially concealing her face. But he doesn't miss the raised eyebrow she delivers. The action automatically makes his arousal tighten. Damn! He wants to throw her onto that table and plant himself deep into that know-it-all body.
"You want to know what I'm thinking about, Sweetness?" He rasps, words tumbling from his lips without thought of the consequences. "I'm thinking about these plump lips wrapped around my arousal."
A hand flies to her mouth, and she parts her lips, wetness dripping from the center. "W-what did you just say?"
He grins with rapt smugness. Yeah, he bets she wasn't expecting that, was she? He leans in closer, and her mouth widens ever so slightly. "Not those lips, although that can be arranged."
She shakes her head and steps back, becoming trapped between the mahogany cupboard and himself. "You're bad news, aren't you? Grandpa warned me about guys like you. You're nothing but trouble."
He glides closer, wondering if she notices his raging arousal. He rests one arm beside her wild hair, his body towering over hers. "You seem to enjoy being a stickler for the rules, Jessamae. But don't you ever just want to be bad? Not even for just a moment?"
Only the breadth of a hand separates them, but Jessamae doesn't cower beneath his height. No, she sends him a confused look. And he knows. That isn't fear. That's lust. There's a vixen concealed underneath that tough, prim and proper exterior.
He can tell by her quickening pulse and those wide dilated pupils, now darker, larger from arousal. It's the same look as an addict hopped up on morphine. Her brown gaze burns along the length of his body and away again.
"Please," he spits, chuckling arrogantly. He tilts his head with derision. "Don't pretend."
She shrugs but continues to avoid direct eye contact. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't pretend you don't like this," he whispers. "You should lose your self-control every once in a while. You'd probably enjoy yourself more."
He leans closer to her, and her tongue darts out to wet those parted lips. His breath automatically quickens. They look so supple and inviting. Delectable. Perfect for his arousal.
He imagines himself slipping free from between her strained and willing lips, arousal dribbling from each swollen curve; her pulse beating seductively beneath her bronzed throat, gasping for breath. Damn.
He blinks, and the images fade away, replaced by the reality of those n*****s straining through the thin material. He raises his hand, fingertips hovering over her right breast, his knee brushing between her open thighs. He's painfully aware that Jessamae's plump body awaits, but mere centimeters away, hidden from the world, like a diamond in the rough.
He grits his teeth as his self-control teeters at the edge of the metaphorical knife. He closes his eyes in hopes that it'll work. A woman can drive a man insane, that he knows. He's seen it happen before. It is happening to him far more rapidly than expected.
Her sweet, feminine scent begins to invade him, and deep down, he knows he is crumbling to those simple human and carnal desires. And yet, he can't seem to stop.
"Don't you know?" Jessamae whispers, halting his actions. "That curiosity killed the cat?"
"But satisfaction brought it back to life." He mutters in return.
His fingers graze her n****e through the thin material, and she moans, her hand now raised and pressed forcefully over his. She does not push him away or yell for him to stop. And so, he chews up the minute distance between them without further reason to guide him away. Damn. She must be a witch.
Her sweet scent lingers across her skin, and he wonders if her body smells as delicious. His leg presses against her inner thigh, and her breath catches in her throat. Her pulse rapidly beats against him, and he can tell. She's shocked by her own response.
"If your date had been normal," he rasps, shoving his face into her still-damp hair and inhaling until he grows dizzy, "it would've ended in disaster
- Writer
