She was coy as all fuck. The worst of it all was that he couldn’t help but enjoy that abou
She was coy as all fuck. The worst of it all was that he couldn’t help but enjoy that about her. She’d retreat when he pushed, and then leer forward the instant his guard was down. She was infuriating, and he was determined to return the favour. It should have been easy. Hell, it was easy, with anyone but that minx, the girl with the smile and the twinkling eye. That was a mockery, that twinkle, a little middle finger stuck up in his direction, but he could only see it as a gauntlet tossed at his feet. He was going to extinguish it, if only for a second. The first time he’d laid a hand on her she’d feigned shock. Her little mouth with those lips had fallen open, and she’d gasped. It made him grin and clench his fist just to think about it, that moment of utter theatre, as if she didn't know that he knew it was such. The thing was, she did know. He could tell she did. That’s what made it all the more ridiculous. Theatre for theatre’s sake. She was a drama queen, in the most literal way. Then they had fucked, with all the inevitability of a train, and twice as much force. Locked in the tracks, they’d gunned it, shovelling coal like no one’s business, before crashing, sweaty and exhausted, back against the mattress. They hadn’t cuddled, but instead shared space, breathed the same air, panted it even, before he’d turned and smiled at her. And she’d giggled and looked away. Coy as all fuck. -- source link
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