[She matches him step for step, her eyes locked on him, trusting him to guide her as they slowly walk towards the door. His fingers are slow and subtle, creeping around her hips, and Rosalind takes a moment to appreciate them. Large fingers, rough from years of doing god only knows what, and she can feel the heat of them through the thin material of her skirt.
She imagines what it will be like to have those fingers digging into her, gripping her wrists and pinning her down or plunging deep into her-- and oh, but there's a thought to keep her warm. How it would feel (will feel, and what a delicious inevitability it is) to have him deep in her, fingering her until she's squirming and whining and begging him to fuck her properly.
If she was any kind of respectable woman, she'd have wrenched his hands off by now. But Rosalind waits until they've slid back entirely, palms flat over the curve of her ass, ignoring her body's urging to push eagerly back into them.
That's for later.
It's a good slap she gives him. Not her hardest, but sharp and stinging, a punishment and a goading come-hither all at once. The resulting noise is loud enough to draw attention, and there's ringing silence within the bar. But that only lasts a moment; soon there's laughter, drunken and not entirely mean-spirited, as people settle in to watch the show they might or might not provide.
Rosalind rises to her toes, her hand dropping to grip the front of his shirt and tug him in close.]
Now . . . come along.
[She'll wrench away from out and walk out the door if he lets her. She's an apartment not too far from here, a modest place that she rents for times like these.]
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Date: 2018-03-14 02:15 am (UTC)She imagines what it will be like to have those fingers digging into her, gripping her wrists and pinning her down or plunging deep into her-- and oh, but there's a thought to keep her warm. How it would feel (will feel, and what a delicious inevitability it is) to have him deep in her, fingering her until she's squirming and whining and begging him to fuck her properly.
If she was any kind of respectable woman, she'd have wrenched his hands off by now. But Rosalind waits until they've slid back entirely, palms flat over the curve of her ass, ignoring her body's urging to push eagerly back into them.
That's for later.
It's a good slap she gives him. Not her hardest, but sharp and stinging, a punishment and a goading come-hither all at once. The resulting noise is loud enough to draw attention, and there's ringing silence within the bar. But that only lasts a moment; soon there's laughter, drunken and not entirely mean-spirited, as people settle in to watch the show they might or might not provide.
Rosalind rises to her toes, her hand dropping to grip the front of his shirt and tug him in close.]
Now . . . come along.
[She'll wrench away from out and walk out the door if he lets her. She's an apartment not too far from here, a modest place that she rents for times like these.]