Notes on a Stave He held her with his fingertips, a light pressure that was nonetheless in complete
Notes on a Stave He held her with his fingertips, a light pressure that was nonetheless in complete control. She could move away, if she wanted to. If. Instead she stood there, canted her head to one side, and leaned into those fingers, feeling each one press into her neck, like notes on a stave. He’d play her, of that she was sure. That’s why his hand was there, set out like the keys on an instrument, only if this was woodwind, she’d be doing the blowing. She smirked, enjoying the crude turns her mind took, on occasion. He saw it. “Amused?” He drawled it. “Aroused.” The fingers shifted, pressing a little harder. He wanted her. “Then what are you doing in public, clothed and preening?” She could feel the proximity of his lips near her ear, and she could see the side of his face in her periphery, a masculine blur that was only getting fuzzier as her mind clouded with desire. “Teasing.” She breathed out, still smiling, still smirking. “I enjoy being the distraction in the centre of the room, or hadn’t you noticed?” The fingers clamped down a little harder. They’d leave marks now. “You had my distraction, and now you’ve got my attention. So why don’t you trot upstairs like a good little mare and I’ll see if you’re good for a ride or two.” She wanted to roll her eyes, dance away from him. Perhaps even bring a hand up to her neck, to let him know that he had got to her, even just a little. Equestrian jokes, really? She turned to look at him. “I ought to geld you for that.” She watched his eyebrow arch up, almost appreciatively. But the fingers staying insistent. “And I will spank you for that. Now go, before I think up something worse.” His voice, gravelly before, was tinged with steel now, and she was a little taken aback, drawn into the confidence, and embarrassingly attracted to the arrogance. “Why me?” She already knew she was going to go, but she wanted to know. “Because I want you." That’d do. -- source link
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