Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.
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Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me:
Logan seized Betsy by the arms and threw her onto the bed; her surprise echoing in the dormitory with an audible yelp. The curtains flapped ceaselessly, warm breeze blowing in from a temperate spring Sunday over the Graymalkin grounds. Television switched off, no longer the news relaying slow events, Logan undid the top buttons on his shirt and prowled. She looked up to meet his gaze, a sudden fire lit behind his eyes that blazed a trail down the luscious length of her body. A bottle of still water thumped onto the chest next to his bed. Her suspicion grew. Lines travelling out from his eyes creased, he was narrowing his focus; his ears straightened, teeth bearing and nose scrunched. These were signs of the predator. She knew them from him intimately and was well aware of what his intentions were. All day she had paraded round in front of him, boob-tube and hair in a ponytail, neck exposed and a dark shade of lipstick that he bet wouldn't come off without some serious rubbing. Trousers on her legs were bound together at the waist with laces, he found the criss-cross enticing, but much more than any of those, she had a thin silk choker, purple, to match the persuasive deep hue of the few strands that framed her cheeks.
'What are you going to do?' She swallowed, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. The path he tread switched from side to side; he walked over to the light and fan switch and offed them. Rolled up his sleeves, red and white plaid shirt open and whisking in the wind. She saw the hair covering his grizzly chest, firm muscles suggesting big thick arms to hold and squeeze her. It reminded her of the prairie. Fingers sought for the bottle, she needed a sip, ruffling the covers and backing into the headboard. Her shoes were still on.
'What you think I'm gonna do? What you want me to do?'
He was giving out a snarl.
She felt intimidated.
But playing along.
Pacing, he kicked off his shoes and went around to take her from the side, arm presented from her and then off the bed and into his embrace. His breath was hot and moist, she was overwhelmed with his scent, sweat, salt, blood and iron in the muscles. A light-headedness came on. He kissed her heatedly, hands gripping tight and even hurting a little. His stubble grazed against her chin. She relented and opened her mouth slipping her tongue in to give him some. She stroked the blistered lips, passing over his little muscle and kissing the spit between the two of them. Her mouth was expert. Eventually he relaxed his clutch and she curled her arms under his and held at his back, their heads moving at an angle in the curtained sunlight. Betsy moaned somewhat and he took control, holding her face tenderly in his palms -- strange for someone with his appearance and primal demeanour -- and they looked into one another's eyes. There was human sensitivity far off, the instinct expected within his core less than total.
He spoke to her.
'You been waltzing around all day shaking your ass under my nose, Betts. Comes a time when a man can't take it anymore.'
'Maybe I want you to take it.' She mouthed impudently.
Forceful, he hooked about her waist and put a hand on her left breast. The expression changed suddenly.