[All of those sound appealing in a filthy sort of way, and Rosalind considers each, tipping her head to work against his fingers. She supposes it would be unfair to demand even he treat her to all of those, inhuman stamina aside (but perhaps they'll save the rejected ideas for another night). No, Rosalind knows which she wants, it's just . . .
It's just that Bigby Wolf is someone she likes competing with, and it's a bit difficult not to see this as outright handing him a victory. But it'd be stupid to refuse something just because she's nervous-- no, she won't do that. Rosalind's eyes dart over him, her gaze calculating, before she squirms and pulls off him. Then she turns, kneeling with her back to him, because this is the sort of thing that has to be worked up to by degrees.
Not that she'll admit that. Not that she'll admit she's getting an absolute thrill out of the way he'd said that, demanding and a little demeaning, because far be it for her to ever say what she truly thinks or wants.]
I doubt you could make me wait for a single thing.
[She says it languidly, carelessly, as she pushes her hair over her shoulder to one side.]
If only because I doubt you could wait for a single thing.
[All right. All right, she's being silly for being so nervous. He had her legs hoisted over her head not half an hour ago, it's not as if he'll be seeing anything he hadn't seen before. But there's a marked difference between spreading your legs and bending over, and he's not precisely a comforting presence.
But that's the appeal, isn't it?
With a short sigh Rosalind leans forward, bracing her forearms on the mattress, her back arching. It isn't sticking her ass out high in the air, she tells herself, ignoring the fact that is, in fact, what she's doing.]
Come on. And fuck me from behind, thank you, you're most certainly not doing anything but groping my posterior tonight.
let's have them go another round and make it an even HALF A YEAR why don't we
It's just that Bigby Wolf is someone she likes competing with, and it's a bit difficult not to see this as outright handing him a victory. But it'd be stupid to refuse something just because she's nervous-- no, she won't do that. Rosalind's eyes dart over him, her gaze calculating, before she squirms and pulls off him. Then she turns, kneeling with her back to him, because this is the sort of thing that has to be worked up to by degrees.
Not that she'll admit that. Not that she'll admit she's getting an absolute thrill out of the way he'd said that, demanding and a little demeaning, because far be it for her to ever say what she truly thinks or wants.]
I doubt you could make me wait for a single thing.
[She says it languidly, carelessly, as she pushes her hair over her shoulder to one side.]
If only because I doubt you could wait for a single thing.
[All right. All right, she's being silly for being so nervous. He had her legs hoisted over her head not half an hour ago, it's not as if he'll be seeing anything he hadn't seen before. But there's a marked difference between spreading your legs and bending over, and he's not precisely a comforting presence.
But that's the appeal, isn't it?
With a short sigh Rosalind leans forward, bracing her forearms on the mattress, her back arching. It isn't sticking her ass out high in the air, she tells herself, ignoring the fact that is, in fact, what she's doing.]
Come on. And fuck me from behind, thank you, you're most certainly not doing anything but groping my posterior tonight.