03-21-2018, 02:42 PM
It had not been his place to offer her a position, and for that she’d turned her back on him. She’d allowed another man to guide her away. All he could do was watch her leave. And Brynmor had everything but liked it. She belonged at Ice, and yet her ambitions – and perhaps jealousy – had driven her away.
He hums softly, enjoying the sound of his name coming from her lips. So she does remember him. Enough to make him shudder and pull her closer again. Xiah, however, has something else in mind.
There is no way for him to deny how good she feels, pressed against him and automatically he pulls her closer. Brynmor’s lips find her neck, gently kissing, sucking and occasionally biting down on tender skin. His erection grinds against her round bum; the action makes him grunt softly. ”Xiah?” he asks, voice low and husky, but confused. There is something in the way she says it, venom hidden in the words. And it is not hard to imagine that Bryn does not like it. Not at all. As she continues, her words becoming even more venomous, he stills. His hands slide down to her hips, then to her shoulders to both push her away from him and spin her around, all gently of course. ”No.”
His jaw tightens and teeth grind together. As he looks down at her he shakes his head, fingers almost digging into her shoulders to keep her a bay. Brynmor wants nothing more than pull her close, to hold and cherish her, but not like this. ”No,” he repeats. Not once had he imagined cheating on Roan. ”It was never like that. And you know it.” He almost growls as he speak, only remembering on time how intoxicated it is. He can only hope that it’s the alcohol talking.
She was never second. But she could be a new chapter in his life. Not a coincidence, more like one of fate’s multiple paths in life.
His right hand slides down her arm, gently, to grab her hand with his. They had to talk. Either that or he would bring her back home. There was no way he would let her out on the street in this state, but neither would he continue the original plans. Unless they talked.
He offers her a barstool in the kitchen, up to her if she takes the seat or not. He does not talk, what was there to say? It is not like they can have an actual conversation like this. Brynmor busies himself with getting ready to make his special sobriety recipe. He glances at the attractive noirette – black haired girl – in his kitchen every so often, but never does Brynmor stop working. ”This will help clear your mind,” he offers her, placing the glass on the counter. He knows better than to say ’drink this’, and thus he does not. To give her it is okay, he downs his own glass in one go. The taste is not all that great, but he damn well needs to sober up for this.
He hums softly, enjoying the sound of his name coming from her lips. So she does remember him. Enough to make him shudder and pull her closer again. Xiah, however, has something else in mind.
There is no way for him to deny how good she feels, pressed against him and automatically he pulls her closer. Brynmor’s lips find her neck, gently kissing, sucking and occasionally biting down on tender skin. His erection grinds against her round bum; the action makes him grunt softly. ”Xiah?” he asks, voice low and husky, but confused. There is something in the way she says it, venom hidden in the words. And it is not hard to imagine that Bryn does not like it. Not at all. As she continues, her words becoming even more venomous, he stills. His hands slide down to her hips, then to her shoulders to both push her away from him and spin her around, all gently of course. ”No.”
His jaw tightens and teeth grind together. As he looks down at her he shakes his head, fingers almost digging into her shoulders to keep her a bay. Brynmor wants nothing more than pull her close, to hold and cherish her, but not like this. ”No,” he repeats. Not once had he imagined cheating on Roan. ”It was never like that. And you know it.” He almost growls as he speak, only remembering on time how intoxicated it is. He can only hope that it’s the alcohol talking.
She was never second. But she could be a new chapter in his life. Not a coincidence, more like one of fate’s multiple paths in life.
His right hand slides down her arm, gently, to grab her hand with his. They had to talk. Either that or he would bring her back home. There was no way he would let her out on the street in this state, but neither would he continue the original plans. Unless they talked.
He offers her a barstool in the kitchen, up to her if she takes the seat or not. He does not talk, what was there to say? It is not like they can have an actual conversation like this. Brynmor busies himself with getting ready to make his special sobriety recipe. He glances at the attractive noirette – black haired girl – in his kitchen every so often, but never does Brynmor stop working. ”This will help clear your mind,” he offers her, placing the glass on the counter. He knows better than to say ’drink this’, and thus he does not. To give her it is okay, he downs his own glass in one go. The taste is not all that great, but he damn well needs to sober up for this.