ain't afraid of Pappy,” his burr of sandpaper tantalizes my skin. He squeezes me tighter in his solid grasp as I writhe, trying to wring my body around to face him. My breasts pouring over his iron limbs.
“You should be very afraid. He's a powerful man. He'll make you sorry.” I'm panting and gasping as though we're in the full throes of passionate sex.
“Like I said, I ain't shitting myself over your old man. You gonna calm down or am I gonna have to do something I might enjoy?” His words fall into my ear like a caress. His entire rock wall shield of chest is pressed into my back and his thick thigh is pressed into the crevasse between mine, cramming them apart.
It's pointless to flail against his hold, I'm a flyweight to his superheavy and in truth I don't want to separate from him yet. Every pore is making my skin shiver with the need to feel him compressed into me like this only from a different angle. The need to be crushed under him and feel him push into my prickling flesh is beyond endurance. My pussy is twanging at my core, demanding this tough tyrant's invasion.
“Fuck, you've got more spitfire in you than World War fucking two. What in hell are you so angry about?” He barks against my quivering tendon.
“I hate you and it's none of your fucking business.”
“Whatever it is you should use your rage for something creative before it eats you alive.”
“Yeah thanks for that sage advice but I already have a father.”
“Just saying, Principessa . 'Cos you know, been there done it.”
“Have I told you yet to stop fucking calling me that?”
He grips me tighter, muzzled beneath his hard body while we struggle to regain our breath. The stirring rising from my thighs through my core is agonizing and I'm sure he feels it. My hips crane with the desire to press back and test the bulge in his pants. What the fuck am I thinking?
“I'm calm,” I spit through pinched lips. I don't actually want him to let me go. I'd be happy to stay there with him panting against my neck. The tugs in his lungs pounding and echoing from his chest into mine but pride is always the winner with me.
Arrggh. His repressing me is driving me insane in too many ways. One side I'm flailing against his restraint, on the other I want him holding me down like I'm chained and at his complete mercy. No way I want him to know that though. I writhe and wriggle, trying to get some purchase to turn.
“Let me go.”
With a massive effort of squirming, I manage to get my upper body turned around to face him. But he keeps my lower half strapped down under his solid thigh so I'm looking direct into his dark eyes. His face inches away from mine so that I feel his breath on my lips. I'm sure he can feel mine too, panting from the exertion of breaking free. And his solid body pressed into the full length of my torso, crushing my breasts.
“Aren't you gonna ask nice and pretty, Principessa ?” he purrs into my mouth.
I'm torn between the urge to part my lips slightly, inviting him to press into them with a touch of the tip of my tongue and biting his pillow-swollen lower lip until blood spurts.
I have to force my lids to stay up, not droop into a swoon of ready to be kissed. It's one of the toughest things I've ever had to do. I've never known a man like this. Dangerous, bad and so exciting. The furthest thing from the frat boys and diplomats sons I usually get to meet.
We stand there in the hallway, breathing way too fast, our chests rising and falling in equal time. My breasts grazing his rope of sinew every dragged inhalation. His thick bicep pinning me into the wall and our faces that close. His lips lean forward to mine and the delicate skin blooms. And then the moment passes.
He has just pushed back from me- was I imagining it that he seemed reluctant to do so? - when my father appears on the stairs.
“Ah good, you're here, Romeo,” he says.
Romeo?
“Come into my office.”
“Call me Rocco, Sir. Or Roq for short,”
“You should be very afraid. He's a powerful man. He'll make you sorry.” I'm panting and gasping as though we're in the full throes of passionate sex.
“Like I said, I ain't shitting myself over your old man. You gonna calm down or am I gonna have to do something I might enjoy?” His words fall into my ear like a caress. His entire rock wall shield of chest is pressed into my back and his thick thigh is pressed into the crevasse between mine, cramming them apart.
It's pointless to flail against his hold, I'm a flyweight to his superheavy and in truth I don't want to separate from him yet. Every pore is making my skin shiver with the need to feel him compressed into me like this only from a different angle. The need to be crushed under him and feel him push into my prickling flesh is beyond endurance. My pussy is twanging at my core, demanding this tough tyrant's invasion.
“Fuck, you've got more spitfire in you than World War fucking two. What in hell are you so angry about?” He barks against my quivering tendon.
“I hate you and it's none of your fucking business.”
“Whatever it is you should use your rage for something creative before it eats you alive.”
“Yeah thanks for that sage advice but I already have a father.”
“Just saying, Principessa . 'Cos you know, been there done it.”
“Have I told you yet to stop fucking calling me that?”
He grips me tighter, muzzled beneath his hard body while we struggle to regain our breath. The stirring rising from my thighs through my core is agonizing and I'm sure he feels it. My hips crane with the desire to press back and test the bulge in his pants. What the fuck am I thinking?
“I'm calm,” I spit through pinched lips. I don't actually want him to let me go. I'd be happy to stay there with him panting against my neck. The tugs in his lungs pounding and echoing from his chest into mine but pride is always the winner with me.
Arrggh. His repressing me is driving me insane in too many ways. One side I'm flailing against his restraint, on the other I want him holding me down like I'm chained and at his complete mercy. No way I want him to know that though. I writhe and wriggle, trying to get some purchase to turn.
“Let me go.”
With a massive effort of squirming, I manage to get my upper body turned around to face him. But he keeps my lower half strapped down under his solid thigh so I'm looking direct into his dark eyes. His face inches away from mine so that I feel his breath on my lips. I'm sure he can feel mine too, panting from the exertion of breaking free. And his solid body pressed into the full length of my torso, crushing my breasts.
“Aren't you gonna ask nice and pretty, Principessa ?” he purrs into my mouth.
I'm torn between the urge to part my lips slightly, inviting him to press into them with a touch of the tip of my tongue and biting his pillow-swollen lower lip until blood spurts.
I have to force my lids to stay up, not droop into a swoon of ready to be kissed. It's one of the toughest things I've ever had to do. I've never known a man like this. Dangerous, bad and so exciting. The furthest thing from the frat boys and diplomats sons I usually get to meet.
We stand there in the hallway, breathing way too fast, our chests rising and falling in equal time. My breasts grazing his rope of sinew every dragged inhalation. His thick bicep pinning me into the wall and our faces that close. His lips lean forward to mine and the delicate skin blooms. And then the moment passes.
He has just pushed back from me- was I imagining it that he seemed reluctant to do so? - when my father appears on the stairs.
“Ah good, you're here, Romeo,” he says.
Romeo?
“Come into my office.”
“Call me Rocco, Sir. Or Roq for short,”
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