Thread: The Manor (Mr. Quixotic & Malicious Lullaby)

Steve's tone was one of concern. The words that had come from Harper were unlike her, and his immediate thought was that the desperation, or need, he sensed in them must have been caused by an unpleasant event. However, with her chin in his hand, and eye's locked, he realised he'd said the wrong thing, and opened his mouth to apologise. Not for the question itself, but for the fact that he could have been more subtle, and just allowed Harper to speak without him making assumptions. The man's sigh matched that of his girlfriend's when she pulled away, and he followed her in, and his gaze automatically scanned the room. As was usual, he wondered how Harper, on her teacher's wage, managed to afford such a luxurious apartment. His own salary barely covered the rent on a third-floor residence not nearly as spacious, and definitely without the view. Their relationship was not yet at the stage where they discussed Finances, and Steve had assumed that she must have come to some arrangement with her flat-mate, where Harper's share was less than half of what it must cost. What Stephanie did for a living was all about a bit vague to the man from the few times he'd brought the subject up, he'd gathered it had something to do with modelling. Though not his type, she was definitely attractive enough. If he'd known she was, in fact, a whore - there was no distinction between high-class escorts, and common street-walker's to Steve Kirk - he would have pleaded for Harper to find alternative accommodation immediately. He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of her voice, and realised he stood in the middle of the room, with Harper perched on the sofa. Blue eyes met hers, and he moved forward when she came towards him. I'm sorry, baby. Steve whispered as his arms slid to her waist to bring her closer, then he licked his lips, and he swallowed hard his mouth suddenly dry. Harper's actions were affecting him, whether he wanted them to or not. Once again, she'd surprised him. He took a deep breath, then slid his arms from her waist, to take hold of the hands on his chest. Of course I've thought of letting go, and there's nothing wrong with it at all. I was just concerned the way you asked me that something must have happened. You know I want you. And it was true. Steve did want her, and was more than capable of ripping a woman's clothes off, bending her over the sofa, and pounding her like an animal. He'd had his share of girls in his college days, and wasn't afraid to take what he wanted, and screw them like there was no tomorrow. It had been ingrained in his youthful DNA, and that's what had him tense. The girls back then had meant nothing to him, as he'd meant nothing to them. The sex had been mutual, with no emotional connection, and once over, they'd gone their separate ways. The ones Steve had fucked, as Harper had so eloquently phrased it, were not the type he'd invite home to meet his parents, however the woman in front of him was. It's just. I sowed my oats back in my college days, and that's when I let go of my inhibitions. Steve squeezed Harper's hands, and leaned in for a soft kiss. I'm almost thirty now, no longer a horny teenager with no self control. You took me by surprise, that's all. In the recesses of his mind, he was aware there must be a reason for her change, and thought he detected alcohol on her breath. Maybe that was it, she and Stephanie had consumed a few drinks, and it was the liquor talking? Or hormones? They hadn't been dating that long, and women could be unpredictable. It wasn't the Harper he was acquainted with, but that didn't mean, in his subconscious, her words hadn't aroused him, and reminded him of past days, where he'd sleep with any female who'd been willing to spread her legs. The problem was he'd never retained much respect for them in the morning, and when it came to Harper Collins, Steve Kirk was struck with an affliction akin to the Madonna-whore complex. You want me to fuck you? He kissed her again, and moved forward, in an attempt to shift her back, and towards her bedroom. Sex, to Steve, was something best kept private, and the last thing he wanted was for Stephanie to walk in. Then that's what I'll do, fuck you like a dirty whore. The words sounded foreign coming from his mouth, even to Steve himself, and he averted his eyes, hoping they wouldn't come back to haunt him when Harper sobered up. Let's go to your room. It didn't occur to the man that no matter what happened there, how urgently he took her, any names he used, or dominance he displayed, that the moment for raw, unbridled passion, and loss of inhibitions, had already come and gone. Hawthorne Tisch would have known, and not hesitated. He'd have simply smiled, bent Harper over the edge of the sofa, gripped a handful of hair, ripped her panties and sweatpants over her hips, and pounded her so hard she'd have been unable to walk properly for a week. And if Stephanie returned home unannounced, and caught them in the act? Well, then, he would have slammed Harper with even more vigour, and put on a show. Okay, baby?