Sienna’s Seduction – Part III


Minidevilette© 2012This is part three in Sienna’s encounter and it would probably be beneficial, although not entirely necessary, to get up to speed by reading the previous two chapters. My abject apologies to people who enjoyed Sienna Pt I & II and posted to let me know of their enthusiasm for more ~ I know it’s been awhile but I’m getting it together again & Pt IV is in the works. I hope this doesn’t disappoint. Survival or surrender? What the hell kind of choice is that? Sienna thought dazedly. Her entire body was screaming for the experience of him but rationality was making a valiant attempt to ensure that it was at a distance that would guard her safety, if not her sanity. She wondered frantically if she could possibly negotiate a compromise. Preferably one where he agreed to be completely immobilised for as long as it took her to climb aboard, ride herself to orgasm and get the hell back to Ireland in one piece and hide. Although the reasoning was perfect and she’d get to have a taste without getting too singed in the process, she doubted that he’d be a placid sacrificial lamb on the altar of her bizarre fascination of him. Irrationally she heard her mother’s voice in her head, admonishing her with one of her pearls of wisdom as she had for most of Sienna’s childhood. “There’s few occasions in this life where you can have your cake and be eating it too.” And there was the kick in the arse. This guy, who had literally laid siege to not only her imagination but now her body, wasn’t going to be satisfied with being just a bit part player in this little drama that was unfolding between them. When he said survival, he didn’t mean Bear Ataşehir escort bayan Grylls’ eat–this-bug-and-get-out-alive kind of survival but the you-can-walk-away-now-but-don’t-turn-back type. And when he said surrender, she knew he would expect nothing less than complete capitulation, not just physically but mentally as well and that required a submissiveness and trust she wasn’t sure she could give him. “You still with me here?” he asked quietly. Sienna inhaled raggedly at the sound of his smoky voice in her ear. “I don’t think I can do this,” she admitted after a moment. “I can’t be what you want, it’s not in my DNA to be someone’s sub.” “Hallelujah for that.” The quiet rumble she felt resonate through her back told her he was laughing at her. Silently, but still laughing, which pricked at her pride and pissed her off. “Listen,” he said, “if I wanted someone to hang on my every word and fall all over themselves to fuck me, I’d just pick one of the endless parade of shallow tarts that come in here every night.” The hand he’d insinuated under her top earlier to cup the fullness of one breast resumed its subtle caress as he buried his face in her hair. “Christ knows, my security guys have always got a new set of lips wrapped around their cocks,” he muttered as he nuzzled behind her ear. She jerked her head away from his questing lips and felt his hand tighten on her breast. She wanted to lean into that hold and feel his hard warmth covering her and the treacherous pleasure made the tenuous hold she had over her emotions begin to crumble. “I don’t get you,” she wailed with dismay. “You deliberately Escort Ümraniye try to intimidate me, scare off my dance partner and practically kidnap me, hold me against my will, molest me in a public place -” “You’re hardly molested,” he interrupted calmly. “Fine, fondle -” she spat. “I will concede to fondle,” he murmured, squeezing her breast for emphasis. “- laugh at me, don’t you dare lie,” she interjected when he thought to deny the charge, “I can practically feel the stitching in your jeans we’re so damn close so I know you were either laughing or having some sort of fit, which God knows is beyond my luck and then you tell me you’re not actually looking for a quick obliging shag, thank you very much, just something obscure from probably the only woman in the state who jumps ten feet when you’re near her so what’s the fucking point of all this medieval maul-the-peasant bullshit you’ve got going on here?” He was laughing at her openly now as she rocked back and forth, bumped up and down on his lap in an attempt to break his grip on her and lunge away from him. Frustration at his cavalier attitude, his humour at her expense and her stolen orgasm had completely overridden her previous desire and she was determined to end this situation even at the cost of her much maligned dignity. It was a pointless exercise in optimism though as he easily immobilized her again. “I’m impressed Irish. That was a hell of a sentence,” he said between receding chuckles. “Did you even breathe once?” Sienna went completely tense in his arms for all of three seconds before leaning forward slightly and then whipping Bostancı escort her head back as one of her brothers had taught her, trying to slam into his chin. When she missed and thumped against his collar bone she ranted at him viciously, which only caused him to laugh harder. “You useless, malignant, insufferable, cocksucking bastard. Get your hands off me, you fat conceited -” “Fat!” “- leper. I wouldn’t let you touch me if you were the incarnation of the Virgin herself come to forgive my sins.” She bucked in his arms as she railed, her accent becoming stronger, hair flying around her, covering them both in flowing strands of copper, words spewing forth from her without thought or reason. “Odious flea-ridden prick, I bet you nearly killed your mother when she birthed you, you pedantic git, your fecking head’s so thick. I hope she murdered your whoreson of a father for the curse of you.” He wrapped his fist in her hair roughly, his laughter abruptly vanished, and held her close to his mouth as he hissed furiously in her ear while she struggled against him. “I’ll take a lot from you, you damned shrew but don’t ever think to insult my ancestry again. Understand?” Sienna was irate but not beyond caution and simmered in silence, unwilling to bend before he did, until finally she nodded with stiff-necked pride and his grip eased fractionally. “If it’s any consolation to your temper, you’ve got a mouth like a navvy and a very creative mind,” he commended her grudgingly. “My ‘whoreson’ of a father, as you so productively named him, would have flogged any of us for a tenth of that display.” The last thing she wanted from him was his admiration, critical or otherwise, for an offence her own mother would have blistered her arse for and she drew on her irritation to focus herself. “Just tell me what the hell you want so I can go home and forget I ever met you,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “What do I want?” he repeated intensely.

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