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Mr. Kalendar Chapter Thirteen - Kyros
Please note: (18+) This story includes adult content that may not be suitable for younger readers.》
♡Kalendar♡
She's staring at the shirt I just set down, her movements slow as if she's thinking about each one before she does it. Her eyes are half lidded, the storm cloud blue of her irises thinned and darker than normal. I glance at her black sheath dress, and note the small zipper in the back. "Do you need help getting that off?" I ask, honestly not wanting her to stuggle with it.
I already have an idea as to what's happening. The signs obvious, the sickness, her blown pupils, and now this lethargy. I don't believe that she would lie to me, but she has no reason to tell me the truth either. I've been absent from her life for too long, a mere shadow in her peripheral, but no more.
I make a mental note to look over the security footage from the bar later. If she did take something, I'll see it, and then we'll deal with it... but, if she didn't...
"If you don't mind," she says softly, her words drawn out and pulling me from my thoughts.
I blink, realizing that I've been staring and move behind her, my eyes glancing to hers in the mirror as I gently gather up the curls of her blond hair, and move them over her shoulder. "Must have taken you hours to curl this just right," I comment, feeling the smooth stands slip through my fingers.
She sighs, nodding her response. Reaching for the zipper, I can't help but let my eyes linger across her smooth bare shoulders. I hesitate a moment, familiar feelings creeping back as the old 'look but don't touch' addage snaps through my head, and I push it away.
I've went well beyond looking at this point and don't understand why those feelings would hit me now.
Finding the zipper beneath the seam, I pull it down, slowly revealing more of her luminous skin. The smell of peaches, her sweat from dancing, and the faint traces of her sweet musky perfume blossom, becomming more prominent the more of her I reveal. The desire to add my own special scent to her skin is a tantalizing allure I want in the worst way.
The zipper ends at the small of her back, the black fabric gaping open like the petals of a flower, and I stare at the half hidden curve of her waist. Pale pink panties tease me, the lace delicate, and from the cut I assume it's a thong. I know I shouldn't touch her right now, but this obsession with her is beyond rational tought. Skimming the back of my knuckles up the indentation of her spine I marvel at how fucking soft she really is. The soft black satin of her strapless bra doesn't have the clasps in the back and I'm guessing she's a front closure type of girl.
Lifting my other hand, I hook my fingers beneath the thin spaghetti straps holding her dress up, and pull them down over her shoulders to her arms. I feel her slight shiver, hear her soft moan, and leaning forward, I press a soft chaste kiss at the curve of her neck and shoulder. My eyes lift as my lips linger against her silken skin, her stormfilled eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her heated gaze...
Fuck.
If she wern't drugged, I'd happily take advantage of the invitation I see in her eyes. The need to feel her, to do to her what I acted out on stage has been riding me hard all night, but she's never been... intimate, and that, ontop of her getting sick, had me changing gears so fast it was enough to make my head spin.
She shifts, her tight ass pushing back against the hard on I've had since I saw her blindfolded in that chair on stage, and I bury my lips against her neck to stifle the groan rumbling up my throat. Her head leans to the side, giving me more access to her throat, and my hands automatically find their way to her naked waist beneath the gaping dress. Muscles honed from years of cheerleading and gymnastics flutter against my fingertips as she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in slow...
♡Kalendar♡
She's staring at the shirt I just set down, her movements slow as if she's thinking about each one before she does it. Her eyes are half lidded, the storm cloud blue of her irises thinned and darker than normal. I glance at her black sheath dress, and note the small zipper in the back. "Do you need help getting that off?" I ask, honestly not wanting her to stuggle with it.
I already have an idea as to what's happening. The signs obvious, the sickness, her blown pupils, and now this lethargy. I don't believe that she would lie to me, but she has no reason to tell me the truth either. I've been absent from her life for too long, a mere shadow in her peripheral, but no more.
I make a mental note to look over the security footage from the bar later. If she did take something, I'll see it, and then we'll deal with it... but, if she didn't...
"If you don't mind," she says softly, her words drawn out and pulling me from my thoughts.
I blink, realizing that I've been staring and move behind her, my eyes glancing to hers in the mirror as I gently gather up the curls of her blond hair, and move them over her shoulder. "Must have taken you hours to curl this just right," I comment, feeling the smooth stands slip through my fingers.
She sighs, nodding her response. Reaching for the zipper, I can't help but let my eyes linger across her smooth bare shoulders. I hesitate a moment, familiar feelings creeping back as the old 'look but don't touch' addage snaps through my head, and I push it away.
I've went well beyond looking at this point and don't understand why those feelings would hit me now.
Finding the zipper beneath the seam, I pull it down, slowly revealing more of her luminous skin. The smell of peaches, her sweat from dancing, and the faint traces of her sweet musky perfume blossom, becomming more prominent the more of her I reveal. The desire to add my own special scent to her skin is a tantalizing allure I want in the worst way.
The zipper ends at the small of her back, the black fabric gaping open like the petals of a flower, and I stare at the half hidden curve of her waist. Pale pink panties tease me, the lace delicate, and from the cut I assume it's a thong. I know I shouldn't touch her right now, but this obsession with her is beyond rational tought. Skimming the back of my knuckles up the indentation of her spine I marvel at how fucking soft she really is. The soft black satin of her strapless bra doesn't have the clasps in the back and I'm guessing she's a front closure type of girl.
Lifting my other hand, I hook my fingers beneath the thin spaghetti straps holding her dress up, and pull them down over her shoulders to her arms. I feel her slight shiver, hear her soft moan, and leaning forward, I press a soft chaste kiss at the curve of her neck and shoulder. My eyes lift as my lips linger against her silken skin, her stormfilled eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her heated gaze...
Fuck.
If she wern't drugged, I'd happily take advantage of the invitation I see in her eyes. The need to feel her, to do to her what I acted out on stage has been riding me hard all night, but she's never been... intimate, and that, ontop of her getting sick, had me changing gears so fast it was enough to make my head spin.
She shifts, her tight ass pushing back against the hard on I've had since I saw her blindfolded in that chair on stage, and I bury my lips against her neck to stifle the groan rumbling up my throat. Her head leans to the side, giving me more access to her throat, and my hands automatically find their way to her naked waist beneath the gaping dress. Muscles honed from years of cheerleading and gymnastics flutter against my fingertips as she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in slow...
