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found there, he pulled it away from her body as best he could. Her flesh was so firm and fully packed that it didn't go very far, but then, it didn't need to to achieve his end, either. It forced her up onto her tiptoes to try to relieve that painful ache with mixed results. Because as soon as she made herself as tall as she possibly could, he simply tugged that much harder, so that what little relief she was able to find was fleeting at best.
    Miranda felt surrounded by him, as if he enveloped her with his body, his typically wide power stance embracing the length of her with his legs, his feet paralleling hers, forcing her to stand just that much closer to him between them, her bottom rubbing against the blatant evidence of his desire for her.
    That torturous hand found its way to her other nipple and gave it exactly the same treatment with the same results, as he thoroughly enjoyed the way she squealed and keened, not that it had any effect at all on what he did to her. "Where should your hands be, little one?" he murmured from where his chin rested on the top of her head as he fondled her at will.
    She had such a hard time with that rule; he thought it was the one she'd probably broken the most often. There were several favorite positions he used with her with relative frequency, and this was one of them. She was expected to place her hands in whatever fashion he'd decided he liked best, based on what position they were in at the time. When he had her in front of her mirror, he liked for her to reach up and put her hands around his neck as best she could. Whatever kept her hands on him and kept her arms out of his way. But he also had to admit that he enjoyed the fact that keeping her hands there was a challenge for her, forcing her onto her tiptoes. And thus constantly reminding her of both her inherent vulnerability to him as well as the fact that she was expected to always do her best to obey him. This particular position had the added benefit of making her back arch, which set her breasts off in a fashion that he would never be able to resist, as if they were begging silently for the attentions he was only too willing to provide them.
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    Her hands crept very slowly and reluctantly up towards his neck, so much so that his lips found her ear to say in a hushed tone, "If I were you, and my ass still stung as badly as I'd imagine yours does, I think I'd get that accomplished much more quickly, especially considering that you had to be reminded to do it in the first place." His words spurred her on as he'd thought they would, those small hands finding his shoulders, and then following them in towards his neck, immediately becoming a few inches taller within his arms as she stood on her tiptoes to accomplish her task.
    Dear God, seeing her like that made his mouth go dry and his dick spasm violently where it poked insistently against the small of her back, finding no real harbor there. She was everything he wanted in a woman and more, despite the fact that – or maybe, more accurately, because of the fact that – she challenged him so often. She would never be an easy woman. But he was more than up to storming any battlements she might erect against him – against his possession of her, against becoming more intimate with him, against establishing something more than – what had she called it? A "kinky fuck buddy" relationship. He wanted, and intended to have, much more than that from her. Since she hadn't ordered him out of her house when he'd thrown caution to the wind and invaded it as he had, he was going to shamelessly press any advantage he could to get what he wanted from her.
    Those firm breasts jutted towards palms that quite literally itched to be filled with their sensuous weight. The mauve nipples still standing at the attention he'd brought them to moments ago, called to him. He watched in the mirror as his hands slowly drifted towards them, long, strong fingers capturing the base of