Hot Stove

Laila felt his fingers against her ribs and how he pushed them gently under her armpit forward.

She closed her eyes with pleasure and felt hot waves streaming through her body.

His fingers touched the full curve of her bosom and continued to slide forward.

Laila pulled her lower lip into her mouth with her teeth.

'Come on, go ahead.' she fired in his mind.

As his fingers touched her nipple, Laila felt as if she had been struck by an electric shock, she exhaled intensely.

Suddenly Brutus withdrew his fingers as if he had touched a hot stove.

The mattress rocked as he stood up jerkily.

Laila watched in disbelief as he hurried out of the room.

Did he say something else?

She sank irritated on her pillow.

What the hell was he having a problem with?

They were two adults.

Had he interpreted herexpelled breath as rejection?

Laila snuggled into her bed.

Tomorrow she would tell him that his touch had not been unpleasant.

Satisfied, Laila fell asleep and dreamed passionate teenage nonsense, in which Brutus played a very central role.

The next day Sam waited in vain for Brutus' visit.

It was not until the following night, when Laila secretly stood by the open window in the dark and blew the smoke of her cigarette through the bars, that she heard the door squeaking over the linoleum.

She was so frightened that she burned her fingers at the butt.

"Shit," she swore and looked frantically to the door.

A huge shadow stood motionless in the moonlight.

Relieved, she groaned, "Brutus?"

He was with her in three quick steps and she casually assumed that he wore no uniform but blue jeans and a black shirt.

Laila flicked the cigarette through the bars.

"I thought you did not come anymore."

She pouted.

He put an arm around her waist, pulled her close and dug a hand into her thick hair.

He gently massaged her neck.

Laila looked up at him.

Her hands slid over his chest and upper arms.

She felt his huge muscles under the smooth fabric.

Before Laila could say anything, he closed her lips with a passionate kiss.

Maybe he had come to run away with her.

In hermind an idyllic scene took shape.

Freedom—Property - Family.

She sighed and urged her body against his.

She felt his fingers on her neck and shortly afterwards her shirt fell to the floor.

His strong arms lifted her and Laila wrapped her legs around his hips.

Slowly, he stepped over to the bed and carefully laid her on it.

He leaned over her.

His hands drew burning marks over her bare skin.

His hand went over the outside of her thigh to the knee.

Willingly she opened her legs and felt his hand brush up on the inside.

His fingers slid sideways into her panties and gently massaged her thumb.

She groaned and squirmed as he slid easily into her with one finger.

Laila moved her hips to the rhythm of his thrusting fingers.

She breathed faster and faster.

His fingers drove them unerringly to their climax.

As Laila twitched and writhed, he withdrew his hand and straightened up.

She reached out for him.

He casually knocked her aside and lit a cigarette.

Laila sat up irritated.

He tilted his head back and blew the smoke to the ceiling.

"You're perfectly healthy and functional. Tomorrow you'll be back in, scissors lady."

With these words he turned away and strolled to the door.

Laila stared at him incredulously.

Her mind was slow to understand what had happened.

She felt her hopes and dreams break with a painful tearing.

Back was hot anger.

On Brutus, who had deceived her so much and on herself that she had been so stupid.

She sprang off the bed, clasping her fingers tightly together, cracking both fists with a shrill scream on Brutus' bull's neck.

But he was too big for her to hurt him seriously.

Her fists landed between his shoulder blades, without even hesitating.

He lunged with predatory smoothness and grabbed Laila savagely by the neck, hands that had just been so gentle to her.

His grip felt like a vise.

Hard he hit her head against the wall.

Bright points danced in front of her eyes, she tried convulsively to breathe, the pressure on her throat was inexorable.

Despite her nakedness, she was determined to fight.

Too deep was her hatred for the man who had lied to trust her.

Laila clenched his fingers and thrust her hands where she suspected his face.

She missed him and he rammed his knee into her abdomen.

Laila was desperate for air.

She felt his breath on her face, his voice close to her ear.

"Forget it, scissors lady, you picked the wrong one for your games."

He released Laila , who sank to the floor, spitting and choking.

Again she heard the scratching of the door on the linoleum as he left the room.