"You bring it out in me," Ozymandias replied with a sly smile, to her question of insatiability. It was a glib, thoughtless response, because expending any thought on answering her would have meant examining the current situation more closely than he wanted to. He did want to fuck her again, and that wasn't usual. The reality was that he didn't think he'd have another chance, so felt pressured to make the most of whatever time they did have together. This liaison probably oughtn't to have happened at all, and although they'd found themselves here the moment still felt fragile. Maybe it was only some lingering sentiment from the abrupt ending of their last set of private moments. Maybe it was the half-lies he'd told himself about the intoxicating atmosphere of the performance being responsible for leading him this way. She had given no indication that she intended this to be an isolated incident — and to that point, neither had he, once he'd dropped the pretense of being aloof with her. Did he intend this to be an isolated incident? Did he have any articulate intentions at all at this point, or only vague feelings? It ought to have been inconsequential to cut the affair short; he'd saved his pride with his letter and their conversation at the opera, so he needed nothing from her now. He could have been anywhere else, with anyone else, and it would have been simpler, stabler. Yet here he was.
The glib, thoughtless response hadn't done its job; here he was thinking about it anyway. Very well, he might as well be honest with himself. He wanted her. It wasn't sexual, or at least not purely sexual. The sex was good, but he could get that elsewhere. He wanted to flirt with her backstage after her performances and send her little gifts. He wanted to be enchanted by her. He wanted to spend time thinking of new ways to seduce her.
Oz fondled her breast as he chewed the matter over, then used his other hand to reach for his glass. "I can't change my cologne all the time," he said, eyes on the whiskey. "My wife would notice sooner or later."
The glib, thoughtless response hadn't done its job; here he was thinking about it anyway. Very well, he might as well be honest with himself. He wanted her. It wasn't sexual, or at least not purely sexual. The sex was good, but he could get that elsewhere. He wanted to flirt with her backstage after her performances and send her little gifts. He wanted to be enchanted by her. He wanted to spend time thinking of new ways to seduce her.
Oz fondled her breast as he chewed the matter over, then used his other hand to reach for his glass. "I can't change my cologne all the time," he said, eyes on the whiskey. "My wife would notice sooner or later."
MJ is the light of my life <3