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Treatise Upon The Misconceptions of Narcissism

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Mwanandeke Kindembo

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“Lady Elspeth leaned forward to make her own selection from the tray of treats--- a confection of pink sugar roses atop a tiny cake. He watched, appalled, as Lady Elspeth ignored her fork and brought the cake to her lips with her fingers. Julian swallowed. What would the icing taste like licked from her fingers, sweet sugar and her? The thought was too sensual. Too tempting in every way.”

“You would do well to remember that you cannot physically stop a man from doing whatever he will with you. You need to be more careful." "Actually, I could've stopped you had I wished." She took a tiny but lethal-looking pistol from somewhere on her person and brandished it before his eyes. "But I didn't wish to prevent you from kissing me." Julian blinked and felt the foundations of his walls shake. She could have shot him. Could have intentionally wounded him or even killed him, and he would not have been able to prevent her. He had thought he was in control of their embrace, but in reality, it was she who had held the control all along. He closed his eyes--- for a second, only that--- and felt the thrill of the thought thrum through his body and harden his prick. Her control.”

“Except Lady Elspeth wasn't and never would be either discreet or reserved. She spun around his family and around London as if she were some fae queen, without worry or fear. As if she'd been reared far from everything he understood. As if she'd come from another, wilder world. Lady Elspeth burst into his awareness like the sun rising, bringing warmth and light, making his world iridescent with color. And what was worse, he couldn't find it in himself to condemn her brilliance. He liked her. She argued with him, made him question his own opinions, made him feel. He was anything but dead in her presence.”

“He could feel himself hardening. It was her certainty. Her calm acceptance that she was interested in such things. In sex. His cock jerked. He licked his lips. "And then?" "That depends." She smiled a secret smile. One that had been used by women ever since mankind had set foot on earth. "If I had a lover, I would tell him what I wanted." "Just like that?" he asked, his voice lowered. She nodded. "Just like that." "What if he didn't want what you want?" "Then he could say so, couldn't he?" She shrugged. "I suppose we wouldn't match. Wouldn't be compatible. In which case, I should have to find a man who was aroused by my needs." Her gaze dropped from his face, trailing slowly over his chest and belly to pause at the falls to his breeches. Where his cock strained to be released. She stared, and he'd never felt anything so erotic. Just her, frankly observing him. She must be able to see the outline of his erection even as it pulsed with new blood. His libido laid bare to her for as long she pleased. Every muscle in his body tensed, restrained, unable to move unless she said so. She sighed softly. "I'd search for a man who yearned for me and what I want. Who craved my touch. A man who put my pleasure above his own." Her gaze rose until she met his eyes. "Perhaps a man like you.”

“She'd never spoken so boldly in her life. Elspeth felt liquid warmth between her thighs as she watched Julian. It made her want to squirm. To press against herself. He was like a statue, a grave, beautiful Apollo, a god of music and poetry, who also held his sybil at Delphi jealously to his heart. Or so the myths said. But what if it was the other way around? What if the sybil, a mere mortal, drew the helpless god's powers to her and made him writhe in ecstasy as she proclaimed the future? Would that Apollo look like this just before he submitted to his oracle? Poised. Still. But almost quivering with strain?”

“She turned almost all the way around then and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed in the warmth of the fire, her pink lips curved sensuously, her hair falling like a red-gold waterfall over her shoulder. She might've been painted by Botticelli, a Venus emerging from the sea. "Yes, snails," she replied teasingly, oblivious to his thoughts. "Snails are delicious. One pokes them out of their shell with a little prick." He felt a tightening in his loins at the innocent remark. How could she not know the other meaning to the word? He muttered under his breath before he could censor himself, "I'd think a large prick would be preferred.”