spinny roses


The gentle hands on her breasts made her snarl.

So much was gentle about him. His kiss was expert and calm. His hands and tongue were the same, causing her to gasp and hate him at the same time. Those hands killed, she knew that. Why, then, were they so gentle in sex?

Why, then, did he take such pleasure in making her orgasm?

For the third time that night, she felt her body tighten as his fingers teased her clit just as his tongue teased her breasts. He seemed determined to make her exhausted and satisfied before even entering her and making the virginity question moot.

Why didn't he just hurt her? He killed her parents, so what stopped him from killing her as well? She wanted to put her hands around his neck and shake him, but the sudden removal of fingers and mouth made her whimper with need.

How dare he leave her at the edge like this. If his past actions weren't reason enough to kill him, then this would be more than enough!

He gently, still gently!, spread her legs far apart and slid up between them. His dark eyes looked at her, unsure. It was surprising, because she thought he would be sure about everything. He was certainly sure when she ambushed him and pressed her lips against his. It was funny to see him unsure about something as simple as vaginal sex.

But if he didn't make her orgasm any time soon, she was going to beat him with her entire toolbox.

He pushed into her slowly, watching her face carefully. She tried her best not to show her pain, but it hurt. No one told her it would hurt so much. She gulped, feeling her body tense greatly at the invasion.

Instead of pulling out, he reached down, fingers slick over her clit again. The sudden touch made her gasp and lose her tension briefly. He took the relaxation to push completely into her, his face a mask of concentration.

It burned, oh it burned. It was uncomfortable, and the friction burned so badly... but there was no way she was about to tell him to stop. It was her idea, and he would finish it. She laid there, feeling silly as he started to move inside of her. The uncomfortable feeling faded as long as she relaxed, and it felt pretty damn good if he shifted his hips just so, but it wasn't enough to bring her, and right then, she didn't really care.

His thrusts became harder and shallower as his breathing increased, then he stopped. She assumed he had come to orgasm himself, but she didn't really feel it.

Oh, but she hurt. Was that why he had her orgasm so many times before entering her? Because he knew it would hurt, and it was better to have it on the edge of such pleasure?

He slowly pulled out of her, exhausted, and looked down at her still form. He stroked her cheek, and she batted the hand away. It really didn't matter if he wanted her to feel good after all that.

He still killed her parents. He still drove the brothers hard and fast to find that damned Stone. He still didn't investigate the death of Major, no, Brigadier-General Hughes.

Winry still hated the Colonel.