As Max's aggressive kiss pressed upon her, Diana found herself caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The intensity of the kiss, coupled with the deliberate restriction of airflow, hinted at Max's desire to assert dominance and inflict a form of punishment.
Yet, Diana was no stranger to the art of control. Trained like Max and Francisco, she understood the intricate dance of power that played out in their tumultuous connection.
Summoning her own strength, Diana attempted to push Max away, to break free from the punishing kiss. But Max's grip was firm, and the struggle for dominance continued. Diana, refusing to succumb to the perceived punishment, changed tactics. With a swift movement, she entwined her fingers in Max's hair, pulling him closer, and reciprocated the rough intensity of his kiss.
Diana took control of the moment.
Max groaned in response.
Rising from her seat, Diana positioned herself on Max's lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. The change in altitude altered the balance of power, and Max, momentarily caught off guard, gasped for breath.
Breaking the kiss, Max locked eyes with Diana. The room pulsed with the remnants of their intense exchange. Diana, now perched on his lap, took a deliberate breath, allowing a moment of respite.
Diana perched on Max's lap, their intimacy casting a spell that left her mind swirling with conflicting emotions.
Her mind swirled with the intimacy they had shared, but a resolute determination anchored her. She couldn't afford to show weakness; vulnerability was a luxury she couldn't afford in this intricate game.
As Diana wrestled with her conflicting emotions, she felt Max's fingers tenderly caressing her scalp. A shiver of pleasure coursed through her, momentarily clouding her resolve.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to savor the fleeting sensation.
At that moment of vulnerability, Diana contemplated pushing him away, regaining control. However, the gentle touch worked its magic, rendering her momentarily powerless.
It is hard for me.
She admitted to herself.
The physical closeness intensified, and Diana could feel the bulge beneath her becoming more pronounced. She bit her lip, suppressing the wildness that threatened to surface.
"Just f**king... let me bandage your wound."
Gathering her breath, she spoke with a voice laced with desire and determination.
**
Meanwhile, the other side in the mansion, Francisco tossed Hazel onto the bed, swiftly locking the door behind him. Hazel, caught off guard, emitted a low groan as she sank into the soft embrace of the bed. Propping herself up on her elbow, she glared at Francisco with a mix of defiance and intoxication.
In her subconscious state, Hazel mumbled, "How dare you? How dare you take me here?"
Francisco, his expression stern, began to loosen his tie with deliberate calmness. He responded in an equally composed tone, "Are you questioning me, girl? I am asking you, how dare you?"
Hazel, in her intoxicated state, flung a pillow toward Francisco, her actions a mixture of rebellion and confusion. She continued her tirade, "You didn't let me dance with him."
"I want to dance with him. Rafael, where are you?"
The room reverberated with Hazel's erratic behavior as she blabbered and hurled pillows at Francisco. Each pillow found its mark in his hands, but it was Hazel's repeated mention of Rafael that ignited a spark of anger within Francisco.
Why do you keep calling his name?
His jaw tightened as he approached Hazel.
At the edge of the bed, Francisco intercepted Hazel's drunken assault with the pillow. He deftly seized her wrists, pulling her hands toward him. A firm grip on her tousled hair forced her to face him, their lips now dangerously close.
Hazel, caught in the gravity of the moment, emitted a low groan, her dizzy eyes fixated on Francisco. Their proximity teetered on the precipice of a kiss, a delicate balance that could be disrupted with the slightest movement.
In a low murmur, Francisco stated, "I don't dance with a drunken lady."
Hazel responded with a drunken chuckle that gradually escalated into laughter. With a playful demeanor, she wrapped her hands around his neck, her gaze meeting his with a hazy intensity.
Through her laughter, she managed to utter, "You... you are so handsome too."
The compliment, though sincere, held a tinge of playful mockery. Hazel, in her intoxicated state, leaned closer to him in a seductive manner, her smirk adding to the enigmatic dance between them.
Her hand found its way to his chest, a teasing touch that elicited a chuckle from Francisco. Hazel, with an impish glint in her eyes, remarked, "Handsome, you actually don't know how to talk with a beautiful lady. You should not reject a beautiful lady like me."
Francisco, a glint of mischief in his narrowed eyes, began to slowly loosen Hazel's tousled hair. His voice, a low murmur, cut through the air, "Let's dance, Hazel."
Her eyes widened with a surprised smile as he abruptly pulled her down from the bed, his hands securely holding her waist.
The effects of Hazel's intoxication manifested as she struggled to maintain her balance, her steps faltering as she inadvertently stepped on Francisco's feet. Unfazed, Francisco tightened his grip on her waist, seemingly indifferent to her momentary imbalance. Hazel, a bit dizzy but wearing a blissful smile, held onto his shoulder.
As Francisco's fingers traced the contours of her bare back, Hazel closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation. He leaned over her, locking his gaze on her lips.
With a slow blink, Hazel opened her eyes just as Francisco twirled her around, pulling her back into his embrace. Hazel, caught in the whirlwind of the impromptu dance, grabbed his collar and buried her face against his neck.
Concern laced Hazel's words as she mumbled against his neck.
"Your hand? Your hand is so cold."
Francisco, his fingers still lingering on her back.
The room became a stage for their spontaneous dance, a dance that transcended the physical steps. Francisco, despite the coldness in his touch, embraced Hazel in a pace.