Letha knows what she's doing.
She's being manipulative. She knows that Peter's uncertain, that given his preference, he'd choose Roman's dick up his ass before he'd choose her. But that's hardly her concern, because she wants Peter too, and Letha gets what she wants. Depending on who she wants it from dictates how it's played; when it's from her father, she's all big eyed innocence, playing on his memories of her as his little girl. When it's someone she wants to fuck, she's anything but innocent.
Letha never bought into that whole thing about how it's not okay for girls to be sexually aggressive. How else is she supposed to get what she wants if she doesn't take it, if she doesn't push, if she isn't making her desires known? She's doing more than just making them known, if she's honest. The conversation had turned from flirtatious to dangerous some few minutes before this, and now she's putting on a show of undoing her white silk blouse, red lace of her bra exposed as she shifts on the sofa beside him, bringing one long leg up beneath herself. She's crouched like the wolf he is, poised to strike, a predator herself, and she's shedding her lambskin disguise.
She recognizes that he's saying no, that he's trying to talk his way out of this, but she can also see that he wants to give in. He's so close to just letting it happen, and all she has to do is breathe hard against him and he'll fall off the edge, into this. He's as easy as anyone else is if you know where to press.
Her blouse falls away, and she uses the moment of the reveal to move onto him, swings a leg over his lap, her skirt inching up along her thighs as she settles in close, almost indecently so, but not quite.
"Have you fucked Roman?" it's not what you'd expect the half naked girl in your lap to ask, and she's watching him from behind thick lashes, drinking in every reaction, learning it so it can be added to her arsenal for the next time she needs to push more than he wants to bend. She shifts a little, then, thighs squeezing against his like she expects he'll buck her off like a horse she hasn't broken yet. The look in her eyes says she knows that Peter wants him, whether they've fucked or not. She knows he wants him, almost certainly more than he wants this, and that's alright, because he still has no idea what it is that she wants.
"I know you want him," she says, an interested, understanding smile curling the edges of her mouth, and she tilts her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, and then she's undressing Peter, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt.
She's being manipulative. She knows that Peter's uncertain, that given his preference, he'd choose Roman's dick up his ass before he'd choose her. But that's hardly her concern, because she wants Peter too, and Letha gets what she wants. Depending on who she wants it from dictates how it's played; when it's from her father, she's all big eyed innocence, playing on his memories of her as his little girl. When it's someone she wants to fuck, she's anything but innocent.
Letha never bought into that whole thing about how it's not okay for girls to be sexually aggressive. How else is she supposed to get what she wants if she doesn't take it, if she doesn't push, if she isn't making her desires known? She's doing more than just making them known, if she's honest. The conversation had turned from flirtatious to dangerous some few minutes before this, and now she's putting on a show of undoing her white silk blouse, red lace of her bra exposed as she shifts on the sofa beside him, bringing one long leg up beneath herself. She's crouched like the wolf he is, poised to strike, a predator herself, and she's shedding her lambskin disguise.
She recognizes that he's saying no, that he's trying to talk his way out of this, but she can also see that he wants to give in. He's so close to just letting it happen, and all she has to do is breathe hard against him and he'll fall off the edge, into this. He's as easy as anyone else is if you know where to press.
Her blouse falls away, and she uses the moment of the reveal to move onto him, swings a leg over his lap, her skirt inching up along her thighs as she settles in close, almost indecently so, but not quite.
"Have you fucked Roman?" it's not what you'd expect the half naked girl in your lap to ask, and she's watching him from behind thick lashes, drinking in every reaction, learning it so it can be added to her arsenal for the next time she needs to push more than he wants to bend. She shifts a little, then, thighs squeezing against his like she expects he'll buck her off like a horse she hasn't broken yet. The look in her eyes says she knows that Peter wants him, whether they've fucked or not. She knows he wants him, almost certainly more than he wants this, and that's alright, because he still has no idea what it is that she wants.
"I know you want him," she says, an interested, understanding smile curling the edges of her mouth, and she tilts her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, and then she's undressing Peter, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt.