Her hands on her face for modesty while he'd driven into her was of course too daunting. He'd laughed darkly when they hung tell tale. Adorable little whore. I will call you wicked however much I want. He'd be stern with Naella, sometimes, when she wanted to do inherently destructive things, like throw a tantrum or go outside when she was sick. The way Iris interpreted his sister's mouth was addictive. And for that hole to squeal, it made him mad with want. Kedrick wanted to believe. Her bleeding should have deterred him, but she was not his sister only, she was also his nymph. In combination, it was only right that they should make beautiful sounds.<br/><br/>When he carried her he was merry. He'd gotten to see Naella cry at the end of his passion, and Iris's devotion spoken into his ear. The memory of the day their mother had said he mustn't carry his sister like this anymore became fresh. It was too suggestive, she'd warned. Mother would doubtlessly have opinions now. The thing his flower said were a bit confusing, but he liked her tone.<br/><br/>Sometimes he had to wake up from this convenient dream, working and enjoying, but that was when her ears perked like some forest animals at danger, and she became sweeter, eclipsing his abused and dying remnants of conscience. How fast those things are forgotten when battered under an endless and willing indulgence. Men are made to self-destruct with their wants, and the world around them is built to hinder all those impulses, or filter them. But his nymph didn't keep anything from him. He'd slept soundly with fingers in the spring-lands underneath Naella's gown. He thought he might have been keen in his dreams, because when he woke another pair of his sister's oldest undergarments were torn and marked by Iris's willingness.<br/><br/>He sat up on his elbows quickly, landing his shoulders in hot sunlight, when his maid stood there. He wasn't suspicious long enough to be startled, but he was still amazed at the likeness. Manon had dreams of being highly educated once, whens he'd come to him with a leather bag on her shapely hip. Ambitious, she'd said, and promised him she wouldn't be working long, and would need this and that time off regularly. He'd liked her, and hadn't cared about her lack of experience. Perhaps she'd be a gust of youth and a casual friendship in the professional air his scouts like surround him in.<br/><br/>He'd been right, and the girl's growing competence had appealed to him, even though he wasn't usually in the city home. He'd felt bad for raising her salary and responsibilities to make her stay, and then paid off her loans so make her other career dreams seem less acute. She could have any life and success she wanted as his maid, he'd thought fleetingly, patting himself on the back every time she agreed to take on longer shifts, until her entire working day was pent in his house. In truth, if he counted her among his regrets, it wasn't such a big one. It didn't hurt that Manon had a streak of vanity about her uniform that made him think she wanted to be pretty for him.<br/><br/>Any other day he'd keep his entertaining scenarios to himself, during morning hot drinks. He'd rather not be distracted outwardly by someone who took his money, but thought about Manon quite often, since it was of little consequence, perhaps even expected, when she ran about doing her chores. Innocent scenes that couldn't happen, yes? And hadn't she stood up dates to make dinner preparations for him, from time to time? It was hard not to draw conclusions.<br/><br/>"I am hungry, yes." he said and sat up higher. He'd not seen Manon without clothes, but she took to the pool during her breaks in the summer, and Iris had made a very good guess on the maid's shapes. He reached out, toward the cherry blossom loosing it's notes, this was his nymph, after all, and he didn't even have to practice the restraint he did in his dreams. But the hand retreated before it could have a long longed for sample of Manon's offering. Iris had gone through the trouble. He should paly along, for however long he could stand it. How many times had he childishly thought this exact circumstance? He knew the different outcomes. The didn't all conclude here, in the sheets she'd made and cleaned.<br/><br/>Kedrick stood from be and circle around her, half a time, breathing I through his teeth. His morning rigor brushed one of her cheeks after having bumped her hip. He did not feel ashamed. "I knew you said my name that time." When I came home early, and you were sitting in my leather workchair, forehead on your forearm to the desk, and other hand hidden somewhere below with your shoulder dancing. He tried not to flatter himself so, but she'd wiped the chair clean by the time of his usual arrival. It was after a morning when he'd been in a foul mood, and treated her particularly stern, too.<br/><br/>He did, however, play out the more patient of his Manon files, and let her help him on with his suit. With some self-control he managed to fit into the tailored trousers, also, somehow. Iris did not need clothes, and it was a delicious, visual contrast in power between them, when he wore enough to speak to a boardroom, and she could hide nothing. He took his glass plate on the way out, he could make a few decisions even when playing. His company's rule was intuitive, for the simpler tasks. It was intentional, the way he trailed behind her, and his eyes saw through the clear plain and the text on the glass device to have a full view of her walking so matter-of-factly, to discover if she had the glisten of his nymph's dew or not. In a lapse in the character he was playing, Kedrick simply reached out to touch her between the shoulderblades, below her brown hair, and stroke downward until he could push the tip of her tailbone like a button. He took back composure after that.<br/><br/>He followed her into the kitchen to see what tricks she'd learned yesterday. Manon, on the morning he'd scolded her because of things that weren't at all her fault, had burnt his toast on the stove while cooking for him and then serving him right there on the island. He wondered if Iris would make similar mistakes for his benefit, or if this would truly just be a meal. He thought it'd be ungrateful of him to be disappointed, either way, but he'd like terribly to be terrible to his maid. In the past, when it happened, she'd always have such an undecided expression. He liked to think it was the ghost of her approval, but he'd never put it to the test.