"Serves 'em right for taking their sweet-ass time," he said, cheerfully using the vulgarity.<br/><br/>He stared down at the British girl,  who arrayed herself so winsomely upon the felt surface and returned his stare with a limpid, come-hither expression.  His penis was throbbing, responding to the squeeze by swelling and hardening.  He felt the chafing bite of the zipper, and so he spent a few moments carefully shifting and squirming, pushing his jeans downward, to pool and huddle around his knees.   That seemed a potential problem, so he momentarily lay down next to her, flipping over onto his back as he shoved and pushed at the denim, until finally the hated material was kicked free.   That, and the silk boxers he wore underneath, which were far less a problem than the pants.<br/><br/>Now naked from the waist down--actually, pretty much from the waist up, too, considering the fact that his shirt was ripped open, revealing only a polished, tapered tooth, almost like a fang, on a metal chain around his neck, the tattoo of the arctic scene barely visible beneath the shirt on his shoulder--he straddled her once more, and regarded her for a moment.<br/><br/>He curled his fingers around the top of her dress, his knuckles coincidentally (or perhaps not so much) brushing her breasts.  He did indeed tug down, intent on pulling the sheer fabric down her body and off.<br/><br/>