Seducing the Saint (Melissa Schroeder in Charming the Snake) – Chapter Four

Where we left off in the last chapter: Libby of the Weird Name was seducing Brady-the-Asshole by bending over in front of the fridge to look for something to eat.

Liquid heat poured through her. Brady could always do that with just a touch. A word. The man had some secret skill for seduction. He never had to work hard when it came to her. [Well, does he have a secret skill or is she keeling over really quickly?] She tried her best to shake her head, clear her thoughts. But the rising tide of arousal swept over her, through her, and she felt her control slipping. From their history, she knew she was helpless to resist once she started going under. He murmured something against her skin. She couldn’t understand the words, but the sound of his voice, low and unmistakably aroused, danced down her spine. [Tapdancing? Breakdance? No… it must be virile Flamenco…]
(… he puts his hand inside her trousers…)
“Hmm.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, and his heated whisper shook her to her core. “I think I’m right. Never knew a woman who got so wet so fast.” [You know what? Don’t compare me to other women? Kthnx…]

Brady-the-asshole closes the fridge door and pushes her against it.

Without taking his gaze from hers, he slowly unbuttoned her shirt. He was challenging her, daring her to say no. She choked on the denial she wanted to throw in his face. [We haven’t really left rape territory, I see… is there no good sex to be had just like that?] She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want this anymore. Need this anymore. Unfortunately, throughout everything, every problem they’d had, every disagreement, sex had never been a major issue. Most of their fights had been foreplay. Dysfunctional as it was, they’d usually had some of the best sex after those arguments. [So, just because the sex is good, you can’t say no, even though you want to? What kind of logic is that? Sex, arousal, that doesn’t paralyse your tongue (and thank god for that). Just say no… Although, with Brady-the-asshole, I’m not sure it would help either way.]

So, he starts touching her nipples, which almost makes her faint – “So sensitive”. He stays with her breasts for a while, then goes down on his knees:

“Ahh, Libby, you smell so good.” He licked her cunt. “Hot, aroused, mine.” [Excuse me? Apart from the obvious “I’m not yours, fuck you!” – how does one smell “hot”?] The last was said with such force, she opened her mouth to argue. [Damn right you should!] But her argument turned into a moan [Oh yeah, forgot… your tongue’s still paralysed.] when his [his moan?] slid his tongue between her folds. Over and over he tasted her. He kept one hand braced on her ass while he slid his finger into her. His tongue brushed against her clit, sending another jolt through her. As her muscles tensed, she felt another gush of liquid [a whole gush?], and Brady made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. [No, I think that’s the sound of him drowning.]

Well, she has her first orgasm (yes, first. You know as well as I do that sex always ends in multiple orgasms) and Brady tears off his pants.

When he finally popped the last button, his erection sprang free. [You know what mental picture I have here? I see his dick jumping from his body and running away, much like the Gingerbread Man.] She reached out and encircled the tip of it with her hand. A drip of pre-cum wet the head, and she licked her lips. Brady let out a strained chuckle.
“Don’t even think of it, lass. I want to be inside you.” [Don’t you dare giving me a blow job. I know that it’s much more fun for you than for me, but right now, I’m being selfish.]

So, he enters her, of course without a condom or something, because, hey, who needs that shit? [Look, I know, fiction and all, but seriously, if the use of condoms is never mentioned, people will never get used to it. So, I’ll keep on insisting.]

“Look at me, Libby.” She met his gaze and sucked in a breath at the uncontrolled passion, the fires she had unleashed. [Oh my… a bit of overused metaphor, anyone?] As he held her gaze, he entered her, inch by excruciating inch. Her lungs seized at the feelings she saw in his eyes. [What do her lungs to? Does she mean seized like having a seizure? Or more like seize the day?] The passion, the tenderness, the undisguised lust — all of them scared the hell out of her. She needed to ignore that and lose herself in the sexual release [Why?], but he must have seen her panic, her fear.
“Don’t close your eyes, Libby. Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart.” Without thought, she responded to his commands. [Like all the other times in the book. Seriously, has she ever done anything else than do what he told her to?] Slowly, he began to move. All the delicious warmth built, her muscles began to tense, and she knew she was on the verge of another orgasm. “Aye, that’s it, lass. [Don’t forget his Irish accent! Unfortunately, Ms. Schroeder obviously doesn’t know how to show that it’s Irish other than writing aye and lass…] Oh, damn, you feel so good.”
She tangled her hands in the hair on the back of his head [ouch] and brought his mouth to hers. He tasted the same — decadent, forbidden, delicious. [The same as what? And wouldn’t he taste like her cunt, seeing as he just almost drowned while licking her? Oh, maybe that’s what she means.] Taking his tongue in her mouth, she mimicked his motions, [what motions? I mean, does she mimick the way he moves his hips? Which must be a kind of weird kiss…] and felt no small sense of triumph when his eyes slid closed.

And then they come together, collapse on the couch and fall asleep.


When Brady-the-Asshole wakes up, he can’t remember, who the woman lying on top of him is. Until she says his name.

Oh, God, Libby. Licking his lips, he could still taste her there. He knew he shouldn’t have acted on his impulse, but the woman had always pushed his buttons. Didn’t matter what the hell the situation was, he was always ready to slide into her for a nice, long fuck.

This paragraph just strengthens my rape impression, don’t you think? Now, we’ve got the old “I couldn’t help myself, she was asking for it, she shouldn’t have dressed like that, she shouldn’t have bend over”, in short, the blaming the victim vocabulary. And “didn’t matter what the hell the situation was” also includes the situation, where she says “no”, doesn’t it?

Over six years. Six fucking years, and it took less than twenty-four hours before she made him lose control. [Yes, she made him lose control, by opening the refrigerator. Damn seductress! He didn’t lose control. She made him lose it.] And dammit, he couldn’t go through it again. He was enough of a man to admit he’d almost fallen apart when she left last time. He’d hidden it behind women, booze, and extravagant exploits, but he knew deep down that no matter what, she’d taken a piece of him, a piece of his heart, with her. [Oh, the poor guy, who just acts like an asshole, because a woman broke his heart. Because it’s always the woman’s fault. Men are never responsible.]

The board computer is beeping, announcing their arrival at Dranrick station. Both are disappointed that there won’t be a second round.

He sighed, knowing they needed to find her father before they could even think about sorting out what was between them.
But to make sure he kept her on her toes, he raised his hand and brought it down on her rump. She squealed and wiggled some more.
“Dammit, Brady, that hurt.” She rubbed her ass and he laughed.

Do I really need to spell it out? Well, I might as well: He. Just. HIT. Her. To. Keep. Her. On. Her. Toes.
So she will never forget to bring the dinner at the right time and at the right temperature. And so that she will always do what he tells her to do. If not, he will hit her some more. Only for her benefit, of course. Because she needs to stay on her toes. It’s good for her brains. Or something.

And after hitting her, he laughs about it. And calls her a “pansy ass”. Because a woman needs to know how to handle a little bit of beating. For her own well-being. For her own growth. To make her stronger.

Excuse me, I’m going to be sick.

While I go and barf, Libby and Brady-the-Raping-and-Beating-Asshole start to get dressed, because they don’t want to be the talk of town by arriving naked.


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