The bastards. The goddam knife-throwing fake-baby bastards. He hated them all the more for making him kill them.He looked back at the cabin. Girl was ...eeking out the door, fear plain on her face. He waved at her, and waved her back inside. No telling if these guys have friends, he thought. He retrieved his arrows, pushing them through, unscrewing the points, and then pulling the shafts back out. It was hard work, and gory. Pushing an arrow through skin and gristle and muscle is hard, almost. She swallowed, anxious breaths slipping past her lips.“Lift your hands over and behind your head,” he said.She did as she was told, raising and holding her bound hands at the back of her head, exposing herself fully to the man.While continuing to fix her with a wicked gaze, Ruslan’s long, slick tongue slipped out from behind his sharp grin. He gave his palm and fingers a good lick, then dipped his hand towards her exposed, smooth crotch.“First touch,” he said before cupping her snatch with his. I’m not a perfectionist, but it’s my opinion that excellence should be the standard. With perfection, the juice is JUST not worth the squeeze. My father’s standard is that McClain will always provide excellent results. And I want to prove to him that my crews can work at maximum efficiency, which is higher than what has been our standard, and still produce excellent results.”“But pressing too hard can lead to shoddy workmanship,” Ainsley said.“I assume you are familiar with Maxine Marshall,”. The heavier pressure and extremely slow speed make it impossibly enticing. You can barely wait to feel my hands slide over your full breasts. As the edge of my palms reach the initial swell of your breasts I stop. Your breath hitches in your throat. You thought I was going to continue. I return my hands to their starting spot. Repeat. Each time my hands slide just a little more over the swell of flesh until my hands are fully covering the breast and I can feel the hard button of nipple pressing.