“So…I’m here. Now what?”
I stroke the dust of hair on my chin, contemplating my next move.
She’s just like everyone else. She’s nothing special. Just a paycheck.
I chant it in my head over and over again until it becomes real. Or at least believable.
You’re full of shit. She’s more than that, and you know it. And you hate it.
“Take off your robe,” I say brusquely, trying to silence the voices in my head.
Allison hesitates, still riding the imaginary fence between the doorway and the actual room space. She pulls the robe around her tighter, the drawn satin revealing the curve of her hips. My mouth waters.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me, Ally.” My voice is softer than it should be. Probably softer than she deserves. “Take off your robe…please.”
She doesn’t fight, though I know she wants to. Instead, she takes a breath and clenches her eyes shut. Then slowly, almost painstakingly, her grip loosens on the pinched fabric. Light brown freckles adorn the top of her chest and shoulders. The contrast of those tiny sprinkles against her milky white skin, and that scarlet hair frosting her shoulders, reminds me of a red velvet cupcake. I lick my chops lazily, the urge to feast on her sweetness growing stronger and hotter.
When the robe slips over the bodice of her corset, my head and limbs become disjointed, and all sense of control begins to slip away. I can feel my legs aching to stand, and my hands burning to touch her. To trace the mosaic of cinnamon freckles blessed with the privilege of living on her creamy skin.
Allison looks down as the satin uncovers more of the lace cinching her breasts and waist as if she is seeing it for the very first time. Eyes wide with wonder, it’s as if she’s experiencing this practice in restraint with me, surprised with her own willpower.
The robe drops to the floor, unsheathing the embodiment of heaven in heels. Her lace bustier and panties are winter white, adorned with rose-pink detailing around the cups of her pert breasts. White stocking are hooked by a matching garter belt over long, toned legs.
She’s an angel. My angel with a halo of fire.
Against the bare walls and sparse furnishings, she looks out of place. A woman like her should be surrounded by beauty, immersed in all things soft and gentle.
Not cast into the darkness of tainted desire.
Our eyes find each other, and our mouths part, yet no words are said. There aren’t any. Just indefinable friction filling this space, the electricity so thick that even the surface of her skin seems to glow. She’s effervescent.
“Walk to me,” I command.
Allison takes a few shaky steps toward me before I halt her advances by raising my palm. “Stop.”
Hurt and confusion flashes across her face. “What?”
“Don’t just stalk over here like you’re walking the green mile. Exaggerate the sway of your hips; sashay to me. See how the heels elongate your legs and sculpt your calves? Give me time to appreciate that. Ok? Now, try again.”
She rolls her eyes before a steely determination settles in them. Head held high, she slowly takes a step forward, and something hot descends into my gut, leaving a scorching trail of lust down my spine. Another sinful step, those teal eyes locked on me like a seductive sniper, and the heat twists and radiates into my lap. A third step with those round luscious hips playing peek-a-boo from under the frilly lace of her panties, and I feel like my pants will burst into flames, causing me to jump to my feet and swiftly stride toward her.
I know Allison can read the desperation and urgency in my hungry eyes. I know she notices how my hand shakes as I reach out to tuck a lock of her strawberry mane behind her ear. Yet, no witty remark or snarky joke escapes her. Instead, she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and gently rakes her top teeth over it. Without even thinking, I slowly run my thumb along her mouth, coaxing out that tormenting lip. Ally releases it, and with it still glossy and glistening, my thumb trails her mouth once more.
There is nothing between us now but air, opportunity, and forgotten obligations. I don’t care about it any of it. With one hand gripping her back and the other tracing her lips, all the rules and boundaries just fall away.
To hell with the consequences.
I close my eyes, because touching her and seeing her is just too much to bear. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” I whisper. I don’t expect her to answer, or even hear me for that matter. But I want her to. I need her to.
The angel tumbles down to Earth into my own personal realm of lust, hedonism and shame. With eyes the color of the ocean and her halo of fire burning as bright as the desert sun, she speaks to me. And while she is raw and sullied, tainted by this beautiful hell, her words breathe life into the darkest, loneliest parts of me.