Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Rapture

<  Independence

Slip Sliding Away  >

by J P Lundstrom

 

“Come back to bed,” I say.

He leans over for a kiss and laughs, his voice husky. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He is perfect—his eyes, his hair, the sensuous mouth that takes my breath away. He is beautiful—his beauty hidden to everyone but me by the suit.

“Yes,” I answer.

My hands inside his jacket, I am enveloped in his scent, a dangerous, exotic scent of faraway pine forests and him. I slide my hands along his shoulders and the jacket drops away.

My fingertips touch the perfect knot of his tie. Smiling, he unties the knot and drapes the creamy silk over my breasts.

The buttons of his shirt are child’s play, a game we play together until the shirt is shrugged off and thrown over a chair.

I unfasten the belt’s buckle, unzip the zipper and he lets me take the trousers, then he adds them to the collection on the chair.

He knows me—everything I like, everything that makes me fall apart in his arms. We move together, until I can no longer think. Nothing matters—not his work, his appointments, not his wife.

I only feel a universe of completion. I lie drugged, helpless, in love and watch him dress again. He kisses me, adjusts the tie, and slips on his jacket. 

 

published 5 March 2016