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Wicked Wednesday #123 — Senses

Oscar adored Polly’s naked scent, the scent of her warmth as he looked at her soft curves over the bubbles of the glass of champagne she held. She smiled at him, and he touched the curve of her hip. He savored the sweetness of champagne on his tongue, the bubbles popping there and listened to the soft singsong of her voice as she looked up at him, almost splashing champagne on him. He aimlessly caressed her hip again, his hand slipping down a bit more than it should have. They had both been drinking, so he figured she might let it go.
She had taken off her stilettos which he always wondered how she always floated so gracefully above them, and never tottered. But she had taken them off, and rubbed each foot as she did.
His intuition told him he should be careful with a barefoot woman before him. Made him think of the last time he was at an art opening in Shanghai with a woman, the last time a beautiful barefoot woman was standing in front of him…
Polly was wearing a qipao she found in a local vintage store. It looked amazing on her, everything looked amazing on her and he found himself unable to look without touching her. She did not seem to mind, and even more she had a tendency to move into his touch that made him want to touch her in a bolder way each time.
His conversation on Skype with Eliza, her declaring that she now wanted an open relationship with Rafe and that she wanted to see him left him torn. Severine was not really as involved with him as she had been, because she felt that this open relationship meant that she would have a chance with Rafe and that was all she really wanted.
Oscar had never had a desire to be in open relationship, and even as much as he loved Eliza, it was hard for him to not still desire a woman who might want to be with just him.
Polly soft and warm in appearance and heart in front of him, was something that made him feel good in the moment. He felt something he had not felt for a long time, or at least something he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time.
He wanted Polly.
When he first met her he wanted her, but her rebuff made him think it was not the right thing. She clearly did not want to get any closer to him, and he felt it was the right thing since they were going to be working together.
But her glossy beauty was never lost on him, her hair that looked like she brushed it to the finest shine. Her voice was like honey, so sweet even when she ignored him. She talked to him until now only when she had to but her voice was honey, so sweet and made him do whatever she asked for. Her scent was amazing, the scent was like a fruit or flower that could be eaten. Her skin was softer than a cloud, he was sure and he could still taste strands of her perfumed hair from when she fell asleep in the car beside him heading to the airport.
Oscar was aroused just thinking about her, glad she was a bit tipsy because she would not notice how he felt.
“It was a good idea to come to this party and relax, but I guess you had to come when there are so many pictures of you on the walls of the gallery!” Polly declared.
“It is only two!” he protested looking into her eyes that looked up into his. “And if Fiona invited me, I had to come.”
Polly grinned at him, and raised her glass almost above her head to toast him.
It was as if she dangled that fruit or flower she smelled like to his mouth. He wanted to take a bite desperately, but he did not want to start something with her since they worked together, since they were both a bit inebriated and mostly because he did not trust his desire anymore.
But he wanted her, he wanted her so much he wanted to drag her by her glossy hair out of the gallery and fuck her in the closest corner, pulling apart her qipao and having his way with her until there were only remnants of her glossy beauty that was before him now.
He let his glass of champagne toast hers, and he spilled some on her. The scent of her champagne drenched, was almost more than he could bear.
But he was going to bear it, he was not going to let things get out of hand even though Polly was attacking his senses with all her glossiness.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

qipao via wikimedia

Wicked Wednesday #122 — Hate

Rafe hated that Eliza remained friends with Sandrine. He knew he could trust Sandrine with his life, but he was not as sure that he could trust that Eliza would not figure out one day that he had had many transgressions before Severine…including with Sandrine herself in the beginning of their relationship.
He had tried very hard to be only with Eliza, but it was just not natural to him. At first he thought he would be okay, but in an argument with Sandrine he fell apart.
“I told your new girlfriend as I am telling you, that you are not ever going to be faithful to her or anyone else. I did not even want it with you, and I could not keep you.”
The way she conceded, her eyes were wide but not moist. She just stared at him after she stated her truth.
He touched her face, and she put her hand over his. Being that close to her after she had been so honest, her soft scent that perfumed his thoughts even now. He remembered meeting her, being with her and he forgot everything in that moment. He wanted her. Sandrine was not yet friends with Eliza, so she had no problem letting him have her.
Even if he touched her now after all these years, it was like touching a live wire. But Sandrine did not want him now that she was friends with Eliza. She also did not think that what had happened that one time was anything to ruin her friendship with Eliza.
He lit a cigar in a bar where you could get away with that in New York City. Sandrine walked in, and he looked down at the table. They had made a conscious decision not to meet alone a long time ago, so when she summoned him he knew it was something serious.
The sound of her stilettos was the only sound he heard as she walked to the table, dulling out all the conversations and laughter about them. Dulling the sound of heavy glasses from hard drinks, there were not any elderflower or hibiscus cocktails here. Cigar in one hand, rye whiskey in the other was how he was armed as she sat down.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, felt the warmth flood where his lips touched her.
“Good to see you S,” he said.
“You sent Lizzie to me like a spy in the house of polyamorous love. You know Marcus has wanted to fuck her, if she wants a foursome are you prepared to handle that? What are you drinking?”
She picked up his whiskey and drained it, the heavy glass hitting the oak table with a thud.
Rafe set his cigar on the ashtray.
“I don’t make Eliza do anything. What I made her fuck this Oscar character? Marcus will have to get in line.”
“What did you do to her? She only wanted you, she was so in love with you and now she feels like she needs someone else? Of course you are fine with that, you probably waited to wear her down.”
Rafe ran his hand through his hair, then grabbed her wrist. Twisted her wedding band.
“Don’t you come in here preaching to me! What you think because you are married that you are some authority? Your marriage is open. If I came over to you and put my fingers in you, you’d lick your come off my fingers and be the same as you were when I was with you…and you know it.”
Sandrine laughed in his face, he let go of her hand.
“That’s all you have anymore isn’t it? You think you can hypnotize everyone with your dick, but that is all you are. A dick.”
She stood up, he stood up with her.
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m done.”
“You came all the way here to tell me I’m a dick?”
Sandrine put her hands to her chest as if for prayer.
“I am came here to meet a friend, but I do not know who you are anymore.”
The sound of her stilettos walking away from him was all he heard in the cigar bar.
He wasn’t sure who he was anymore either. What he wanted, what he was doing and he hated that Sandrine always called him out…
Correctly.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

whiskey via wikipedia

A Darker Flame: Ice

Elijah dreamt that he was in a snowstorm in the middle of the desert, he woke up and realized the air conditioning was on blowing on him that morning while he was still in Chile. Being stranded in the desert in the snow, represented that he knew that had been deserted. Getting dressed to meet Adora on a deserted island, he was not sure how he felt as he loaded his gun.
Adora was beautiful, and even though he was a scientist he was a geek in the way that many women found sexy. He knew that women were attracted to him, but he was married to science. But Adora was the most beautiful woman he had ever been with, and the most serious relationship that he had ever had. He never proposed to a woman before her.
Living with her was comfortable for him. He wanted to be with a partner who wanted someone who meant everything to them, and to be with someone who meant everything to him. Believing Adora loved him, that he was going to be happy with her forever made him feel invincible. But now, she made him feel like the cliché of a woman scorned. When he realized that she was seeing Didier, it was like a shot in the head. It was the worst pain that he could have imagined. If he had known that he would feel like this, he would have stayed married to his career.
It was freezing now again like it had been in his dream, because of a sudden surge of air from the air conditioning. Watching Adora cringing as she watched the enlarged words from her diary on the curtains, he remembered what it was like when he saw them for the first time. Words of love written by her for Didier. He had not wanted to believe about their kiss at the ball, but when he saw it on Elberta’s phone he had no choice but to believe. It angered him that Elberta had shown it to him, and he had dealt with her…but it was best that he knew.
Adora was dazed on the floor after he had hit her. He had not been raised to be like this with a woman, but she had brought him to this point. Right now, he was so many things that he had never imagined he would be. After he hit Adora and she fell back dazed, he went after Didier again. Without Adora’s screams, he punched him like a bag until his knuckles began to hurt. Adora crawled on the floor, her arms out like a snake. He stepped on her wrist, and she winced with pain.
When he first got there, he was thinking he was just going to scare them, but now that he had been there for awhile he was not sure what he was going to do.
He sat on the floor beside Adora, shivering and wondering what he was going to do next. How far he was going to have to go, how far he wanted to go…
Adora reached for his ankle, he jumped up and kicked her hand away.
“Don’t touch me!”
He waved her touch away like an insect, and caught his reflection in the mirror. A silhouette in black, he did not recognize himself. Elijah was unable to understand how he could be so hot with rage, and feel so cold inside…

Darker flames can be found here:

photo via google images

Wicked Wednesday #121 — White

Eliza made her way up the winding path,nto the literally white picket fence that led to Sandrine’s house. She always teased her friend about it, because behind the fence literally was the cliché.
Her friendship with Sandrine was not immediate, but it did come after she had been with Rafe for awhile and Sandrine met Marcus who would end up being her husband. At that point, it was possible and they were able to be very good friends.
“Bienvenue,” Sandrine hugged her in the beautiful way that she did, when she opened the door. She walked slowly away in her colorful kimono, two children had done nothing but enhance her curves. The way Marcus leered at her whenever they were in public, showed that he saw his wife as a very gorgeous and desirable woman. Even when Rafe was around her, it was clear that there had been a deep connection.
But Eliza was not that concerned about that, she just really needed to see her friend. Looking at her on the sofa, semi-sprawled looking like she was a model for a Matisse, she noticed how much she looked like Severine. Not exactly the same, but similar and not just because both of them were French. Eliza watched the blooming bud in her teacup turn into a little flower, and took a small sip to savor as the petals tickled her lips.
“So this is what you want now, after all?” Sandrine raised her eyebrow at her friend. “I mean I was even surprised about Oscar when you told me. Not so much about the other woman, I was never sure that Rafe was going to be able to be a one-woman man. When I told you that when we were broken up, it was not to be mean. I knew him, I knew what he was like.
“I think I knew deep down too, but I wanted to believe he could. When we had the accident, we were both so angry at each other. Ever since, every time I try to imagine life without him…I can’t.”
“You love him.”
Nodding into her cup, Eliza agreed silently. She had never stopped loving Rafe, she was not sure she would ever stop loving him. But at the same time, she knew she was not ever going to be able to forget Oscar or let him go. She had been in touch with him constantly since he had left New York. He was in Shanghai again, and that always made her feel wistful since that was where she realized that she loved him.
“So what do you want me to tell you?” Sandrine put her cup of tea down, and searched her face. “More about Rafe and me? How it works with Marcus and I? How can I help?”
“Using my name in vain again sweet wifey?”
Marcus walked into the living room, and Eliza drank her tea like shots.
Sandrine had particularly good taste in men, and her started-out-waiter-cum-actor husband was magnetic. Especially when he looked at Eliza the way he did, with the focus that he gave to everything. Eliza looked away from him, before licking her lips and smiling at him. When he swooped down to kiss her, she was afraid she was going to have an accident on their couch.
But now, now that she was opening up her relationship, was it so terrible that she had always been super attracted to her friend’s husband? Studying the two of them together, Eliza sipped at her empty teacup hoping for some moisture from the cool teabag…

More Wicked Wednesday here:

white picket fence via wikipedia

Wicked Wednesday #120 — Communication

Eliza stared at her ring. She remembered how she felt putting it on her finger for the first time. It looked alien, but everything it meant, meant everything to her.
Looking at her hand that covered Rafe’s, she never would have expected that… that after she saw him at the hotel with Oscar’s girl that they would ever talk again. That they would have a civilized conversation. That she would touch him again. But the lines of communication opened, and she realized oddly enough that she, they had come full circle.
When she first got together with Rafe, he was in an open relationship. He had agreed to be closed for their relationship, but clearly neither of them really wanted that. She had never expected that she would step outside of the relationship, but she had.
“Sandrine knew about you,” he said quietly, looking up from their hands to search her eyes. “Where I was most wrong, was not telling you what I was doing. That lack of communication was what caused everything I think.”
Eliza continued to look at her hand on top of his. At her ring, all the glints of light catching her eye.
“It was that I resented. I felt like you felt I had to compromise, and be everything you want because I made you be closed with me. I never thought I would want the same thing ever. To be with someone besides you.”
Rafe put his hand on top of hers.
“But I cannot imagine not being married to you Eliza, I cannot see a life before me that you are not part of.”
Eliza looked up at him, her eyes blurry from tears that wanted to fall down her face.
“I imagined you before you were mine,” she sniffled.
He rubbed her hand in pointed circles like he was zooming in on a target. His index finger caressed the diamond engagement ring he placed on her hand, making everything in her life involve him. It joined them without words. Because marriage was in the end only words, if you say the words and you are not committed it is just fraud.
She was never a fraud. If she had agreed to opening their relationship years ago she would have been, but now she was not. She was different, at least in a different place as a woman.
“The only thing is that if we open it up, we have to communicate. Communication is the main thing. That nothing is a secret. Because secrets close things up.” Rafe added as if he were giving a lecture in a hall.
Eliza nodded. Things had been closed around them for a long time. They were going to open everything up. Finally, and she believed they would be better on the other side of it all.
He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed the top of it, her knuckles and her ring.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

attraction ring by harry winston via harrywinston.com

Smut for Good: A Snog for Sommer

I feel very lucky to be a part of an amazing community of writers. Lucky not just because we all love to write erotica, but because we are all so full of heart and genuine caring. When one of us is in need, everyone cares and helps out. Sommer Marsden is in need…A Snog for Sommer was created.
When I first saw A Snog for Sommer posted online, I was not sure I could contribute because I really did not have a longer piece to steal a kiss from! Luckily, I was told I could contribute any kiss I’ve written. I realized that my contributions for Wicked Wednesday have become a bit of a serial, so I pulled my kiss from there.
You can get a ton of kisses from my fellow writers at A Snog for Sommer today! Sommer Marsden is donating a kiss as well. With all she is going through, she finds writing the most therapeutic thing…
So spread the word on social media, and donate if you can. Giving of yourself: your time, possessions or heart really is the most amazing thing you can do.
Okay time for a snog! And if you leave a comment, I will happily send you an anthology from my catalog. xoxo

“Looking for your fiance? He’s probably not going to come.”

“What do you mean?”

She was sure her eyes darkened like Rafe told her they did when she was mad at him. The stranger was taken off his game for a moment which pleased her.

“I mean I don’t think your fiance is going to come, and I think you are coming with me.”

He held her upper arm loosely, but his grip was firm nonetheless.

“My fiance–”

His finger on her mouth was soft, almost a caress, and she was lulled into silence. She knocked over her drink, and burned with embarrassment. When she looked up at the bartender, he waved her off and she got off the stool as she was being gestured to by this man who she did not know. Her heart was beating calmly, nothing about her was wild as he took her out of the bar.

They waited near the elevators, as he took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one, she shook her head but he kept the cigarettes extended until she took one.

“You are going to have a hard time with the obey part of the vows, aren’t you?”

“They do not have that in the vows anymore.”

“They should,” he said inhaling smoke.

Eliza raised her eyebrow at him as he lit a cigarette for her. She had stopped smoking a few years ago when she became domesticated, or rather when she started living with Rafe. But now the feeling of the cigarette in her mouth made her feel happy. Made her think of a time when she was free. It was almost as if she were that person again.

“You think so, huh?” she said blowing out her own cloud of smoke. “Does your wife obey you?”

He snorted.

“I’m not married. But if you vow to be with a man you should obey him, and he should protect you.”

Eliza inhaled and shook her head. She wondered if Rafe was looking for her now. It was a very dim thought in her head, she did not think it would be awful for him to wonder where his perfect fiancée was for a moment.

Perfect, perfect, that was what he said about her and what he expected. She did obey him, and he did protect her but it was hard to be perfect.

“My fiance is perfect,” Eliza said out loud what she was thinking.

“Then what are you doing out here with a stranger when he is looking for you?”

Shrugging and swinging her cigarette back with her arms, from her perfect black dress that Rafe loved her in so much, she declared.

“I am not perfect.”

He grabbed her and kissed her so hard she thought she would lose her breath. Her lips throbbed from his after he pulled away from her, and put his arm about her.

The elevator was right on time and they walked into it. It was mirrored all around and she could see every angle of their bodies.

He kissed her again, this time she was not out of breath but wanted more even as he gave it. When they pulled away this time, he lifted her chin so she looked up at him.

“Are you going to obey me?”

“I am not getting married to you,” she stuck out a her tongue with insouciance.

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photo via wikipedia

Wicked Wednesday #119 — Wrong Number

Severine sat on the plane moments before passengers were allowed on. There was a small meeting, as there was a new flight attendant, Barbara. Eleanora, her former nemesis cum co-worker had given her pause to stop thinking about her own life events. Apparently, Eleanora had been conducting an affair with one of the married pilots. Severine had noticed they seemed especially close, but figured it was because Eleanora was an exceptional flirt. But she had sexted him and sent the picture accidentally to his wife–his wife’s mobile was one number different than his. His wife was close with his bosses, and Eleanora was immeadiately terminated.
Severine could not say she was unhappy to see her go, as she got up to walk over to Barbara and start welcoming passengers onboard. As each passenger went by, she was reminded that Oscar was not going to be on the flight. It made her sad. She had not been on an airplane without him since they met.
New York had been everything she expected it to be. Seeing their previous lovers was a good thing, it made them not think heavily about what they were together. They could just be, and not hurt each other. He had dinner with her the night after she had spent the night with Rafe, asked her how she was.
As much as she had tried to resist Rafe, she broke down as soon as she saw him in the bathroom while she was out to dinner with Oscar. She fell apart and even as she broke down, she tried to have a semblance of togetherness.
But it was not there.
The first time they had sex, she tried to be blasé…but the next time when Rafe tugged at her hair and choked her the way she liked, she could no longer resist him. She kissed everything of him her lips could touch. Her lips went everywhere on him, but love she would not declare. She no longer believed in love, everything she knew of it was so easily broken. Love was a myth like unicorns, or maybe it had existed once like dodo birds. But for her it was nonexistent. Sex was another thing, sex was very much alive and well.
Ubiquitous.
When every passenger was accounted for, she closed the door of the aircraft bound for Paris. She was very happy to be working the flight, and going home. New York was lovely. Her English was lovelier too, though heavily accented. But Paris was home. There was no place like home, sitting in her favorite café and lingering forever over a coffee.
Though she knew that if she closed her eyes, she would remember Oscar sitting beside her…or if she looked down in her cup, a tear might escape for Rafe.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

photo by f dot leonora

Coming Undone With Kristina Lloyd!

I am really trying my best not to go all fan girl here, but I am a HUGE fan of Kristina Lloyd! I enjoyed Asking For Trouble followed by Darker Than Love so much, I trolled bookstores looking for her latest offerings. She is a superior writer, and writes the type of dark erotica I adore. Ironically enough, she is going to explore that dark decadence as part of her blog tour here. I am delighted to be a leg on her tour, in support of Undone…so without further ado, let’s come undone with Kristina!

Undone and dark erotica

The word “dark” is often applied to my erotica, both by others and myself. I like it, but sometimes I wonder what it means. Does it refer to boundary-pushing sex? Politically or morally problematic desires? Characters who are damaged? Troubled? In danger?

I’ve never written a character whose predilection for BDSM is a consequence of past abuses, and if I ever do, please revoke my writing privileges. Nor do I write about genuine trauma of the sort where Social Services should intervene. My characters however are frequently troubled by the relationship they’re developing, or the kind of sex they’re having. They’re anxious, conflicted, and they’re going to continue along the same dangerous path because they’re in the grip of an erotic compulsion.

“Dark” in the context of erotica suggests, I think, a book which allows readers to luxuriate in a story they might not want to fully experience in real life. To me, dark has a velvety quality. Interpretations are always going to be subjective and my second book, Asking for Trouble, is the one most likely to be rejected as “too dark” by some people. My third book, Split, is set in a puppet museum on the Yorkshire moors. I describe it as “Wuthering Heights with bondage”, and an eerie Gothicism informs the darkness in that book. The setting isn’t the most obvious choice for an erotic novel but I loved creating that disquieting, off-kilter atmosphere.

My fifth book, Undone, hits the shelves tomorrow, 11th September, and opens with the discovery of a body in a swimming pool. The dead man is Misha Morozov, one of two men my protagonist, Lana Greenwood, has just spent the night with. Lana owns a cocktail bar, The Blue Bar, and I had a great time building this bar in my imagination. Last week, I wrote about the inspiration behind Lana’s bar, and how I took the history of a small building in my town, Brighton, and gave it to my fictional bar. The building which inspired me was, I discovered, a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. I couldn’t leave such a detail out, especially in a narrative where my central character is haunted by a man’s death.

Here’s a short excerpt:

My vision for The Blue Bar came together when I learned the building had been a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. Inspired by that fact, I chose a Victorian Gothic aesthetic with a muted, background colour scheme of black, silver and cream. I wanted the room to look like a fucked-up fairy tale, an antechamber in a palace of seductive dangers forever under threat of forest vines encroaching from outside. I think I achieved my goal.

The walls are cream satin with a faint shimmer of fleur-de-lys, and a sleek, stuffed crow in a tall, glass dome watches over events with black, unseeing eyes. A row of booths opposite the bar in dark oak and upholstered black leather are customised church pews, now reminiscent of open compartments on a macabre pleasure train. I like to imagine they once carried satanic day trippers to and fro along the blasted wastelands of an apocalyptic beach.

I don’t make a big deal of the fact the bar is housed in a former chapel of rest. Sometimes, however, people enquire about the architectural features. Paradoxically, perhaps, given its potential for historic morbidity, the chapel’s stained-glass windows provide a sense of respite and tranquility. They were my starting point when I conceived of the bar’s design. The main windows, at the head of an alcove with a wooden, barrel-vault ceiling, are actually casement doors opening onto a small ironwork balcony. Directly above the two wings of the glass door is a matching stained-glass semi-circle, and the combined effect is of a saintly arch. The glass is formed of small leaded panes, a tiling of coloured squares. Daylight shines through the delicate blues, lilacs and the pale sea-greens, creating a hazy island of beatific calm that would have once fallen onto a gleaming casket or pasty-faced corpse.

That pool of soft, subaquatic light inspired the actual bar, a cubed LED counter inset with blue luminosity. The combination of enchanted gothic and industrial minimalism could have clashed horribly. Instead, the counter seems to hover like an uncertain mirage, echoing the stained-glass balcony doors and complementing the weird magic of the place.

I’d hoped to create a sense of the bar being a hub leading to other worlds. My table tops are clear glass while the chairs are reproduction Rococo in black velour and silver. I have an oval vintage mirror framed in cream and fixed at a wonky angle. It’s a looking glass Snow White might have peered into after one gin gimlet too many. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the drunkest of them all?

*

If you’d like to know more about Undone, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt, and check out the other stops on my Sexy September blog tour.

Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. Her novels are published by Black Lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. She lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone

When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she’s spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn’t know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game?

Amazon UK paperback :: Amazon UK Kindle :: Amazon US Kindle :: Amazon CA paperback :: Amazon CA Kindle

Sticky Note No. 8

So here is one from Paris…I could not resist writing from my table at a favorite café, and there were story ideas exploding all around me!

It was warmer in Paris than she had expected. She stopped in front of their café and she knew she looked good, because several men had paused to say “Bonjour,” while she was walking by. Getting out of the Parisian taxi, reminded her that she used to smoke and that she would resume as she always did in Paris. But sitting at the café in their corner, she was not thinking about cigarettes or anything else really…except him…

Wicked Wednesday #118 — Silence

Silence was what she wanted. Polly looked out of the car window, she did not want to talk to Oscar.
Probably she had already said too much.
When Oscar told her that she was mean to him, she was afraid that he would connect two and two quickly. They had both started working at the same time, and she thought he was beautiful. But she was determined not to get involved in the messy business of seeing a co-worker. It was perfect because neither did Oscar, which she had to admit she liked. She had no idea who he was involved with, and there were no messy rumors about him.
She was married to her job for the most part, having amassed enough to start buying the art that she normally sold. It made her very happy. The De Lempicka on her lap was actually something she could afford, but now her eyes were on something else that she was saving toward. The photographer that had taken the photograph of Oscar in the morning’s newspaper was an up and coming her eyes were on as well. She had captured a side of him she had never seen, she never got close to him.
She remained silent, turned away from Oscar to avoid any more slips. When she did turn for a second, she saw he looked out of the window as well. Traffic prevented them from really having any view, Polly feigned sleep so that she would not have to talk to him. She closed her eyes, thought about her upcomong trip to Shanghai where she and Oscar would be going soon again. They had been in so many countries together since they had started working together. So many things, that if they were friendly it would have been nice to share. But they were not anything.
Her last trip to Shanghai was followed by returning to her penthouse, and the man she was seeing telling her her job took up too much of her time. He needed to be with someone who would have more time for him.
It pissed her off that in the twenty-first century, she would have a breakup over something like that. Women did not even need men anymore, the problem was she wanted one. She loved the feeling of a man touching her, being close to her. The hardness of his body versus the softness of hers, the feeling of being full and conquered when he was inside her.
Her thoughts drifted to the last time a man made her feel like that. The next thing she knew the scent of roses was replaced by clean linen, she started roughly. She half covered Oscar, her hair in her mouth damp from drool. She was almost hysterical as she pushed at his hard chest.
“I’m sorry!”
The silence was broken. He smiled, as he shrugged. Polly stared at him, as he looked out of the window again. She realized that this self-inflicted war she was having was trite. There was no reason why she was this way with him, when he really was never any particular way with her.
“You fell asleep but you had a death grip on the De Lempicka. I was never afraid that you would drop it!”
“This De Lempicka, I could buy if I wanted. But, well, I am not going to. This is a small one, but still lovely.”
“You know I really meant it Polly that you are amazing at what you do. I was wrong to insinuate anything else…”
Polly wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. She was less embarassed about it than she would have been, since he was so blase about it. She saw the moisture in his suit, trailing where she had been lying against him.
“My entire life has been very competitive. But after you drool on someone, you kind of lose your edge, don’t you?”
Polly laughed at her own joke, and Oscar laughed too.
Polly held the De Lempicka and her principles tightly. She could be friendly with Oscar, male and female colleagues could be cordial.
When they arrived at their destination, Polly walked out of the car in her impossibly high stilettos. She herself was a little less impossible to access as she followed Oscar.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

detail of a tamara de lempicka by f dot leonora