Rainyday
17-04-2013, 04:30 PM
"Oh! Mary."
"I startled you."
"You... I... I didn't hear you come in. "
The long thin shadows of her slender legs stretched out in the doorway, pausing before crossing the studio, her slight but graceful sway accentuated by the snap of her red heels on the floor. Her Chanel fell into the frayed blue lap of a worn armchair in the corner. The door swung shut again and the bright and bustle of the Tiong Bahru afternoon outside retreated with it.
"I... You... We... We are supposed to be over."
Supposed. But he knew she didn't know the meaning of the word. Goddamnit. He chewed on his lower lip. She noticed his new project, a mess of photo prints haphazardly stuck over the far wall. A project he fell into with much zest and exasperation the last week. The week since they were supposed to be over. Her chestnut eyes followed the trail down the wall, but she might as well have pinched a nerve. A pang shot up from somewhere, a knee jerk defensiveness he knew well. What right did she have to walk right back in, and presume to look over his innermost core, his creative heart. The incomplete, lacking face of which she had discarded the right to be privy to. And yet here she was, reading his mind, with all its private and unadorned imperfections, as flippantly as a bus stop poster.
"You've been busy Hong."
"It's not ready, they're just studies." The quiver in his voice betrayed his discomfort, even if she didn't notice him scratching his stubble impatiently. "But more importantly, why are you here?"
That brought her attention back to him.
"To bring you a gift, why the cold shoulder?"
Her brown eyes, lustrous in the dimness, met his own black ones with a wilful cock of her head. It sent a ripple through the polished mahogany of her unbound hair, distracting him but it drew him in unwillingly all the same. Now his eyes moved with a will of their own. God I've always loved her hair. How it fell past her shoulders with a lascivious fullness when her head arched with ecstasy, how it ran like silk through the caress of his fingers but tightened like cords in his grip in his moment of coming. And how its light sensual fragrance lingered on the sheets, the pillows, his inner thighs the next morning.
And now her loose curls hung down to a point on her full breasts, somewhere above her nipples - where the point of a small dark box rested as she rocked it slowly between her manicured fingers. She knew full well how his gaze would wander over her body, and how to toy him to distraction. Always a step ahead.
"I startled you."
"You... I... I didn't hear you come in. "
The long thin shadows of her slender legs stretched out in the doorway, pausing before crossing the studio, her slight but graceful sway accentuated by the snap of her red heels on the floor. Her Chanel fell into the frayed blue lap of a worn armchair in the corner. The door swung shut again and the bright and bustle of the Tiong Bahru afternoon outside retreated with it.
"I... You... We... We are supposed to be over."
Supposed. But he knew she didn't know the meaning of the word. Goddamnit. He chewed on his lower lip. She noticed his new project, a mess of photo prints haphazardly stuck over the far wall. A project he fell into with much zest and exasperation the last week. The week since they were supposed to be over. Her chestnut eyes followed the trail down the wall, but she might as well have pinched a nerve. A pang shot up from somewhere, a knee jerk defensiveness he knew well. What right did she have to walk right back in, and presume to look over his innermost core, his creative heart. The incomplete, lacking face of which she had discarded the right to be privy to. And yet here she was, reading his mind, with all its private and unadorned imperfections, as flippantly as a bus stop poster.
"You've been busy Hong."
"It's not ready, they're just studies." The quiver in his voice betrayed his discomfort, even if she didn't notice him scratching his stubble impatiently. "But more importantly, why are you here?"
That brought her attention back to him.
"To bring you a gift, why the cold shoulder?"
Her brown eyes, lustrous in the dimness, met his own black ones with a wilful cock of her head. It sent a ripple through the polished mahogany of her unbound hair, distracting him but it drew him in unwillingly all the same. Now his eyes moved with a will of their own. God I've always loved her hair. How it fell past her shoulders with a lascivious fullness when her head arched with ecstasy, how it ran like silk through the caress of his fingers but tightened like cords in his grip in his moment of coming. And how its light sensual fragrance lingered on the sheets, the pillows, his inner thighs the next morning.
And now her loose curls hung down to a point on her full breasts, somewhere above her nipples - where the point of a small dark box rested as she rocked it slowly between her manicured fingers. She knew full well how his gaze would wander over her body, and how to toy him to distraction. Always a step ahead.