What man’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at seeing a grown, confident woman dressed in little girl clothes? It’s the fertile ground of fantasy.
I want to know what brought her here. Why did she settle on hand-to-hand combat as her choice of movement? Is she arming herself against the future? Fighting her past?
When I’d taken this assignment three months ago, he’d been just another client. All business. In. Out. Done.
At first, I’d found him awkward, almost uncomfortable in his own skin.
I realised with a shock that his awkwardness had morphed into the slippery slope of undeniable attraction.
Give me the right answer and I’ll tell you my name.
I stood next to the bed, shackled to him, and let my eyes wander across his sleeping form.
Over the last two weeks, I’d watched as he lived his life. Watched him play with his infant son. Watched him workout.
Watched as he made love to his wife.
A deep shudder of excitement rolled through me. So vulnerable. I could take anything I wanted from him and he wouldn’t be able to stop me.
Unable to resist and with nowhere else to go, I slid in next to him, pressing as much of my body against his as I could.
His hands found my waist, settled there. He pushed, guiding me down until I lay on top of him, our mouths almost touching.
He took my face in his hands, careful to be gentle where I hurt.
“Please don’t leave this time,” he whispered.
The rain is full of ghosts tonight.