She was curled up like a creamy, creased, out-of-shape ball underneath the sheets. Her feet tucked under her buttocks, her hands interlocked between her thighs. The night air was cold as she waited for him.
He was in the bathroom, making those regular bathroom noises: running water, toothbrush falling in the sink, the dull thudding and scraping of jars and bottles being moved across the marble topped sink.
She lay on the soft pillow, eyes wide open, thoughts randomly jumping into her conscious mind. The first few moments were nerve racking. Always doubts. Always fears. But he seemed nice enough. Nice abs, nice ass. He was as good looking as they come, with handsomely dark hair and deep-set eyes. Clean skin, no tattoos. Tattoos bothered her, broke the pattern on nice soft skin, on nice soft tanned skin. She always liked them tanned a toasty brown, especially in the cold months when everyone else was office-pale, unable to sun themselves on rooftops or the windy beaches. Tan skin always gave off warmth that she seemed to absorb into her own pale body.
10:33 AM | |
