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She wore red this time, long, low-cut, and open on the sides. “I can only give you a half hour,” she said as she came in. “Your fat lieutenant Olson has me at seven-thirty.”
“Fuck Olson.”
“I thought you wanted to fuck me,” Candy said.
“Yes, and with only half an hour we should get started. I’m not paying for talk.”
“But that’s what girlfriends do,” Candy said, moving toward him and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “We talk.” She pulled his shirt tail free on one side and slowly circled around him, working his shirt free and tossing it on the floor. “And I have a new perfume, too,” she said, waving a scented wrist in front of his nose. “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” said Jack, “but-”
“And do you like this?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And this?”
“Very much so.”
“Mmm,” she said. “So talking isn’t bad.” She raised one hand to let down her hair and let it dance across him. “Why aren’t you undressing me?”
“Should I?”
“It’s up to you, Sailor John. You don’t know how many Johns I know, tell me your name?”
“J-, John,” said Jack.
“The clasps are on the other side, John,” Candy said. “That’s right.”
“You aren’t wearing-”
“Not on a Saturday, they’re too much trouble. How’s this?”
“Faster.”
“Harder?”
“Harder.”
“Mm,” she said again. “That’s good.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
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1 comment:
I didn't plan for this post to land on Valentine's day, but the irony is not lost on me.
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