Saturday, 12 March 2016

Martini at midnight

His voice was deep, the thick scottish curl in every vowel as he ordered his drink. His dark suit was cut to make the most of his long legs and wide shoulders and could not hide the muscles it covered, any more than he could hide the scar that ran along one cheek.
She stepped up, out of the shadows. She wore silk: the darkest midnight blue gown, down to the ground, split to the top of her thigh. Her sky high heels were like pincers but as he looked into the mirror and caught her eye in the reflection, she might have walked on air.
He said her name. Not the name she would have given, but her true name. She froze, her confidence knocked, and he lifted one eyebrow, noting. Without asking, he took her wrist in his hand and led her away from the bar.
Outside, the heat of the day was still playing in the couples that wandered the softly lit Mediterranean town. Music played, something low and sweet she hadn't heard before, that spoke to her heart. She turned to tell him, to ask him what it was, when, without warning, he swept her into her arms and crushed her mouth with his. Like a match to a flame, she felt her own fire set alight under his and as he started to break away, as he moved back, a slow smile already on his lips, she hurled herself at him, her hands in his hair, her body in his arms, her heart in his play.
She couldn't say which one of them led the way to the soft grassy hillock beside the bar any more than she could say which one of them unclasped her dress, or which one ripped his jacket away, or his shirt, but as her skin met his, as her hands clasped him and brought him to her, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of their love.
All around them, unseen, the little town played its usual song, but there, under the heavy, swollen moon,  it was just them. Guiding him to his back, she sat astride him. Her breasts shone like ebony in the pale light, her dress lay discarded on the grass, and she wore nothing but her high, high heels. He set his hands on her waist and lifted her up, teasing her, holding her over his cock, until neither of them could wait any longer.


  1. damn Ivy, you slay me. this is PERFECT, so many things that personally turn me on here...

  2. nice!
    this was a lovely one to finish up with, for me - for now. x