Flash fiction - second person, present tense. You watch as he puts the parcel down. Why there you think? It belongs on the table, not on the chair. You wonder why he does things that way. Its not right you think, putting packages on chairs. Just a bit off you think, just a bit incorrect. You want to make a remark, say something like chairs are for sitting not storage but he just looks right through you with his juicy greenish-blue, heterochromous eyes and he has you even before you open your mouth to utter a word. My darling is all he says and you melt a teeny bit as you fall under the spell of his Knightsbridge Cockney momentarily overlooking the package sitting quite improperly on the chair; forgetting that you wanted to chide him about his indiscretion. By the time you catch your breath and gather yourself he scoops you into his long arms and you find your head resting against his sonorous chest. Lub dub, lub dub you hear and the smell Attimo Pour Homme draws you away from your thoughts of the parcel listing on the edge of the chair. You want to pull away and point out that the contents of any bag should be sorted and put away immediately but he strokes your hair and plants kisses between the strands. Your scalp tingles with each touch of his lips and your mind drifts a bit as you feel his pecs beneath his soft white shirt. You remember running your hands over his smooth almost hairless upper torso and hearing him say my darling in his Knightsbridge Cockney as his aura melted into your skin holding you as a divine hostage. You catch yourself as you spot the parcel out of the corner of your eye and you start to say that it will fall from the chair and everything will spill out onto the floor but he tilts your head back and seals the words in your throat with a kiss. He parts your lips to make way for his gentle probing tongue. A vision of the bag strays through your minds eye as your tongue unwittingly melds to his in glorious harmony. His manfulness unfolds and you feel it grow against your belly climbing towards your breasts. Your arms and hands grasp his lovely bum instead of reaching for the falling parcel pulling yourself into his essence. My darling he says as he waltzes you off to the bedroom and the bag tumbles spilling its contents all over the floor. ©kcasady2014
Posted on: Sat, 11 Oct 2014 23:03:48 +0000