Bespectacled drabble
A little late for this challenge, and I seem to have taken the obvious road and turned it smutty. :)
Title: A Serenity Precedes My Love
Author: Aussie
Rated: Mild M, I guess
(300) word drabble
I find Laura curled up in her room's brown leather chair. She is reading, her glasses perched low on her nose.
I stare across at her, mesmerised by her skin.
The pale skin of her cleavage peeking out from her loosely tied white robe.
The skin of her seemingly endless legs; the robe’s scant hem leaves little to my imagination.
And the skin of her scalp.
The President owns a wig. Laura isn’t interested in wearing it. And now the blue headscarf is gone too.
Ignoring the spasm in my heart, I gesture towards her book. “You started a new one? Without me?”
She smiles and points to the book I have clutched under my arm. “You brought a new one too?”
“Yeah.”
“So, who gets to go first?” she asks throatily.
“Usually a gentleman insists on ladies first.”
She giggles softly, but I’m distracted again by her skin. This time the tantalising glimpse of her collarbone the robe offers as she rearranges herself slightly in the chair.
So, she begins to read aloud.
I don’t hear a word.
Her leg hitches higher and I see even more skin.
Without really thinking, I kneel down before her and untie the robe.
She keeps reading.
I push the robe off her shoulders.
The only thing on her skin now is her glasses and my gaze.
I begin to explore with my hands and my mouth. Her skin is dimpled and bruised and inflamed in areas. I adore every imperfection. She’s still standing, still alive, still here with me. She’s perfect.
I gently finger the delicate skin of her scalp last before removing her glasses.
“Come on, the rack,” I order gruffly.
I climb in first, opening my book to the place I’d bookmarked earlier.
“My turn,” I say, donning my glasses.
Title: A Serenity Precedes My Love
Author: Aussie
Rated: Mild M, I guess
(300) word drabble
I find Laura curled up in her room's brown leather chair. She is reading, her glasses perched low on her nose.
I stare across at her, mesmerised by her skin.
The pale skin of her cleavage peeking out from her loosely tied white robe.
The skin of her seemingly endless legs; the robe’s scant hem leaves little to my imagination.
And the skin of her scalp.
The President owns a wig. Laura isn’t interested in wearing it. And now the blue headscarf is gone too.
Ignoring the spasm in my heart, I gesture towards her book. “You started a new one? Without me?”
She smiles and points to the book I have clutched under my arm. “You brought a new one too?”
“Yeah.”
“So, who gets to go first?” she asks throatily.
“Usually a gentleman insists on ladies first.”
She giggles softly, but I’m distracted again by her skin. This time the tantalising glimpse of her collarbone the robe offers as she rearranges herself slightly in the chair.
So, she begins to read aloud.
I don’t hear a word.
Her leg hitches higher and I see even more skin.
Without really thinking, I kneel down before her and untie the robe.
She keeps reading.
I push the robe off her shoulders.
The only thing on her skin now is her glasses and my gaze.
I begin to explore with my hands and my mouth. Her skin is dimpled and bruised and inflamed in areas. I adore every imperfection. She’s still standing, still alive, still here with me. She’s perfect.
I gently finger the delicate skin of her scalp last before removing her glasses.
“Come on, the rack,” I order gruffly.
I climb in first, opening my book to the place I’d bookmarked earlier.
“My turn,” I say, donning my glasses.