Re: The Pool
As he turned, the woman found that she had neither the ability nor the desire to suppress the gasp that escaped her lips. Before her was a picture of perfect tragedy, stretched out on the tile like some pale, gorgeous creature waiting to be slaughtered. It wasn’t right that he should hurt so. It made her chest ache terribly, way down under her sternum like some great beast wanted to break right out of her. And she wanted, oh, how she longed to set it free.
She could do naught but join him then, settling down onto the tile with her stocking-wrapped legs tucked delicately beneath her, the white lace darkening where it got wet. She watched, and after a few dozen thumps of that beast in her chest cavity, she reached out and brushed the pads of her fingers over his beautiful cheek. They came away sticky and red as her corset, and she sucked one into her mouth for a breathless moment. He tasted sad.
“Am I your catch?” She wondered aloud, wiping her remaining fingers off on the silk of her corset. She inhaled deeply, feeling her hunger for the smells that rose off the pool and tantalized her. She smelled the garden back home, and something sweet and musky that lingered on the edges of familiarity. She smelled chocolate, and ripe raspberries. She smelled passion, the scent of which lingered on her skin as she lay in the strong arms of a lover.