Re: The Pool
It was remarkable, to say the least, that the woman did not let loose with a coy little purr as she flourished beneath his tungsten gaze. She couldn’t read it so easily as the she did with the other men; he didn’t seem one to swagger or bluster, and she had a hollow certainty in the pit of her stomach that she would not mind if he put his tainted hands all over her thighs and opened wide.
A flicker, when eyes shaded like coal darted to the water’s surface and followed the swooping curlicues of black that couldn’t decide if they were made of liquid or air. “I would belong to everyone, as much as I belong to no one,” she countered dreamily, pouting the perfect cupid’s bow of her mouth when she turned back to face him. “It is my curse.”
Desire had many shades, and this particular specimen seemed to flutter between dark burgundy-wines and crimson accents that would complement the tracked tears on his face, if only given the chance. She was pleasure, fair enough, but more important was the greed of her want. It was need, and it festered around the wound that beat inside her chest. It was a thing that drove the woman to train her eyes on the boy as he stood and made his way around her perch at the edge of the pool, and it made her disregard any misgivings so that she accepted the offer of his hand. Ignoring the swell of emotion that screamed up inside her chest. Waves of it, something that crashed around her heart like a tiny house full of thick-walled rooms, pounding on the muscles that held her ribs in place.
She allowed herself to be tugged upright and there she teetered on the tiled edge, mere inches away from this stranger who bled pearly-scarlet tears. “I’ll pull you under,” she murmured, and it was as much a warning as a threat. Then she pushed off from the place where her stockinged toes curled over the water and gave his hand a tug.