Summer Breeze

Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday

This week's words: docile, inflict, whimper

This scene has been bouncing around my head for a while now. It won't fit in with Madison's Avenue (or its sequel), but maybe the next book.

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Summer Breeze

It had been nine—no, ten—years since she had seen him. That glorious summer, when Fiona was at the cusp of womanhood, her heart filled with a yearning she didn’t yet recognize.

She had experienced her first kiss. Well, she considered it her first. She figured Tommy Woodrow’s sloppy open-mouthed spasms didn’t count.

Sam had held her face, looked deep into her eyes, until she felt her heart tip. When he lowered his lips to hers, she became weightless. He had tugged at her bottom lip, nipped hard enough to inflict the right amount of pain. She could still feel the tingle that spread through her.

He had pulled her against him, flattened her small breasts against his hard chest, crushed his mouth against hers. His tongue probed, teased. She remembered thinking that Tommy Woodrow didn’t kiss like this. And that her Catholic parents would be appalled to know their little girl wasn’t so docile.

Her body had responded instinctively. She had angled her head, snaked her arms up his back, bunched his shirt in her hands. She sighed when Sam whispered her name, groaned when his hand brushed her breast. Let out a pathetic whimper when he pinched a hungry nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

And she cried when he left the next day without saying goodbye.

Now he stood in the entrance to her studio—a converted two-car garage, re-wired to accommodate her tools. The secluded location meant the neighbours didn’t hear the clang of metal, the hiss of the welder, as she pieced together larger-than-life sculptures with salvaged scrap.

He leaned against the door jam, hands stuffed into worn jeans. A crisp white tee accented muscles now defined with age.

“You look good, Fi.” Sam’s deep, sleepy voice had need arrow straight to her belly and shoot down.

She could still feel his hands on her body, his mouth possessing hers. His warm breath against her ear as he whispered promises he never kept.

“So do you.”

Dammit. So do you.

Vile Bile

Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday

Today's words: devious / frown / venomous

I have a horrible cold. It is consuming me. So, why not write about it.

* * *

Vile Bile

I should have paid attention to the warning, but I chose to ignore the light tickle at the back of my throat. Now, venomous bile has meandered down my throat and lodged itself in my lungs.

My cough is wet and thick; my chest threatens to implode with every bark.

There are forty-two razor blades lodged in my throat. I frown in silence each time I swallow; moaning, I discovered, makes it worse.

My only solace is that I have managed to share this devious virus with my husband.

I shall not die alone.