She hated him.  Hated his beautiful face.  Hated his unflinching eyes.  Hated the way he could speak volumes to her without uttering a single word.  Hated his hands, and their sense of entitlement to her body.  But mostly, she hated herself for allowing the pure pleasure of him.  Having him on her, in her, it seemed his very being had become an appendage.  She was never one to play the victim.  Though, as she sat up and rolled her now grass-stained dress down from her waist, she felt nothing less than one.  She did whenever he was within proximity.  Chlo stood up with a finality that was lost on him.  Dorian didn’t know it yet, but this was the last time.  Not by her own volition, but the last all the same. Continue Reading »

Why the fuck does he insist on breaking my balls? She let Pace continue to rant, but turned her attention back to her laptop, and zoomed in on the third bar of the hook.  There was no way she would be able to leave the studio before midnight.  This would be the second time she’d stood him up, but she simply wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until the track was absolutely flawless.  There was something off about four counts into baseline.  Poppy would need to go in with scalpel-like precision to get it right, and the last thing she needed was some bull— Continue Reading »

He’d lost track of how long he’d been silently watching her, a thick row of peppers a head higher than himself providing refuge. Although her back was to him and her posture was neutral, he could tell how unhappy she was with her present chore.  She ripped pepper after pepper from the thick stalks, and threw them into her basket with disregard.  He didn’t need to check his voicemail to know that the message left at 3am was from her. Most likely she was on the mainland when she called, out and about with her otur girlfriends.  She had a tendency to call him when she’d had at least 4 rounds.  He imagined the morning’s already 87 degrees only exasperated the ire of her hangover.

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