Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 2) - Sex Stories

Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 2)

... over me. I’d have stood there for him—shaking, shivering, and furious—until either he brought me back inside and warmed me up beside the fire, or with teeth chattering and lips blue, I collapsed in a head into the snow. It was, I suppose, neither wise nor harmless. But it was real. And so long as I was to survive at Lacoste, it was something I’d have to learn to bridle, or else embrace. If I didn’t, the sheer dissonance of it; the constant, quaking conflict would sooner or later implode upon me. I rubbed my eyes harder, trying to massage some measure of sense back into my head. “Miss me, Miss Foster?” I heard his voice, and I believe my heart stopped beating. He stood in the doorway, leaning loosely against the jam. My lips parted, but they didn’t answer. There was something about the look of him; he seemed at once brighter and darker than physics should permit, as if the contrast was cranked up in my retinas. He stepped closer. “Or aren’t you the type to pine?” I did what I could to feign a languid coolness, sitting up, and leaning my chin on one hand. “Honestly,” I raised my eyes, “I hardly noticed you were gone, Monsieur.” He smirked, “Be wise as you are cruel, milady.” I watched him wrap his hands over the edge of the footboard, and blushed. “Haven’t we heard enough from Hamlet, sir?” “The sonnets, actually,” he cocked his head, correcting me. “Perhaps you were thinking, I must be cruel, ” he leaned closer, “ only to be kind , Miss Foster.” I blushed deeper. I was. He ...

... was insufferably pretentious sometimes. I guess in that sense we made a half-decent match. He lowered his blue eyes, and smoothed the duvet with the flat of his palm, “Who was it?” I furrowed my forehead, confused; it took me a moment to realize that he meant my phone call. “A friend,” I breathed. “Mulgrave?” I raised a coy brow, but his eyes were still on the bedspread. “What if it was?” He stopped, and stared into me. I pushed hard to suppress my shudder. Whenever he looked at me like that, I had the distinct impression that he could see, if not the content of my thoughts, then at the very least their shadows, and color. He shook his head, “It wasn’t.” “No,” I admitted, “It was Marie.” “You’re tense. Did she say something to upset you?” I shifted, burning up beneath his gaze. “No,” I lied. “I think… I’m just adjusting to all of this.” “I am too,” he smirked, and stepped away, opening up a little cellaret in the corner, “You kept distracting me at work today. I nearly left in the middle of a meeting.” He set out two snifters, filling each with a splash of some noxious and unnamed spirit. “It’s a deadly temptation, Penny,” he turned back, “knowing right where you are at all hours.” He passed me a glass, and clinked his against it. “Your first day, Miss Foster,” his eyes flashed, “Seems we both survived.” I smirked. La nuit est encore jeune. I felt a sting the moment the stuff touched my tongue. It burned like brimstone. He smiled wryly, watching me as I struggled to swallow it. ...