Felicia flushed from cheek to chest. The points of her nipples peaked through the silk of her robe. She put down her glass with a clatter and stood, turning toward the house. Fernando followed after her, back inside and up the grand staircase. His eyes bore into her from behind. When she snuck a glance back at him, she nearly missed her step. Clutching tighter to the banister than a drunk person should, she ascended mincingly the rest of the way.
By the time they reached the landing, she seemed out of breath. “It’s here,” she said faintly, leading him over to a door just down the hall.
Fernando stepped into the office ahead of her. She entered behind him and shut the door. There was a gleaming walnut desk before him. Beveled windows flanked it, overlooking the lavish gardens beyond. An amber decanter of whisky gleamed from a glass liquor cart. Shelves of gilt-lettered books glittered, mint condition. Unopened, unread.
Felicia walked over to the desk. She placed a hand to it as she turned back toward him. Her eyes were misted, glassy and dark. Even through the haze of the tequila, there was a simmer of heated intent. As Fernando approached the desk, she took hold of the sash of her kimono. She pulled loose the knot that bound it. The folds of her robe fell open, baring her from belly to breast. A tantalizing sliver that widened as she pushed herself up to sit on the desk.
Fernando drank in the sight of her—the sloping valley of her breasts, the dip of her stomach and the dark inverted triangle of her sex. He let her see in his eyes how much she inflamed him. He stepped between the spread of her legs. Trembling, she gripped the edge of the desk white-knuckled. She stared up at him in a quivering mix of want and trepidation. Pleading to him with her eyes, even as she offered herself up to him, that she wasn’t that sort of woman.
He leaned down, into her. Not quite touching her, but brushing close to her all the same. Shared breath, shared warmth. The dewy heat of her naked, prickled flesh eked into him. Scents of smoke and liquor and citrus. Floral notes of perfume and the headier musk that emanated from her, pore and slit.
The scant air between them teemed, vibrating with a current of anticipation, of primal urgency. Fernando slipped his arms through hers. She tensed, rapt and breathless. He felt behind her for the discarded silken sash. Drawing it forward, he drew back, making her gasp when he cinched it snug around her waist.
She sat staring after him as he circled around the desk. He opened the topmost drawer. A revolver lay glimmering within. From the inside pocket of his jacket, Fernando took out an envelope of bills and dropped it in beside the pistol. He closed the drawer with a snap.
As Fernando made for the door, Felicia scrambled down from the desk. Her bare feet pattered after him. As he turned the handle, she grasped him by the arm.
“Will I see you again?”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. Her dark hair was tousled, her lips damp and slightly parted. Her eyes were dilated, huge and wild. Her knotted kimono gaped down the middle, helplessly askew.
Fernando turned from her without speaking and left through the opened door.
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La Gorgona © CS Dark Fantasy