hard hands

She stood and after a moment of fumbling, her pants fell in a heap around her ankles. I stroked the clay more forcefully. Shifting her weight, she pushed her shoes and slacks onto the floor with her feet. She collected her shirt and pants and shoes and purse and walked over to a bare spot on my table and left them there in a heap. I broke off a hunk of clay and began to roll it vigorously between my hard hands. With a sudden deft plie, she pushed her panties past her bare feet and deposited them atop the pile of clothes.

Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, personal, quotes, reading, short stories, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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