can you tell me what you want yet?

The high-rise apartment block was just that, high. It made her uncomfortable, and she sat on the faded carpet, leaning out the glass sliding door, cigarette dangling.
He was outside, over the ledge, cigarette almost down to the filter, and breathing in the cold air to take the salt in with his nicotine.
She stared up at his back, taking the moment of non conversation to her heart, and stared at his back. It was firm, and brown, but lacking the definition it once had held. Splatters of sun marks & freckles paraded down his spine, and peach fuzz danced across the waistband of his lowered jeans. He had pulled them on hastily, underwear still on the bed somewhere above her, and she could see the exact spot she liked to stroke at night.
It was moments like this, the quiet, the salt, the buzz of traffic way down below, that she thought she’d like to stay a little longer.
She still couldn’t make up her mind, and he was growing impatient.


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3 Comments to “can you tell me what you want yet?”

  1. ree says:

    beautiful piece of writing. Transporting and sensorily vivid. Thanks for that x

  2. Sir Richard says:

    Glorious, Ang. Just glorious

  3. Angela says:

    mucho gracias x

    Sir Richard I thought you’d been lost in the wilds, I’ve missed your words.

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