says.
Katie realizes that there was a long and very awkward moment while she had been thinking, staring wordlessly at Jimenez.
Jimenez, the poor man, she thinks. I’m making this so hard on him. He’s not to blame. He’s such a nice guy too. He always says “Hi.”
“Not your fault,” Katie says and takes a moment to construct a more believable smile. “Thanks, I’ll take the stairs.”
Why did I thank him? Katie wonders as she crosses the lobby to the stairwell. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he didn’t do anything right either. He hadn’t brought her good news.
She hears the elevator doors bing and slide closed again. Without looking back, she pushes through the stairwell door and starts her ascent.
12
In Which the Evil Seductress Faye Bids Adieu to the Villain Connor Radley
Faye rolls onto her side. The mattress whispers under her. It doesn’t creak or moan; it’s just a mattress on the floor. The sheets feel amazing against her skin, a feather-soft embrace of her entire body that makes her achingly aware of every inch of naked flesh. A bead of sweat tickles a path from her armpit down the side of her breast. She shivers from the sensation and lets out a quivering breath at its touch. Her body is horribly spent but still beautifully charged.
The little studio apartment that crowns the Seville on Roxy is stiflingly hot. The air is stale and damp, like every breath of it has been used a hundred times. The late-afternoon sun streams through the balcony door, which is why she pulls the sheets up over her head, an attempt to fend off the light. She looks up, through the wrinkled tunnel of fabric, and she sees Connor Radley, barefoot and shirtless, his knobby spine curved, working on the pile of papers stacked on his lap. Just that glimpse of him is enough to spark her, a seed of desire to mount him mercilessly and ride him again until he’s completely drained.
Faye sighs from beneath a pile of sheets that smells of a sweet mix of Connor’s body and the heady heights of their sex, of their panting breaths and their sweaty skins, two organic fabrics sliding smoothly over one another. It’s the smell of their sweat-damp hair being grasped, sprouting between a knuckled fist and being tugged to one side. It’s the smell of the slippery bits between each other’s legs colliding. It’s the glorious mess their bodies made together. Faye’s skin shares the same scent, as does her breath. She can still taste his skin. Faye made a point not to shower or brush her teeth. She wants to sleep through the afternoon immersed in nothing but the remnants of their time together.
It isn’t a particularly pleasant scent, not one that would ever end up in an air freshener. It’s more of a pungent animal smell than a pleasant floral one, but it does take her mind back to when they were writhing, fighting against the end of their pleasure, fighting against it together but driving one another closer to it with each thrusting second. The taste in her mouth is a fermented one but one that constantly reminds her where it came from. These two things combined, biochemical aphrodisiacs, make her wet again, and she pinches her knees together, happy to be so overwhelmingly aware of her sex, feeling so alive because of it.
The balcony door squeals and squeaks as it shimmies open along its track. Faye closes her eyes to the sounds of the people and traffic passing far below on Roxy. Connor’s coming. She hears him moving around out there, outside of her bedsheet cocoon. She hopes it’s time for round three. Time to feel his wiry body wrap around her, the heat of his skin against hers. A warm breeze breathes clean air into the apartment and caresses the sheets encasing her. The balcony door is left open, the stale air quickly fading in the fresh; the noise outside is now let in.
“You have to go. Right now.” Connor shakes the bed. “My girlfriend is coming up.” His voice is manic. “Get your stuff and go. I’ll
Katie realizes that there was a long and very awkward moment while she had been thinking, staring wordlessly at Jimenez.
Jimenez, the poor man, she thinks. I’m making this so hard on him. He’s not to blame. He’s such a nice guy too. He always says “Hi.”
“Not your fault,” Katie says and takes a moment to construct a more believable smile. “Thanks, I’ll take the stairs.”
Why did I thank him? Katie wonders as she crosses the lobby to the stairwell. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he didn’t do anything right either. He hadn’t brought her good news.
She hears the elevator doors bing and slide closed again. Without looking back, she pushes through the stairwell door and starts her ascent.
12
In Which the Evil Seductress Faye Bids Adieu to the Villain Connor Radley
Faye rolls onto her side. The mattress whispers under her. It doesn’t creak or moan; it’s just a mattress on the floor. The sheets feel amazing against her skin, a feather-soft embrace of her entire body that makes her achingly aware of every inch of naked flesh. A bead of sweat tickles a path from her armpit down the side of her breast. She shivers from the sensation and lets out a quivering breath at its touch. Her body is horribly spent but still beautifully charged.
The little studio apartment that crowns the Seville on Roxy is stiflingly hot. The air is stale and damp, like every breath of it has been used a hundred times. The late-afternoon sun streams through the balcony door, which is why she pulls the sheets up over her head, an attempt to fend off the light. She looks up, through the wrinkled tunnel of fabric, and she sees Connor Radley, barefoot and shirtless, his knobby spine curved, working on the pile of papers stacked on his lap. Just that glimpse of him is enough to spark her, a seed of desire to mount him mercilessly and ride him again until he’s completely drained.
Faye sighs from beneath a pile of sheets that smells of a sweet mix of Connor’s body and the heady heights of their sex, of their panting breaths and their sweaty skins, two organic fabrics sliding smoothly over one another. It’s the smell of their sweat-damp hair being grasped, sprouting between a knuckled fist and being tugged to one side. It’s the smell of the slippery bits between each other’s legs colliding. It’s the glorious mess their bodies made together. Faye’s skin shares the same scent, as does her breath. She can still taste his skin. Faye made a point not to shower or brush her teeth. She wants to sleep through the afternoon immersed in nothing but the remnants of their time together.
It isn’t a particularly pleasant scent, not one that would ever end up in an air freshener. It’s more of a pungent animal smell than a pleasant floral one, but it does take her mind back to when they were writhing, fighting against the end of their pleasure, fighting against it together but driving one another closer to it with each thrusting second. The taste in her mouth is a fermented one but one that constantly reminds her where it came from. These two things combined, biochemical aphrodisiacs, make her wet again, and she pinches her knees together, happy to be so overwhelmingly aware of her sex, feeling so alive because of it.
The balcony door squeals and squeaks as it shimmies open along its track. Faye closes her eyes to the sounds of the people and traffic passing far below on Roxy. Connor’s coming. She hears him moving around out there, outside of her bedsheet cocoon. She hopes it’s time for round three. Time to feel his wiry body wrap around her, the heat of his skin against hers. A warm breeze breathes clean air into the apartment and caresses the sheets encasing her. The balcony door is left open, the stale air quickly fading in the fresh; the noise outside is now let in.
“You have to go. Right now.” Connor shakes the bed. “My girlfriend is coming up.” His voice is manic. “Get your stuff and go. I’ll
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