She’d wash that man right out of her hair.

She stood under the torrent and let the heat work it’s magic on her tense shoulders.

It didn’t matter if his face was absolutely perfect. It wasn’t her fault he was basically her idea of pure masturbation candy.

She didn’t have to put up with it: the unreturned calls, the no-shows.

Christ, if he were just a smidgen less hot, she could ignore him. If that smile didn’t make her want to rip her panties off, she wouldn’t be so upset. If he weren’t so good with those hands. If his hips hadn’t been so deliciously bitable.

If the showerhead weren’t removable…

If his hands were on her thighs, his voice whispered in her ears. His weight pushing her back against the shower wall.

If his tongue hit that spot.

Yes. That was the spot.

This was an entry at Rebecca Grace Allen’s Sinful Sunday Contest.

Rodney Dragondong did stealthily creep across his vast landholdings at Orchard Grace Retirement home, his two-handed man-blade peace-tied to his back. He had an honorable mission to accomplish, and no low-born Unmen were going to muchly stop him.

The chicken must die, in the way of chickens. For that is the way of chickens.

She’d never be allowed on Gor.

Rodney, Lord Dragondong of Orchard Grace, knew that his pursuit of chicken freedom would be frowned upon on Earth where things are all rong, and men are bee-stung, and women are terrifying, except for luscious, lovely Kajira Crystal, his devoted slave, who sat in perfect slave postures, prostrate and prostrated in his Weapon-heavy Knight’s Dojo/Den. He knew the risks were high. But Randy would pay and pay well, for that is the way of unmen. They pay. And pay well.

So Rodney, the Dragondongiest, did creep. For his very self did not resist creeping, and creeping is good and wise, as Earth’s gravity and rongness did weigh heavily upon his Dongness.

Randy and his Rongwife appeared to be sleeping, as is the way of Earthfolk whom haven’t found magical crystal elixirs that give you Tarnsman strength and endurance and mental acumen and facial cysts. Rodney, Everdonged and Armed, did creep around to the backyard at Randy’s enviable holding.

He could hear the chicken, clucking as is the way of chickens.

Creepingly, he crept into the back holding, creeping through the darkness in a low crouch while he crept.

The chicken clucked a greeting, safe in it’s coop, as chicken are natural slaves, and desire a coop the way Earthwomen do.

He unlatched the coop with much manliness and verve, chuckling to himself. Oh, yes. Randy would pay and pay well for the insults earlier, when he so rudely evicted Rodney from his hedges, threatening him with Earthlaws and hurling insults. Rodney Dragnondong could not bear this insult, and bear it he would not. Clutching is war spoils, he raced from the Randyshire, triumphant and full of victory and win. The chicken flapped and protested, but Rodney knew it was all a show, as chickens are there for the plucking and he had rightly plucked.

Oh, yes. Randy had paid, and paid well.

I’m giving flash fiction a try. Because, why not?

I lean on the cool railing and look down at the marbled floor. My feet hurt.

A man’s hand stops the door.

“You look good.”

I squint up, expecting a creeper.

It’s Evan. The elevator doors shut.

“18.”

I push the button.

I am now stuck in an elevator with Evan the Ex. Perfect.

“What are you doing here?”

“The conference. You?”

“Same.”

“Yeah.” I study his profile. I try to convince myself, when he’s not around, that my candle is lit with false sentiment and lost youth.

It’s bullshit.

His puppy dog eyes are all honey and hope. We’re bad for each other.

I realize how low my blouse is cut.  “How’s Lisa?”

“Gone.  Last week.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Vain.”

“How… ’bout you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

The elevator hits the 14th floor, and the doors open. He follows me out.

I always find him when he’s lost. It’s inevitable.

I stop next to an ice machine. “Get back on the elevator, Evan.”

“Don’t make me.” Like I could make him.

I look up at the lips I never stop fantasizing about. I shouldn’t do this. I should insist he get back on the elevator. I’ll only end up fucked in the head for the next month about this.

Instead, I grab his coat lapels and pull.

He pins me against the wall of the hallway, and brushes his lips along the one spot he knows gives me goose bumps. My spine shivers and my nipples harden. My body wants him closer. I miss the weight of him. I miss my arms around his shoulders, pulling his hair.

“Amy,” he whispers, his lips, that mouth that haunts me does it’s magic. His hand moves down, from hip to mid-thigh. He hikes up my skirt, and grips my thigh like the boy I remember. I kiss him, greedy for a taste of him.

I grip his shirt in my fist. I miss him when he’s gone, and it hurts. I can feel that familiar bulge against my hip bone.

His big cock. I miss that, too.

“My room,” I mutter. I grab him by the hand, and we run down the hall. Room 1402. We tumble into the dark, and he yanks up my skirt and pushes my panties aside, finding exactly what he thinks he will.  “Jesus, honey.”

I unzip his pants, and put my hand in his boxers. There he is. I bite my lip.  ”Mmmm.”

“What?”

“You.”

I grin, push him out of my way, and strip off my shirt. He kicks off his shoes and strips off his pants, and chases me to the bed.

He’s bigger than I remember. More solid. He moves down. I missed that mouth.

He nips at my inner thigh. His tongue runs over my clit, gently, slowly. Teasing. He runs his hands over my hips, and urges me down to the edge of the bed. His fingers are inside me, his tongue drives me to the brink.

I just want it. Too much.

I moan and buck into him, but won’t let me come. He keeps backing off, leading me to the edge. Teasing.  I don’t want to be teased.

“Just fuck me,” I gasp in frustration.

He chuckles into my thigh. “Is it that bad?”

I whimper, and he licks me one more time.

“Poor baby.” He rubs his thumb over my nub.

“Evil, evil man.”

He’s inside me, easily, climbing on top of me. I gasp at his girth. He’s warm and solid, those honeyed eyes are full of lust.

I spread for him. I let him in. Again.