His undone bowtie under her foot, Severine observed her naked long-limbed reflection in the mirror.
The irony was on the way to the hotel, even the traffic signs were conflcting: STOP and YIELD. But she knew she was not going to stop, that she was going to yield to Rafe.
She sang a French lullaby to herself to stop her heart from racing as it had been from the moment she slipped on her thigh highs. Fingered their lacy tops the way she wanted Rafe to touch her where she felt like satin, not lace.
The traffic signs and lights merged into one, a color-filled blur…everything was a blur as she headed up to the hotel room–not the one she was sharing with Oscar, but the one that Rafe gotten for them.
She walked into the room, he was not there. Then she heard the door slam, and before she could turn around she was grabbed from behind. Her struggle reminded her of when she studied ballet. Up in the air, her legs pedaled a resistance she did not really
Before she could open her mouth, his hand covered it. His scent was everywhere, stained the air as her legs their continued
resistance she did not really desire, but she waged it anyway.
His kiss on her neck quieted her. Her legs back down on the ground, Severine pressed into the front of him. Rafe’s mouth did not leave her neck as he sought the satiny bit of her, she craved for him to touch. She closed her eyes and everything happened to her, he happened to her.
Her eyes on her figure again in the mirror, she picked up his bowtie and took in his scent.
In this moment he was hers again, though she felt as disposable as one of the characters created by the playwright in The Twilight Zone who would conjure and dispose
of his characters at will.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her.
Severine studied him, her head cocked.
“The traffic signs on the way here said stop and yield…I yielded…”
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