She always managed to be almost naked when I was around. I wondered if it was deliberate, or that wa
She always managed to be almost naked when I was around. I wondered if it was deliberate, or that was just my wishful thinking. It’s not like she ever left anything to chance. Like her attire, her makup, her world would always be perfect and just how she wanted. She scrutinized her face with the interest of an artist while I continued, “…thinks the PM will endorse more spending on renewables and that will push the stock prices up. But he won’t change his stance unless there’s a white paper to back him up.” She wasn’t ignoring me, as it became clear when she looked back over her shoulder to querry, “You think he won’t make a political decision?” “Well, err,” Damnit, too much looking at her was keeping valuable blood out of my brain. “Winter is not the best time to push a climate change agenda.” “You might be right there.” She stood up and walked over to the bed where I was sitting to pick up an especially elegant black dress. One day, I’ll see her naked, I teased myself. One day she’ll crack. Probably that’s what she was thinking about me. Why she was always so close, but always so damn far. “Zip me up will you?” she said, pulling her hair above her neck and presenting her naked back. Too bad she was so dominant, I thought, standing up to take the zipper. Maybe it was too bad I was so dominant. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. -- source link