500 words based on a sentence selected by Dive. Click here for more info.
This week's sentence is from George Eliot's Middlemarch: 'I suppose it would be unprofessional,' said Rosamond, dimpling.
In the lead-up to this week’s sentence Dive stressed a bodice-busting theme. When I asked if the Romance Novel genre was required he said, “I certainly hope not, Lulu! Go with whatever you feel: noir, comedy, space aliens, Godzilla, whatever.”
I know a challenge when I see one…
If you haven’t done so already, you might want to read last week’s story, Knowing, first, and then come back to read Knowledge.
Warning – this story is much more “adult” than my usual entries. If you are easily offended please avert your eyes and move on to the next blog. Seriously – this story is humorously explicit in a Romance Novel kind of way.
A Comic Noir Romance with Space Aliens & Godzilla
Jarvis put the report aside. He sat a long time smoking, he did not read any more.
He studied the woman sitting on the edge of his desk, knees all but touching his, as he settled comfortably in the high-backed leather chair. She was hot, with wavy auburn hair cascading past her shoulders. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse to reveal a lacy brassiere, her eyes locked on his, a lascivious smile on her moist, bee-stung lips, the hint of a dimple accenting each cheek. She was cool, cool as the two-carat zircon ring she’d taken from her left hand and flung into the far corner of the office, a mix of hot and cool and anything but lukewarm.
She’d shown up without an appointment, just as she had the first time. She undid the knot in his necktie, leaning in to graze his lips with the darting tip of her cherry-pink tongue. Her boldness surprised him, but he liked it. It sure beat drinking himself into a stupor – his usual activity this time of day.
The late afternoon sun and half-drawn Venetian blinds sliced zebra stripes across her face and upper body as she drew her skirt up her smooth inviting thighs.
“What do you have for me, mister professional investigator?” she asked, her dimples flashing as her smile grew. He ground out his cigarette in the glass ashtray.
“Well, Miss Smith, I spoke to my buddy Mulder at the Bureau,” he said, tracing a finger along the swell of her womanly orb, flicking his thumb across the pebbled rosebud that strained against its filmy cage, “Says your mystery man Richmond is not at all what he appears. He’s an alien most likely.”
“Illegal?” she asked.
“Flying saucer. He said to give you this, Miss Smith”, he said, reaching into the desk drawer. “Found it in Richmond’s apartment with your name on it.”
“My Godzilla lighter! See how the flame shoots out its mouth? How very professional of you not to keep it for yourself.” She pulled him closer, sliding down to straddle him in the chair, pressing her hidden petals against his throbbing manhood.
“I have something else for you, Miss Smith.”
“And what would that be, mister professional investigator?” she teased as he swirled his tongue into the shell-like recesses of her ear.
She threw her head back and tore open his shirt, buttons skittering across the floor as she raked his sculpted torso with her blood-red fingernails. He buried his head in her heaving bosom as she writhed with burning passion.
She loosened his belt and trousers. He lifted her onto the desk, standing over her as she lay back, barely containing himself as she locked her legs around his waist.
“Rosamond,” he groaned as his lust grew and grew. He lowered himself towards her as she rose up to meet him, clasping each other in a fevered embrace.
“Don’t call me that Jarvis. I’m still your client. I suppose it would be unprofessional,' said Rosamond, dimpling.
copyright (c) 2010 Lulubelle B