Company In A Stranger

She reclined, both comfortably and provocatively, in his favorite La-Z Boy. Her back was nestled into a corner of the burgundy fabric and her legs dangled over an arm. Between her pointer and middle fingers she held a lit cigarette, smoke curling from the tip. The butt was stained with her red lipstick from her methodical nicotine intakes. From where he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, he mentally noted that her heels were the same shade as her lips. She had relatively small feet for a woman. Her legs were tone, and he could see through the fishnets that she was, indeed, as pale as her bare arms suggested. Her mini-skirt hugged her so tightly, he almost swore it was painted on, some illusionary trick with the paint and light. But the memory of her placing his hands on her ass at the club assured him of two things; The skirt was definitely real and his erection was still straining for her.

She closed her eyes to take another drag, and he took the opportunity to adjust himself. He watched detachedly as she flicked her ashes on the floor and stood, putting the cigarette out on her tongue before tossing it aside. His eyes traveled up her long legs as she walked towards him, stopping just inches from where he stood. He could smell the booze and smoke on her breath. Her voice was soft and almost endearing when she spoke. "So, are we gonna do this thing or what? You gotta pay up front, and like I said, no freaky stuff." A smile twisted up the corners of his lips. What had he gotten himself into. Taking a breath before answering her, he was caught off guard by the assault her perfume had on his senses. Delving his hand into her long, box-colored red hair, he stepped into her and gently turned her head to kiss her ear. Her silken mane tickled his nose, and he moved his lips to hers, tasting her Marlboro's and the remnants of her cocktail.

The fabric of her black half shirt brushed against his button down, the slender arms hidden in the poetic sleeve rested on his shoulders. His hunger for her body filled his senses, but he wanted to prolong this moment, this nearness. There was something terribly intimate about this meeting of strangers in his apartment. Not intimate in the way it probably should be when a man brought home a prostitute, but something definitely passionate. Pulling back, he held her at arms length, staring into those cool green eyes. Putting his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders, he picked her up and carried her back to the La-Z Boy, sitting down with her in his lap. The wine bottle he'd brought in earlier still sat on the table beside them along with the glasses, and he reached around her to pour them each a glass. He handed her a glass and took a sip of his before answering her questioning gaze. "I'll pay you extra. Let's just sit here and talk, enjoy each others company. Then we can go to bed. If you stay the night, I'll pay you more in the morning and cook you breakfast. Just for tonight." She appeared thoughtful for a moment before shrugging and smiling softly, taking a deep drink of her wine and snuggling against him to talk about life, love, and the pursuit of a little honesty in a cold, unforgiving world.