Sneak Peek: A Christmas Story

The little Christmas story I started back in December's coming along nicely, though turning out a little longer than expected. (I should have expected that, really.) Though part of Constant, it occurs to me I could easily extract it from that story and make it a stand-alone short story, one about a boss and his cross-dressing secretary. That could be fun, though it'd have a very different feel to it, I think.

In any case, here's a 500-word sneak peek at the story in progress. Warning: it's the setup for an erotic scene. I'll be publishing the rest of it on Wednesday.

*** 

             The shower’s nearly as big as my entire bathroom back home. Water falls from above like a tropical rain, and I sigh with relief as the heat penetrates my skin and eases the aches of the day. It feels fucking divine, and for the first few minutes I just stand there and let the water course over my body. It’s quiet but for the sound of falling water. My hair grows heavy with it. Steam billows and fogs the panes of glass. Falling water runs down my neck, over my shoulders, between my breasts as I raise my face into the stream. I could stand like this forever, and I feel myself relax.

            The door opens. I don’t react. My eyes are closed. The water is hot. And I can feel him standing there, watching me through the glass in the shower under falling water.

            “You left the door open,” he says.

            I pulled the door shut, I’m sure of it, gave it a sharp tug. Or maybe I didn’t. Clearly, I forgot to lock the door. Instead of answering, I reach for soap and begin to lather. Bending low from the waist, I start from the ankles and work my way up. My calves are tight and lean, though I can feel a faint prickle of hair; I need to shave. I work lather into my thighs as I straighten. Only then do I look over my shoulder and push back long hair, now dark with water and reaching to the lower curve of my bum. He watches every motion with dark, intense eyes. Our gazes meet through the misty panes. A slight nod; a hint of smile. I turn away and return the body soap, reach for shampoo. Now, the water feels too hot. Maybe it’s me that feels too hot. My heart pounds in my chest. I squirt a dollop of shampoo into my palm. It takes time to wash out hair this long, it’s not something I do every day. Meticulously, working up from the tips, I work the shampoo into my hair. I can see him undressing. Mr Connor doesn’t hurry. He’s watching me as he unbuttons his shirt, strips it off, folds and places it to once side. His chest is enviably muscular, his abs defined. He’s in good shape for a guy in his forties, but I already knew that, I’ve seen him working out in the office gym. But I’d never seen him with his shirt off. Or his pants. Now he’s standing in just his boxers, front tented by his growing erection. I turn away and continue to pull my fingers through my long, wet hair. The scent of jasmine and orange blossom fills the air. Also, a hint of vanilla. Behind me, the heavy glass door opens, closes. Then, the flow of falling water is altered and the space now feels very different. The way the hot air flows is changed by his presence. He stands behind me. The sound of rain curls around us.

            His arms curl around me.

            I sigh and lean back into him. His arms are firm and strong and glide over my wet skin. The back of my head rests against his chest and I feel small. I begin to turn in the circle of his arms but his voice, low and authoritative, stops me. “No,” he says. “Face the other way.”