The afternoon sun spilled round the edges of the curtains. Floral landscaped lights danced and meandered across Emmas body, naked and stretched across their bed. Donovan surveyed her. The pale bobbed hair. The oh so English flush...barest peach cheeks and marble white skin. Eyes brushed powder blue and dainty lips. Her impeccable vowels would outlive the lipstick barely clinging since he had kissed her. She seemed tired, Donovan thought. Unusually contented. Saturday afternoons were not normally like this with her. Emma was calm and didnt seem to need him. He would have found himself by now holding her wrists and restraining her but instead Donovan was simply pleased at her relaxation and took his time to look more closely. Abandoned arms. The roundness of her shoulders where the palest of purple veins pulsed just below the surface. Her skin seemed painted over gesso with an underlying blue. The curve of her throat. The flatness to her belly where sunlight still played. Her round breasts that Donovan daily watched for, always naked underneath her clothing. Pastel pink nipples, so pubescent... and then he saw them...four dark puncture marks around the nipple of her left breast...
Donovan had gone out. Gone running. Emma wasnt sure how long he would be gone. The possibility of an early return heightened her senses. It was part of it: that she might be discovered. She had ... Læs hele novellen
