MIRROR MOON
BY
A.H. SCOTT
When night falls upon the city of Manhattan, the balances of power shifts from boss to employee. And, that's when the real fun begins. "Mirror Moon" reveals the reflection of restrained desire that is held at bay during the daylight and freed beneath moonlight. Joanna and Douglas seem the picture of conservative politeness during their workdays. After the office shuts down, this desirous duo really gets down.
You think your job is hard. Well, it's not as hard another type of job done in the darkness of night.
-------------------
(Excerpt)
Flannel is so outdated.
Lousy material enveloped drained drones, as they start a daily file into capsules of lucidity across the city.
Beneath dormant flannel suits in Manhattan, swirls a cauldron of desire. That uniform of uniformity, remained armor for many a financial Fagin. Able to lead wealth to their own pockets, prestige flowed into their ever-expanding titles of functionality.
Corner office of leather chair or cubicle with cork-board architecture, places penthouse purchaser above leashed leasers.
Cloistered within the finest fabrics, those souls come to life under misty moonlight. Pinstripe panache is today's aphrodisial allure.
Picket fences and block associations have been replaced with penthouses and condo review boards. Families flock to yawn in oblivious security of transparently gated suburbia. While urbane dwellers of New York City, yearn for that pulsating fever.
Wives, husbands, children and household critters, stayed in the family portrait of frozen smiles. As to an office setting, occurrences there were something completely different.
Downtown buildings after dark, seemed to be the place where truth emerged. Not only did electricity shift, but power of another sort transferred.
Twirling leather purse strap around a French manicured hand, shapely Joanna stood alone before a trio of elevators. Tiny taps of white Ferragamo toe gave an up-tempo.
Footsteps approached from the east, as a figure came closer. Lightly flicking auburn hair of bicep length from her face, she placed index finger onto an illuminated button.
"Ms. Randolph", mature, male voice gave a greeting.
"Mr. Donovan", giving cordial reply.
Whirring of a floor waxing machine consumed a nearby hallway, as the cleaning crew began it's evening duties. Tiny transistor radio on a cleaning supply cart was set New York's oldies station, WCBS fm.
Sparkling silver doors divided and both entered that elevator. Entrance closed, as they stood ten feet from one another.
Adorned in navy blue, pinstriped suit with a royal colored handkerchief, Douglas Donovan was a 47-year-old vice President of pleasant physique.
Marriage, mansion, Mercedes. The good life was in his hands.
Gathered at a full bosom, a fuchsia wrap around dress, gave a masterstroke to her sensuous body. Joanna Randolph's 37 years, seemed that it should have been minus a decade or more. Maidenhood flowed from red follicle to painted toenail.
Duplex, divorce, decadence. Pearl of independence placed in pliant palm.
Divorced for over two years, submersion in an uninhibited sea was that added plateau of life's zest. Being administrative assistant to head of foreign investments, Joanna was an integral part of this financial team.
Purse dangled at Joanna's side, as the brook of silence was broken, "You have quite a command of that boardroom, sir".
"Yes, I do" ,slowly folding his arms together, he gazed up at the descending numbers.
"But, the business day is over, right?", those blue eyes looked towards the black and white floor tiles.
Nonchalantly adjusting tie, Donovan dipped into another stream, "Absolutely", leaving a whisper into her gold bobbled ear. From that moment on, his title of vice president would only be apt for the former word.
Power shifted, as did she. Tender hip brushed against his, as a single word drifted, "Location?"
Blonde hair turning silver, this man gave a subtle smile to her. Like so many times before, Douglas knew that seductive tournament was about to begin, "My choice?"
"Make it soon, sir", coral colored, manicured nails drifted against a cloaked crotch, feeling the slithery beast coming to life, "Before it's too late".
Days were his. Nights were hers. She was in complete control, whether he wanted it that way or not.
Douglas walked with determination, as swung purse and followed closely behind, "Follow the leader".
To those sienna colored lips of Joanna, a smirk of submission came, "For now" ,adjourning with him into a dimly lit stairwell.
Rein of daytime office prowess was willingly given up to a luscious lady, "I want you to take control. You'll be the CEO of....------
(Well, you didn't think I'd give away the best parts here, did you all?)
GET THE REST OF THIS FREE EBOOK AT SMASHWORDS - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/76431
A.H. Scott profile at Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AHScott
No comments:
Post a Comment