She
was perfection. The delicate curve of her cheek, the ethereal arch
of her brow, everything spoke of sublime creation.
Knox
smiled to himself as he stroked a finger down Fred’s side,
caressing the curve of her naked hip. The skin was soft under his
fingers, roughened by industrial acids and solder burns. He turned
her slightly so she lay on her back, sheet down at her waist. The
low light cast slight shadows under the curves of her breasts, the
fine lines of her ribs.
Some
thought her too skinny, not worthy, but he knew. She was brilliance
wrapped in beauty, with skin as soft as night breezes that tasted
sweet to his desperate lips. He could hardly believe she was his,
laying in his bed with drowsy satisfaction.
She’d
even come willingly, seduced by the Ancients only knew what. He
knew he’d never been the most suave fellow, but she spoke
his language of numbers and elements. She’d listened to his
rambles and his fumbles and declared him darling. When he’d
taken her to dinner, she’d smiled at his stories and laughed
at his jokes. And when it was over, she tumbled into his lap with
a desperate ferocity that seemed like forgetting.
But
Knox didn’t care. Winifred was here; she was warm and willing
and when he bent down to kiss her, she stole his breath away. It
was almost a shame, the future that would come, but he was confident
in his decision.
She
was perfection, fit for a Goddess.
~Fin~
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