*This is my first but hopefully not my last erotic story.
*Any and all comments are welcome, without feedback I can't improve.
*I hope you enjoy the characters and the story, many thanks for reading.
-Peaches
*****
She dropped her keys for the second time.
"Fuck!" she snarled as she picked them up from the floor.
Her hands were trembling. Mentally shaking herself, she took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. Finally she gained entry to her apartment. Closing the door quickly behind her she leant against it and looked through the spy hole. No. He wasn't there. She sighed and rested her head against the door. Relief washed over her.
With a sigh she put down her handbag. The routine had begun.
First stop hallway: heels kicked off, cardigan hung up. Kitchen: cupboard, wine glass, fridge, wine. Living room: stereo on. Bathroom: taps on, bubble bath, strawberry this evening.
She sat on the bathroom stool wine glass in hand and contemplated downing the whole lot.
"Sod it," she thought, there's more where that came from.
With big gulps she slugged back her drink. The alcohol enveloped her in its warmth. She needed it. Placing the glass on the tiled floor she got up and unzipped her dress. Her clients appreciated her sense of style and had come to expect high standards in the way she presented herself. As a result vintage dresses had become her uniform, part of her brand. Sourcing them was a bitch though. Trying to fit the 32D bust of a modern girl into a 1940s Dior was rather like forcing a square peg into a round hole. Thankfully being handy with a sewing machine had its merits.
With her dress now gathered around her feet she turned to face the full length mirror on the tiled wall. She gathered her dark hair into her hands and lifted it to the back of her head, then let it tumble from her hands in waves. Yep, it could do with shampooing tonight, she thought. She turned back to the stool and placed her right leg on it, she unclipped her garter and rolled down her stocking and repeated the step for her left leg.
"Fuck!" she yelled as she looked over to the bath and realised she had less than 10 seconds before overflow. She raced to the taps and shut off the flow just as the water escaped running freely over the rim.
"Fuck!" she grabbed a towel from the rail and mopped up as much of the spilled water as she could.
Sighing she threw the sodden towel into the laundry basket and made her way to the large Victorian sash window. Air. She needed air. The steam from the water was suffocating her. She opened the clasp and heaved the sash window open. Taking in deep breaths she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the fresh air. Feeling a little clear headed she finished undressing and sank into the inviting depths of her bath.
After 30 minutes of scrubbing and preening her bathroom routine was complete. She threw on her comfy dressing gown before switching off the bathroom light, plunging the room behind her into darkness.
She crossed the hallway into her bedroom. This was most definitely her favourite room in her apartment. Her sanctuary, as she called it. It was decorated in muted tones of green and beige. Dominating the room was an enormous French upholstered bed against the middle of the far wall opposite the bedroom door. She had hunted high and low for vintage materials to make her numerous cushions from, a process that had taken her no less than 19 months. Other than the bed the room was sparsely furnished. Two bedside tables and to the left a wall sized bookcase that was rammed full of various tomes. In the right hand corner was a lived in armchair, next to it was a small table with a reading lamp. It was here that she escaped into her fantasy world, devouring every book she owned and more. Under the table were her slippers, she slipped them on and laughed as the reindeer nose twinkled. They had been a Christmas present from her best friend and though garish she loathed to part from them.
She walked from her bedroom and crossed to the bathroom, she remembered the window needed closing. Even though the bathroom and her bedroom faced on to her garden she was still wary of forgetting to close either window at night. This was London after all. Completing the task she picked up her wine glass and headed for the kitchen.
Dinner was leftover reheated pasta with a side salad and a small glass of wine in front of the TV. Before she got too settled for the evening she peeled herself from the sofa and took the dishes into the kitchen and deposited them into the dishwasher. The rule was two hours of work every week night, it was when she was at her most relaxed and ideas flowed freely. She made her way into her workroom come dressing room. It was large and jam packed full of things that sparkled and glittered. Along one wall there were numerous shelves piled with bolts of material and baskets of remnants. One whole shelf was devoted to jars upon jars of buttons, in all colours, shapes and sizes imaginable. Upon a workbench underneath the shelves there lived an outdated computer and a modern Singer sewing machine along with jars of beads and ribbons. There was a handmade built in wardrobe and a dressing table with a vintage oval mirror on the other side of the room. Before getting to work she changed out of her dressing gown and into her pajamas, cotton shorts and a vest top.
She yawned and checked the time. Almost two hours had passed and she decided that was enough for today. She had made some real headway with the new collection although tomorrow night she would probably scrap at least three quarters of it. She saved her work and stretched as her dinosaur of a computer shutdown. She got up and took her dressing gown from the coat stand next to the door. She couldn't resist running her hands through the soft silk scarves hanging there like leaves. She shivered with pleasure and turned out the light.
After washing up and brushing her teeth she snuggled down into bed. Too tired to read she closed her heavy eyes and drifted gently to sleep. She dreamed.
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She dropped her keys for the second time.
"Fuck!" she snarled as she picked them up from the floor.
He saw her hands were trembling even from this distance. He watched as she paused steadying herself. Then she unlocked her front door and was gone. He imagined her in her apartment, taking off her cardigan, kicking off her shoes and heading for the kitchen. What would it be tonight? A hot cup of tea? A refreshing glass of water? A relaxing glass of wine? Wine, he thought, she would have a glass of wine or two tonight.
He strolled slowly down the street until he reached her front door. The front door was freshly painted, racing green that was what you call it he thought. The light was on in the living room though there was not much to see through the wooden blinds, she was in another room. He walked to the side of her building to the high garden gate. He tried the latch. It opened. He smiled and walked into the garden gently latching the gate behind him as he went.
The garden, though small, was neatly kept. There was a small shed which no doubt held a multitude of gardening implements. He knew she had green fingers and spent hours at the weekends tending her many flowers and herbs. He crept alongside the building and thought to make his way to the shed when a light came on, casting its glow over the garden. The bathroom, he thought, that's where she is. He made his way to the corner and glanced around at the window to confirm his suspicions. He was relieved that he hadn't crossed to the shed, she would have seen him and that just wouldn't do. He pressed his back against the wall and waited.
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He had fallen in love with her the first time he met her. Not love at first sight, that was too cliché. But by the end of their first meeting he knew that he loved her.
She was fresh out of university and walked straight into her first job as an assistant to the assistant of Rosalie Waincott, fashionista extraordinaire, stylist of the C list. Rosalie was rumoured to have a sharp tongue and a penchant for throwing things in a hot temper. But he knew that was all balls, Rosalie was a pussy cat. At least when you knew how to handle her. He had known Rosalie for a few years and had worked with her on a number of projects. He was her photographer of choice and even had him on speed dial. Speed dialing him into her bed on more than one occasion.
It was while working on one of Rosalie's projects that he met her.
"Evangeline Roberts, Eva." She said, introducing herself with a smile and holding out her right hand to him.
"Tom Harris." He replied taking her hand shaking it and returning her smile.
