The lingerie clings wetly to her as she falls into the water, trying to swim to safety.’ ‘She thinks she’s still dreaming, that she is lost on a raft in the middle of the ocean and there are sharks circling. She can hear laughter and wonders who taught the sharks to speak. She screams and pounds her fist against one glass wall, begging to be let out before the sharks eat her.’ ‘She realizes when she notices the cameras that it is not a dream. She remembers the man reflected in the window before the world went dark. She pounds harder at the glass walls, standing on her toes as the water reaches her chin. She swims back to the bench and stands on it so she is only in the water to her waist. She screams at them that she knows her rights and she gets her phone call, she’s not a prostitute and they have no proof on her.’ ‘The water gets higher and her sprained ankle twists again, slipping across the shiny surface of the bench. She falls into the water, hitting her head against the glass. Though this time she was the aggressor. Her lips teased and taunted, painting the seam of his without allowing him any real access, before plunging deep and taking all; feeding on his taste of bergamot and citrus, inhaling his clean male scent, holding it captive to let it befuddle her senses. Her hands were quick and agile in unbuttoning his dress shirt. She wanted skin, she wanted the feeling of tight muscles under her fingers, of hard strength covered in velvet. She heard fabric rip, and knew it was not his, but her clothing, which had given under his increasingly frantic movements. He would pay for that. But that was for later. Now she just wanted to enjoy his fervor, his strength as he ran his hand along the back of her thigh and brought her leg up and around his waist, baring her to more intimate explorations in a parody of a dance. His other hand buried skillfully into her hair at her nape, bringing her head back, denying her the kiss she had so skillfully extended. He held.
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