Friday Fictioneers 2-3-2017


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roger-bultot-flowerPHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

 

Chris glanced out the window to the lot below. What the hell was he doing in New York in the middle of fucking winter? He could have chosen LA – warm LA, mind you  –  or even gone home for studio work.

She came up behind him, slipping arms about his waist. “You can’t leave already.”

“I’m supposed to be working, you know.”

She turned him around, hands sliding behind his neck.

“You are working. You’re working on me.”

With a laugh, he let her slide the shirt off his shoulders, shedding clothes as they returned to the bedroom.

 

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