Below is the beginning of a story I’ve been inspired to start. This is only one scene, but I wanted to share with everyone to see what people thought. The title of this post is Femme Fatale because that the type of character I am imagining when I write about this woman. Please let me know what you think. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy:
His bedspread was much colder than its maroon hue might have implied, but the body heat and carnal passion between the two people under these blankets was all they needed – it was all they had thought about since first sitting across the table from one another at the casino’s Café Antoinette for their third date in the last two months.
I dare say, Mr. Whitaker,” the woman drawled in her sultry Cajun way between their main course and dessert, “This has been the longest relationship I’ve kept in quite some time.” She smoothed her slit skirt down her crossed legs the entire time. Her eyes never met his, both looked only on her act. He may have been 20 years her senior, but she knew exactly what he wanted. “I guess you could say I’ve missed this.” They regain eye contact as he reaches for her hand.
“I’ve told you before, Renee, you don’t have to be so formal. Call me Robert, or Bob works too. I don’t call you Ms. DuVeux, do I?” She never liked that name: Bob. Her father was a Bob. His father before him was a Robert. Those who put her where she was shared a name with the one who laid under her at that moment. She was actually looking forward to the moment, but not for the reasons she said at dinner.
As the two swayed together to the rhythm of the horizontal dance, Renee leaned in for a deep kiss. Their tongues whirled while Renee reached for her open purse slightly under the bed. With one hand, she felt the cool hand of her best friend. The ecstasy of anticipation flowed through her, which led to an increased tempo in their lustful promenade. She clutched the pillow above his head with her right hand while she left kept her friend tight along the edge of the mattress. At zenith, pure pleasure escaped through their mouths in the form of sounds that no human without influence. She raised, which deepened their connection beneath the comforter. She continued to ride his wave until she started to feel the tide go in. Beads of licentious sweat glistened in the moonlight that cascaded through the windows at each side of the bed. She removed herself from the dance’s embrace, but only slid forward and stayed atop his abdomen. Bob brushed Renee’s hair behind her shoulders and began massaging her plump breasts.
“Thank you,” he sighed through panting. Renee adjusted again. This time she slid the pillow next to his face. She lifted her friend as well. Bob caught a twinkle of reflection when she flipped her friend’s face forward out of its case to reveal the gleam of a knife blade.
“No, Mr. Whitaker. Thank you.” In one clean motion, she pressed the pillow over his face, buried her hips into his stomach, and swiped her friend across Bob’s throat. Such a deep and passionate kiss would have made a terrible mess, but that’s why she grabbed the pillow. There was some dots on her hand and the sheets. Her friend took some as well, but the cushion absorbed most of it. She was clean in her craft and knew exactly what she was doing. She dismounted, got dressed, and cleaned herself and her friend before Renee DuVeux left the hotel through the front door.