Peeping Tom

A floral scent makes him pause

Beside the slightly ajar bathroom door.

He can feel a heat on his skin

That the warm hallway didn’t cause.

A sensation that he can’t ignore

Begins to radiate from within.

Silently, he turns to look inside.

The image of her water-soaked form

Meets his eagerly nervous eyes.

His calm expression does hide

Lustful feelings building like a storm,

Watching a slender leg rise

From the depths of bubble-filled water,

To be met with tantalising fingers

Rubbing the flesh with a lotion.

Standing in the shadows watching her

Hand move up her thigh and lingers

Between her legs with a devotion.

Head thrown back, open mouth,

A face contorted with pleasure,

Hips thrusting towards her palm.

A rippling wave from down south,

Body shaking for good measure,

No effort made to keep calm.

He takes a sudden breath, deep,

That he’d been holding inside

Alarmed, she looks towards the sound

And into the eyes of the peep.

With a smirk she opens her legs wide,

To let him know he’s been found.

Raising a finger to beckon him in,

Then moving it down, touching more,

Slowly picking up the pace.

Not quite believing his win,

He turns to close the bathroom door,

And clicks the lock into place.


Be My Adair

Send me a hand-written letter

On an old posh parchment,

That’s thirsty for the ink

You’ve dipped onto your quill.

So I can trace the indents

That your pretty scratchings

Have made on an ancient page.

Send me to see your tailor,

So he can flutter around me

Armed with a tape measure,

Muttering various lengths

At his harried looking assistant.

While I finger all the silks

Holding colours against my skin.

Take me on a trip with you.

Have one of the footmen

Load our heavy luggage up

Into the carriage that horses pull

Across quiet cobbled streets,

To a quaint harbour, boat awaiting.

Because planes don’t exist.

Take me to your bed at night

And show me a whole new world

That exists between your sheets.

Open my eyes to desire.

Teach me the art of seduction.

Break all of the taboos

That have kept me in check.

Tell me tales of your past.

The whole century of it.

Don’t leave out any details for me,

Don’t spare me the violence

Or the twisted way you are.

And most of all don’t forget

That I’m the Lanore to your Adair

This is a sort of tribute to my favourite character in my favourite novel. Adair, from The Taker, by Alma Katsu. Not for the faint-hearted.