Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (novels to improve english .txt) 📗

always struck me as a woman who likes to do it herself.” Wendy smirked, dropped back in the wingchair like it was a throne, she a royal born to power. “But I guess this explains why you aren’t throwing me out. Maybe you have a few interesting tattoos you don’t want me to see?”

“I’m wearing a nightie,” Janet said. She drank her water. The ice cubes pushed at her lips as she upended the glass too high, following the dousing water like night-cool fingers, like the air that had lit up Janet’s bare back. Her heart thundered in her chest. She felt the satin sheets against her nipples. As thorough as a caress.

Wendy was all sex, all fucking, but it wasn’t something projected, something put on. It was exuded. Lazy, indolent, the heat from a furnace. It crouched inside her, not safe, but like a predator ready to pounce.

“I’m going to do something when I get up from this chair,” Wendy announced. “But until then, we can talk.”

“What are you going to do when you get up?” Janet asked.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Answering a question with a question is poor form.”

Wendy held up a finger. “Not answering a question is worse. You didn’t tell me whether you like to watch or whether you like to be watched.”

Janet said nothing.

“It’s okay. I get that you haven’t decided yet.”

“Neither,” Janet said, her voice sounding loud to her own ears. It was her heart. It was settling. Not muting everything else anymore.

“Lying,” Wendy mused. “What form is that?”

“I’m not lying. I enjoy my privacy.”

“You enjoy your isolation. You’ll enjoy other things more. Shall I get up now?”

“No.”

“The great Janet Lace, always so in control.” Wendy nodded to the nightstand. “You could call the cops. This is a nice neighborhood. I’m sure they wouldn’t take long. And you could tell me to sit until they get here.”

“Will you not get up until I tell you to?”

“I won’t get up until you want me to.”

“You seem to credit yourself with a great deal of knowledge regarding my wants and desires.”

“I think you want the same thing everyone wants. When you sleep naked in a bed, you want someone to be in it with you.”

Janet buzzed inside, having to stop her hand from tightening before she shattered the glass in it. When Wendy said she was naked, it felt like she had looked. It felt like Janet was even barer than she was. “I’m not naked.”

“Shall we find out?”

“I’ll scream.”

“Me, I tend to moan.”

“Maybe you tripped an alarm as you came in.” Janet smiled at her. Politely. Speaking with the control that was the very last thing she felt. “Maybe the police are already on their way.”

“So you want to see me handcuffed? You should put on your glasses then. What are they? Barton Perreira Lucky? In black, of course.”

Janet reached out. Her glasses were in their case, on the nightstand. Beside her phone. She picked the case up. She opened it. She took out her glasses. Extended their earpieces. Slipped them on.

She couldn’t see any farther into the darkness, but she could see more of it. With her dark hair hazing her face, Wendy seemed almost a part of it.

“So I guess we know you like to watch,” Janet said. “And you make requests.”

“You can’t tell me you wear those glasses not knowing they make people want to fuck you.”

“They let me read fine print. You find that sexy?”

“If I thought squinting was sexy, I’d date Clint Eastwood.”

“Fascinating insight into what you consider a deal-breaker aside, the police could be here any minute. If you did trip an alarm.”

“Then I guess I’d better hurry.” Wendy leaned forward in her seat, but didn’t stand up. Her hair fell in front of her face as she leaned on her knees, white shirt a deep gray in the darkness under her jacket, the black text over her breasts an alluringly different shade of shadow. She held up the Hitachi. “Like your vibe, by the way. Very classy, very…unashamed. Most women go for some cute little thing like their puppy’s going to play with it or something. That or some overcompensating Bad Dragon shit, trying to punish their vajayjay for something. Which I understand, but only once every twenty-eight days.”

“Are you going to use that?” Janet’s breath was rushed. She hated how her control slipped, and the more she hated it the more she slipped, and the more she slipped the more she didn’t hate it, couldn’t hate it, had to try harder and harder just to not like it.

“Why should I?” Wendy asked, setting the vibrator down. “I have you.”

She stood up then. There was a window between her and Janet. The moonlight from it hit Wendy like a spotlight as she stepped forward, pausing in the glow, enjoying how Janet stared. Janet imagined she could see herself, lit up all silver, in the lens of her glasses.

The light swathed Wendy, pushed against her, burned up one half of her. The other it cast into an even deeper shadow than before. But in the darkness, Janet could feel both of Wendy’s eyes. They never strayed from her as Wendy shrugged off her jacket, the slow unveiling arching her back, pushing her chest into prominence. Janet could see her full breasts standing up proudly from her shirt, the strain of the fabric maybe a size too small for them, how eloquently the swell fit within the otherwise smooth, even lines of her body. The black text swimming into view like it was coming up from the very bottom of the ocean.

Fem in the Streets, Butch in the Sheets.

And Wendy smiled, as she watched herself being watched.

The jacket hit the floor. Wendy started taking off her flannel next. She glided forward, a tremor in her cleavage with every step, the striptease slow and sensual, each movement drawn out.

“Are you going to do something?” Janet asked. “Or are you just going to rethink your outfit?”

“Just trying to keep you