I’m a bit late this week with my fix of Friday Fictioneers. So I’ve tried to rush something out then I don’t miss a week. I also misinterpreted this weeks picture, I thought they were lights not bottles, opps. But as I’m caught for time I’m going to go with my original idea. I’m slightly over the 100 word count, but I’m sure the ever gracious host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields won’t shoot me…..
Original Photo : Marie Gail Stratford
Her nipples chafed across the muslin of her dress. The sensation, although alarming, made her wish for something more, but she had no idea what.
Juliet caught his gaze. Even from across the crowded ballroom, his eyes flamed dark and dangerous, as if he saw straight through her gown to her misbehaving nipples.
Modesty made her turn, curiosity pulled her back. He was gone. Her eyes scanned the dance floor. Nothing.
From behind her came a whisper,
“You have something I want”…
The stage hand tipped her shoulder. Jenny closed the kindle, “Damn”. The only gaze across the strip club tonight would be blood red and whisky induced. Where’s the romance in that?