The Scent of Mimosa

Midnight

Ok smut incoming...  If you are my 14-year old daughter, avert your eyes now.  If you are someone else's 14-year old daughter, you have been warned.  

Cassandra hardly knew how they had ended up back in the passageway at the maison. She had the barest recollection of part-walking, part-running through the streets of Grasse, the festival fireworks a dim blaze in the background. 

And Vince had kissed her, she remembered that. At every street corner, and every turn, he had pulled her towards him, crushing her body against his and forcing his mouth hungrily down onto hers. It was as if he were afraid she would be gone in an instant; as if he needed to take his fill before midnight struck.

To Cassandra, it felt as though she had been given a second chance.

That last morning in the workroom with Vince she had experienced so many misgivings. She worried if she were doing the right thing and worried that she should stop. Afterwards, when she had been left with nothing but a void, she had wished that they had had more time.   

Now she had no such qualms. Vince would leave her. That, she knew was inevitable. She wanted at least to retain some memories - and she wanted him, desired all of him.  

It was basic and it was instinctual. Whatever came afterwards she would handle, but she certainly wouldn't allow herself to worry about it now. Why deprive herself of what, in this moment, felt to her like everything in the world?

With the door closed firmly behind them, Vince's kisses became even more insistent. They were alone in the house. They could take each other anywhere they chose, but Cassandra took Vince's hand and led him delicately, teasingly towards the workroom. It seemed apt, she thought, that they should be together there. It was the place where they had developed whatever connection there was between them. It was the place that, more than anywhere else, was theirs.

The room was swathed in darkness, and as Vince felt behind the door for the light-switch, Cassandra put her hand on his wrist to stop him. Instead, she moved to the corner of the room and lit the rustic, yellowing candles as she had done every night they had worked there. 

Illuminated by candlelight, the room took on an air of enchantment. The thick velvet curtains screening the gallery looked softer and richer, and shards of light sparked in the cut glass of the chandelier.

Cassandra turned around to face Vince. He leaned against the door frame, watching her so intently she struggled not to look away. It was important to her that she own this moment. He may have been the initiator, but she wanted him to know that she was okay with this; more than okay with it.

He had seemed so burdened after he kissed her all those weeks ago. It was as if he thought he were the only one responsible for what had happened. She wondered if he felt that he had somehow taken advantage. But she was responsible for her own choices and right now she wanted this as much as he did. The last thing she could bear was for him to wake in the morning and regret that he had in any way pushed her beyond where she wanted to go.

Slowly, her eyes locked to his. Cassandra dropped one strap of her sundress from her shoulder, and then another, and the dress slid from her body. She stood bathed in a pool of candlelight, wearing nothing but a pair of blush-colored satin lingerie shorts.

Vince watched her for a moment, drinking her in without saying a word. Then his body galvanized. He moved towards her with cat-like intention. Snaking his arm around her back, he brought her swiftly down onto the daybed and lowered himself over her.   

Cassandra felt the wonderful sensation of their figures stacking belly to belly, hip to hip as he settled between her thighs. She had cursed her height in the past, wished she were smaller, more delicate. Now she knew she had been perfectly formed – matched exactly to Vince's body: an impeccable fit.