The Morning Commute
And as she hailed a cab, she smiled. Because for the first time all morning, she was the one who decided to stop. freeuse cherie deville
At 8:45, dressed in a sharp pencil skirt and a blouse that was one button looser than corporate recommended, she caught the elevator with the super, a grizzled man named Hank. He nodded at her. She nodded back. As the elevator groaned between the 4th and 3rd floors, he reached out and adjusted the collar of her blouse, his knuckles brushing her collarbone. The Morning Commute And as she hailed a cab, she smiled
Later, mid-toast, her partner, Marcus, brushed past her to grab a briefcase. He paused, not out of hesitation, but practicality. His hand rested on her hip, a silent question she answered by simply tilting her head and continuing to chew her sourdough. He kissed her neck, a fleeting pressure, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut. She didn’t stop eating. He nodded at her
The fantasy, Cherie often thought, wasn't about force. It was about oblivion . The bliss of being scenery.
