I’m Rhys Christos Edward Stowell, a philanthropist on the verge of exile from a suffocating state of corruption. My lack of conformity to perceived norms has earned me a reputation of being difficult. I rather like it that way.
Beguiled by a woman who uses the oldest profession to torture herself and punish those that love her, I’m ever her dutiful friend. But I want much more…
"Kiss me." She trembled.
If she didn't want the contact why had she requested it? I halted.
"Are you sure?"
I planted a light peck on her cheek. The way we always did.
"A lover's kiss," she said.
Being referred to as her lover made me hard. I leaned in. "Are you certain?"
"Yes." Her eyes widened, she took hold of my blazer and pulled me closer.
Slowing my movement toward her, I cupped her neck with my fingers, and used my thumb beneath her jaw to angle her head upward. She stared into my eyes, as though attempting to read me. As I lowered my mouth to hers, I wrapped my other arm behind her waist and drew her flush to me.
After years of being neatly boxed in the friend category, she offers me surrender. Or the semblance of it….