pulsing in rhythm

A young woman sat alone at a table. Kevin stopped, draped in the large ivy that hung from the top of the bar, and stared at the tall blonde girl. She pursed her ruby lips to take an impatient puff of her long cigarette. Kevin smiled. Her white cotton blouse fell elegantly over her shoulders, a soft cascade that rose along the rapids of her full breasts. She lifted a glass of orange juice and sipped. Long, pale calves angled out of her linen white skirt, one foot dangling and pulsing in rhythm to the music. The pretty blonde intently watched the entrance to the bar.

Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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