Sophia laughed, always flattered at the suggestion she could draw out something no one else could. Though even as she did, she could not help a twinge of guilt that wound its way through the far reaches of her mind. As if she was too greedy and didn’t deserve to feel this good. A damaging thought (one she had to dispense quickly, lest he pick up on it). A sip of the whiskey’s vanilla-laced oakiness coated her palette as a welcome diversion. It even helped mediate the quirk in her eyebrow over what her companion said next.

Given her train of thought, it was hard to not hear his words like a confession. Such uncharacteristically poor timing for Ozymandias. Surely this was not his first affair? No, she didn’t believe that for a second. This didn’t ring with intent to make her feel jealous either, not that it would be an effective tactic anyway (though mentioned playfully earlier, she knew he wasn’t hers to claim). Maybe he shared the same selfish desire she did, then. To guard something that felt precious and easy in this hazy lull after sex. Uncomplicated. 

Problem is, the two of them seemed to have a knack for inviting complexity with guns blazing. If they were a work of literature, this was their shared character flaw.

Mercifully, Sophia’s mind settled on a more important note to underscore – he wanted to meet again. This swept away concerns. Already the idea of “next time” took some of the edge off her impulse to prolong what felt fleeting. So rather than respond right away, Sophia drained more of her drink. Maybe the root of his problems were bigger. But in the interest of simplicity she wasn’t about to dig deeper.

“I wish I could predict how your cologne will impact me,” she set aside her glass with a shrug. “It seemed fine when we first met. But something changed when sex and drugs became involved.” Only two of life’s most enjoyable things. Coy fingertips hoped to give him a persistent reminder of this with an idle graze along his chest and abdomen. What happened before was not an experience she wanted to relive, even if she knew what to expect. Her reaction might be less extreme, but it would sour the mood. No, they need a more creative solution.

“I suppose it would be too convenient to run out of your cologne or a key ingredient?” she mused, letting her loose hair cascade down to cover the shoulder his movements exposed. “My schedule is strict, you know. I’m certain we could manage our timetables so that you are at less risk. Or,” her expression brightened with a smirk, “If it’s the spontaneity you appreciate, I can douse you with water upon arrival? Then you simply must have some on hand to reapply before you go home. Hmm. I like that. Hosing you down like a dog,” she teased. Before he could conjure a reply she reminded him what the hassle was for. A passionate, insistent kiss, one that deepened with the volume of her desire.

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