We walk together back to the parking lot. Your head's held high as always, walking fast in black miniskirt and high heels, my dangerous love. New York girl born and bred, shopping at all the exclusive boutiques yes but it's the dirt of the city that draws you in deep, that scorches you like cigarette burns under all those pretty clothes, that ties you to me. I tip the valet extra and when you turn to go back to your car, I don't let go of your arm. We fuck in the Jaguar, the car air even more claustrophobic than our hotel. Then I pick an exit at random out of the city and we just go, just keep on driving. To hell with work. To hell with everything.
A/N: Special Prize, Round 2! I will write a commissioned story on any topic (except unironic Sebastian/Annette, I'm not that much of a masochist) especially for anyone who can answer the following question: where do [1st chapter of story] and [Kathryn's husband] live? Quel arrondissement?