Chapter 3
The Hourglass Is Empty
Her objective firmly in check, though her body was competing, Tracy rounds the corner and peers into the living room.
Monica has a glass fast pressed to tight lips, her shirt gripped closed in the opposite hand, and she is mid swallow.
This caused a pleasant smile to creep across the lioness's mouth, as if the prey was discovered at the water hole.
Tracy regains a straight face.
"Apparently I left my purse at the church" Tracy said, in a much ado about nothing way, as she strolls into the room, that first shook, then pissed Monica off, but she would be damned if she showed her need.
They were back at some bizarre metaphorical square one, as if some vile joking hand just flipped the hourglass back over.
Ah this is how it will be, Monica thought to herself, and how could she expect anything less.
"Did you make sure no one took anything out of it? "
Monica said with dry sarcasm that straightened Tracy's spine.
(ooo she is ready to go rounds isn't she)
"It was left in a CHURCH"
The annunciation on the second CH was sharp, bitchy, and flat, eyebrow cocked, her posture was ridged, hand on her hip.
Tracy scanned Monica's body, and held her urge to "CALL bullshit"
Cat and mouse was all they knew, and the Cat always wins, so why not play?
"You going to fix me one or should I find Alice?"
Monica placed both hands flat on the bar cart. She kept her stare on the ice bucket, and didn't move.
Her breath was deep and forcibly paced. This had also caused Monica to release the button less nightshirt she clutched closed moments ago.
Tracy sees this fight. Oh no, do not think for a second that it wasn't a struggle on both ends, Tracy has always been a more controlled creature.
"This is why I played barmaid, normal to you or not, before…"
It's so not the game, it's the warmth of the win, she thinks silently, as she reaches for that glass that green flagged all this again,
"It is obviously beyond your skills right now"
Oh Tracy felt powerful, like the woman behind the mirrored shades at the million dollar poker table with a Royal Flush
Just when she walked up to grab the crystal decanter, rake in her chips as it were, Monica reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She turned her gaze to Tracy, and said nothing. Both froze. For the briefest of moments, Tracy trembled.
Monica was serious.
Dead serious.
"You want to mock your brother? My marriage? My life? You want to rule the roost, and control the minions, and deal the cards go ahead Tracy,. go right ahead"
She managed to jerk that wrist close to her, and Monica could feel Tracy's pulse pound against her fingers.
"But do NOT, fuck with me, not here, not now, because I will forget in a heartbeat that you ever existed"
She tugged Tracy even closer.
"Am I making myself clear?" she spat, eyes darting over Tracy's immaculate sculpted face.
Oh yes she was strong, and her conviction was hardly half hearted, but it screamed of want, a beautiful ruse of want, hidden well, to the layperson, behind a veil of fear.
Tracy blinked, and then blinked again. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or clap. With a pull back, met by formidable resistance, Tracy took her best approach.
With a whip of her hair to the side, an Alpha squaring of shoulders, and sheer body language, she set into action all she could to regain the upper hand, even as she felt her own desire soaking through silk, slicking the inside of her thighs.
"Monica, Monica, Monica…how does someone go about forgetting someone they have worn like a second skin?"
Tracy was just dripping with sensual venom.
"Tell me honey, how many times did you try franticallyto forget I existed?"
The ball was easing back into Tracy's court, and Monica found it hard to breath.
All bets were off.
"How many times, after you and I have done this, this "thing" these tiffs, the useless little charades that we do, have you tried to push me from your mind?"
Tracy's eyes were ablaze. Her voice dropped to a low hiss.
"How many times have you stormed out of this room, and dropped in a frustrated heap on your bed, your sanctimonious married bed, behind a locked door, and found yourself slipping your hand into your ever so faithful panties, wishing like hell it was my hand, because you really needed to forget I existed?"
Monica's shaking was uncontrollable, pure lust, and blind rage are heavy, heavy elixirs to mix and Monica truly believed if something didn't give soon, she'd simple die.
"BUT, my dear, if you feel that strongly,"
She brought her body closer, playing Monica's pull forward, to a slack armed distance
"That deeply" she added with a smoky low purr. Her words loose, and methodical, her eyes, pupils huge, scanning Monica up, and down
"If this is just some momentary lapse of reason," she pulls her hand back, though Monica holds fast to her wrist.
"Then walk away my queen of conviction, seamstress of the moral fabric, because this is the grown up playground"
Monica did not budge, her jaw hurt from clenching it, she was pushed to the precipice.
"Here's your chance sweetie, turn tail and run, or cut the shit, right here, and right now"
Tracy closes the gap, toe to toe they stand, and they both know this just can't keep up.
"What's it going to be Monica?"