Eighty Days Yellow Read Online Free PDF Page B

threaded a couple of fingers through her fire-coloured hair, met the soft resistance of dozens of hairpins holding the delicately shaped construction in place. Sighed. Began to extract each hairpin in slow, deliberate motion, freeing whole strands at a time, watching them detach themselves from the mass and flop down to her shoulders, settling calmly across the taut, thin straps of her bra.
    These were the moments he lived for. The quiet before the storm. The ritual of unveiling. Knowing the point of no return had been reached, breached, and the fuck was now inevitable. Dominik wanted to savour every single moment, slow them down to a crawl, imprint every memory on his grey cells, brand-new visions coursing from fingertip and throughout his body, along the hardening shaft of his erection, all the way to his brain, bypassing the visual nerve in the process so that they were encrypted in a most particular manner and rendered unforgettable and immortal. The stuff of memories he could spend his whole life feasting on.
    He drew a deep breath, caught the faint, unfamiliar whiff of cocoa oil.
    ‘What’s your perfume?’ he asked, intrigued by the uncommon fragrance.
    ‘Oh, that,’ Claudia said with an enticing smile. ‘It’s not a perfume, just the cream I massage into my skin every morning. Keeps my body soft. You don’t like it?’
    ‘It’s unusual, I must admit,’ he replied, then reflected, ‘It’s you.’
    He would quickly get used to it. Strange how every woman had a distinctive smell, a signature, a delicate sensory equilibrium of natural scent, artificial perfumes and oils, sweet and sour.
    Claudia unhooked her bra and her breasts fell out, surprisingly high and firm. Dominik’s hands journeyed down to her hard dark-brown nipples. One day in the future, he would enjoy clamping them with her hairpins and get hard watching the pain and pleasure it caused fly across her watery eyes.
    ‘Often, during your lectures, I would catch you looking straight at me, you know,’ she remarked.
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘Oh, yes, you did,’ she smiled.
    ‘If you say so,’ he added, in a mischievous tone.
    How could he have not? She had always worn the shortest of skirts and invariably sat in the first row of the amphitheatre, crossing and uncrossing her stockinged legs in gay and distractful abandon, calmly observing his roving gaze with an enigmatic smile drawn across her full lips.
    ‘Let’s see you, then,’ Dominik said.
    He watched her as she unzipped the Burberry-patterned skirt, allowing it to drop to the floor and stepping out of it, still wearing her knee-high brown leather boots. She had strong thighs, but her tall frame was in unison, and as she stood still, topless, her breasts at full imperious mast, clad only in her straight-waisted black knickers, matching hold-up stockings and well-polished boots, there was a warlike Amazonian demeanour about her. Fierce but pliant. Aggressive but ready to bend. They locked gazes.
    ‘You,’ she ordered.
    Dominik unbuttoned his shirt, let it drift to the carpeted floor, as she watched attentively.
    A complicit smile breezed across Claudia’s lips, as Dominik remained impassive, his eyes urging her silently to keep on undressing.
    Claudia bent over, unzipped the boots and kicked them both off in rapid succession. She rolled down the thin nylon stockings until they were bunched up round her ankles, then pulled them off. She was about to slip out of her knickers when Dominik raised his hand.
    ‘Wait,’ he said. She interrupted her motion.
    He walked over to Claudia, moved behind her back and kneeled down as he stuck a finger inside the undergarment’s tight elastic, admiring the solidity and round perfection of her arse cheeks from his new perspective, the scattered moles dotted here and there across the panorama of her bare back. He pulled in a downwards motion, revealing the white landscape of her hard buttocks. He nudged her calf and she stepped out of the knickers, which he