The Little Red Kilt (Matryoshka #1) - Plot & Excerpts
I check the back of the driver’s head, knowing his eyes are on the rear-view mirror more often than the road ahead. No matter, I’m sybaritic. We alight, giddy from alcohol and lust, my teetering legs in little black boots, their high heels planted on paving. Waiting while he pays, my boots, my little red kilt, my sheath jacket, and me, Cold air dries me, a scourge of winter scours my skin. We ascend stone steps leading to my front door. Left-handed, I fish key from boot and push it home, my crippled hand cannot turn keys, but will curl a finger. He follows me in, and I move up the stairs leading to my flat. Staying close at my rear, his fingers trail my calf a degree at a time, the climb of a lifetime, his fingers probe my progress, and his hands cup rounded flesh. I’m wet again, moist, and hot, a mountain to climb before reaching the top of the flight. My door at the summit, an entry pad this time, I enter the code and push. A wall of warmth, a womb of red walls surround us, he closes the door and closes in.
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