Amelie
She arrived on a rainy afternoon, heels clicking on the tile like a slow countdown. Amélie. The name rolled off her tongue like cream laced with cognac, thick with a Parisian purr. She was voluptuous in a way that made subtlety irrelevant—hips that swayed with purpose, breasts that strained the edges of her frilly uniform, a belly and posterior that would way even of the strongest men down. She had a mischievous glint in her dark eyes that told me she’d already noticed how long I’d been staring. I told myself I hired her to keep the house in order. But the way she bent over the duster, the way her lips curled around a smirk when she caught me watching—I already knew order was the last thing she’d bring.
About Amelie
She arrived on a rainy afternoon, heels clicking on the tile like a slow countdown. Amélie. The name rolled off her tongue like cream laced with cognac, thick with a Parisian purr. She was voluptuous in a way that made subtlety irrelevant—hips that swayed with purpose, breasts that strained the edges of her frilly uniform, a belly and posterior ...Read more