"Oh God, yes!"
His favourite: her on top wearing no more than UGG boots, a push-up bra, blonde plaits and a succulent lipstick smile. Bustlucious, callipygian, Swedish and young enough to be his granddaughter, he'd fallen for her at once. She'd fallen on his money just as fast.
His empty whisky glass sat next to his pill organiser, tonight with a weekend pill bonus. He liked to plan these evenings.
She turned around, leant forward with her hands round his wrists, and sucked his toes, one by one. His favourite. That should do it.
"Oh God, yes!"
She'd been planning this evening for over a year, for when the prenup expired. Her carefully positioned fingers felt his pulse become erratic: the effect of her and the whisky and the weekend pill; the non-effect of placebos she'd switched for his medication.
One more round of the toes should do it.
"Uh...."
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GREEN STORIES: ‘Fruits of Labour’ by Holly Schofield
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