Arabella And The Author
“Turn...around,” he says slowly, sternly. He is seated, not far from her, watching with avid intent. She doesn’t move, just stands there staring back at him. Frozen. Intimidated.With a downward angling index finger, he makes a swirling motion as if to provide a visual aid to his request.“Tuuurn.” The single syllable draws out with fluid serenity.She remains still, hands clasped, one over the top of the other and nestled in her waist. She is completely naked.To her right, a warm Mediterranean...
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