Au Pays de la Fleur D’Oranger, Lavande Ombrée
The wind rustled lengths of lavender into a frenzy to match her pace as she chased the last train. Everything was racing in time to her heartbeat, right down the the streams of perspiration that formed behind her bare knees and traveled against all reason upwards toward the heart of her heat. Her own scent rose up around her, the day’s recollection told in whiffs of smoke and cinnamon and sex. With a lurch she fell toward the first free seat and landed right. In his lap.