𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐲: "𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞; 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫."
NEW YORK, 1967
It's 1967 and Margot Murdock's life is falling apart. I...
I have COVID, if there are mistakes, no there aren't lmaoooo Please vote and comment. Lack of engagement makes writers feel like their work isn't worth reading. It doesn't take much to vote and comment, so please do this for all authors 🩵
MARGOT
Margot & Kate's Apartment
June 5, 1967
I've been up since four, tossing and turning, throwing the blankets off of me and then pulling them back on when I get too cold. All I've been able to think about is him, and the way he held me the other night when we both drifted off to sleep. I keep thinking about his head between my thighs, his tongue, the weight of his hands pressed against my skin. There are embers in my belly, threatening to expand into a full blown fire.
It's 4:56. I can't hear Kate up and around. We're going to work together this morning because she's sick of picking up Foggy's slack in the mornings when he gets in late. My skin is tingling, and I swear I can still feel James's lips on my inner thighs. I need him in a way I can't explain. Truthfully, I was a little more than bummed out when he gave me a copy of my house key back at the office and told me he would see me today at 8:30 to prep for his meeting with Rumlow. I wanted him to take me home again. I longed for those arms around me, cradling me, and those hands that say everything he can't.
Out of sheer desperation, I grab the phone on my nightstand and my phone book out of my purse. He gave me his number last night; all I have to do is look for his small, scribbled writing. I find it in the middle of the book, written in tiny letters at the top with a small heart next to them and his initial. J. My stomach flutters and I dial his number, sighing and flopping back onto my pillow. It rings and rings, and I'm already smiling so big anticipating the sound of his voice. Then, I hear a click.
"Hello?"
He sounds out of breath. I know he works out in the morning.
"Good morning, lover," I purr.
"Margot?"
"I missed you."
"Missed me? You're going to see me at 9:00."
His voice is silky, like he's trying to convince himself of the same thing.
"You didn't miss me?"
He takes a breath.
"Margot..." My back arches, and I'm practically foaming at the mouth at the way he says my name. "Of course, I miss you."
"I've been thinking about you." My hand slips beneath the blanket around my hips and I push past the waistband of my panties. "So much."
