Miss Taylor: Part II

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Click here to start with Part I

Maintaining her composure, she watched as The Chauffeur turned the key over and over, unable to get any response from the engine. After some distinct profanity, he exited the car to take a look at the engine. She simply continued staring out the window, caught up in the slow and steady movement of the leaves on the trees, occasionally glancing towards the front of the car for a moment of visual ecstasy.

As the sun was setting, The Chauffeur got back in the car, flustered and dribbling about how he didn’t know what was wrong and would need to begin walking back to town. Overwhelmed, and chattering hastily, he grabbed his things and opened the car door to begin his trek.

“I’m cold,” came the voice from the backseat. Startled at hearing words come from those lips, The Chauffeur turned back and looked at Miss Taylor; then at the scenery – warm and summery – then back at her, unsure what to do. She was sitting in her stately manner, gently caressing her arms. He began to explain the depravity of their circumstances once again, but trailed off as she pulled him into her deep gaze and slowly shook her head back and forth in protest. Dumbfounded, he stopped talking.

Then for a moment, just a short moment, he thought she faltered. It was so imperceptible, he barely trusted his own judgment, but it seemed as though, for a split second, she was unsure. She began speaking more aggressively.

“I’m cold,” she said again in the same monotone voice. He began to remove his jacket but could see in her eyes that this was not her end game. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the leather of the seat next to her and she returned her gaze to the trees now fading into darkness.

Seeing the futility of his attempts to remedy the situation, and recalling several very unpleasant rumors of her past responses to rebellion, The Chauffeur cautiously crawled into the backseat with her, shutting the door, and moving with glaring discomfort as close as she beckoned. All his instincts screamed at him to hesitate, but as he obeyed her commands, the hypnotic nature of her beauty and her presence grew. The closer he got, the more his terror opened an unwanted invitation to curiosity and desire. She always got what she wanted. This he knew. This moment would be no different.

He felt in a daze as he sat close to her, his eyes just inches from hers. Looking deep into his eyes, she brought her fingers to her lips again, tracing their shape and then very briefly and tenderly touching his. His eyes closed in enjoyment and felt her fingers trace his strong jawbone, then move carefully down the veins in his neck, finding their resting place on the top button of his shirt. She played with the button momentarily until he opened his eyes and realized she was staring at him with both deliberation and expectation, as if testing his ability to determine what to do next. For a brief second his head came back to reality and he broke her gaze, looking around him and wondering what on earth he was getting himself into. But his distraction was short-lived as she rose up tall and confident, gently guided his gaze back to her, and brought her face just centimeters from his, breathing deeply and feeling the power of the fear and desire emanating from his body.

And then they were lost in each other.

Before the sun came up the next day, another driver happened upon them and her back-up chauffeur was called in to rescue them. The Chauffeur didn’t care for the curious looks he was getting from his rescuer in the rearview mirror as they finished the trek home. Upon reaching the estate, they exited the car as if complete strangers, and she appeared angry as she tried to properly walk inside despite the previous evening’s adventure. He spoke with the back-up chauffeur for a few minutes, discussing the state of the car and potential causes of the stall. Before retiring for the evening, he glanced back at the house and saw her in her bedroom window on the second floor. Her hand reached out to touch the window with her fingers and the very tiniest smile crept across her face.

Over the next few weeks The Chauffeur found himself delighted to have gained her attention. He didn’t mind accompanying her on her vain and bland outings; they often fused into opportunities to explore each other again: the dressing room, the bathroom, the empty horse stalls. He was even pulled slyly up to her room in the evening every now and then. She still didn’t smile much and conversation was near nonexistent – and shrouded in ambiguity when it was – but despite her quirks he enjoyed the affair immensely. He began to wonder if a more pleasurable and more simple relationship could possibly exist.

Click here to go straight to Part III

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One thought on “Miss Taylor: Part II

  1. Pingback: Miss Taylor: Part I | Writers of the Rain

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