Bath

The prompt was bath.

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Candlelight glimmering. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back to rest against the back of the copper tub.

He lifts the heavy bowl of warm water and tips it over her head, careful to make sure the water flows over her long, lustrous hair instead of over her face.

He runs his hands through each lock, squeezing the lavender-smelling suds out of it. The water gleams with soothing, scented oils.

She opens her brown eyes, meeting his black ones. He doesn’t smile; neither does she. There is no need for it.

They know to whom they each belong.

 

©2018 Heather Stephens

Fancy

I feel like the tone for this one is a little different than my usual work, but I like it anyway. The prompt was fancy.pexels-photo-417196

 

Twinkling at her eye-level, his lapel pin was a breaching humpback whale, with tiny black diamonds for eyes. A little gaudy, perhaps, but his presence here supported a good cause.

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d wanted to Save the Whales. She didn’t know that sitting at his table that night at the gala would give her life the one thing it was missing. She had a career, she had a purpose, she had hobbies. All that was left was companionship.

He kissed her fingers when he bid her goodnight, promising to call her tomorrow for dinner.

Complete.

© 2018 Heather Stephens

Trust

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Another dollar, another toy.

She was spending as fast as she was earning. Her husband hated it. He knew she thought she was being careful, but the finances just didn’t add up every month like he wanted.

But she was kind. She was determined. She worked so hard and chased her dreams like everyone should. Hard. Unrelenting.

He never mentioned the money. It was hers to do with as she willed. He trusted her, knew that if circumstances should change, she’d adapt.

Mutual trust. Mutual respect. He didn’t have to agree with her choices to love her for making them.

 

© 2016 Heather Stephens

Cat

Going back through old prompts. This one was “Cat“.

 

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He hadn’t seen his daughter in months.

The war had sent his career in the most skyward direction, and he was never home. A legitimate arms dealer, he had governments to seduce and deals to be made. Whenever he was home, it was after his princess was already asleep and he was gone before she rose, sleepily, to eat breakfast.

But he was home now. Or almost. The little cries from the box on the passenger seat sounded as eager to be there as he was.

At 5pm, he opened the door. At 5:03, the three-year-old opened her box.

Meow.

 

© 2016 Heather Stephens

 

A Distant Devotion

I like to think about love. Not necessarily my own love – for my family, my friends, myself. I like to consider what love can look like. It is my belief that there are a million different forms of love. On Sundays, I will look at a different way love can manifest. Some may be relevant to many people while others may only be pertinent to a select number of people. Still, I think love is something that should be studied by everyone.

Here is my first addition to the conversation.

 

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Her passion for the woman in her bed was distilled. All the toxic ingredients of a mutually beneficial arrangement – the drama, the attachment – was shed the moment the woman entered her apartment. It was a new sort of sensation, touching the woman without the perspective of romance. She had never done anything like this before, but her partner certainly had. Laying underneath the graceful, sensual ministrations of her lover’s hands, she experienced a new sort of love: a grateful devotion to the beauty of her sexual education.

She didn’t need commitment to learn. She only needed eagerness to come alive.

 

© 2016 Heather Stephens