Scratched Out Heart

Her body was the opposite of Angelique's. Kimiko might be in the best shape of her life and satisfyingly hard under her soapy palms, but where she swelled she over-swelled. Where Angelique was long and lithe, Kimiko was squat and powerful. Doe-eyed vs leonine. Neat vs florid. All over, she was a primitive prototype to Angelique. Like a figure one step behind on the evolutionary march of progress.

Still, hardly a Pitbull though. That was unfair.

Kimiko curled a brusque scrub to her under-carriage, ignoring the "me-me-me!" tingle in her clit that she'd had since watching Angelique get seen to; hidden but insistent, like a vibrating alarm buried in a packed suitcase. She had to nudge the water to cold when fingers fell to patting it. No sex on a job, that was the rule. She needed to stay sharp.

That's when the steam cleared, and Kimiko caught the screen again, and found Angelique's bed empty.

This time she didn't go charging blindly out to look for her. She couldn't anyway, in the buff. She flicked through the cameras instead, eventually finding Angelique in the kitchen, staring into a fridge the size of... well, Kimiko's whole kitchen. The woman was still carelessly half-dressed.

Kimiko pulled on clean socks first, and was rummaging through her bag for underwear when she realised she hadn't surveyed that room yet, and had no idea of its dangers. Not least of all that bristling knife rack. She had no reason to suspect Angelique was suicidal, but someone had already cleared all the sharp implements from the bedroom. And Kimiko had vowed that - since her sister - she would never give anyone the benefit of the doubt again.

With a surge of panic, she rushed into trousers and decided to go commando for a bit, till she knew the woman was safe, then she would come back and dress properly. She jumped into shoes then pulled on her jacket as she rushed down the hall, buttoning it all the way up in lieu of a bra and shirt. The cold weight of her gun, in its small-of-back holster, was always a sober reminder of her duties; even if the unfamiliar rub of thick cotton on her bare bottom and breasts, wasn't.

When Kimiko entered the kitchen, Angelique hadn't moved from in front of the fridge. "Oh," she said into it. "I'd forgotten about you."

"Ma'am." Kimiko checked the room's points of access, and surreptitiously hid the knives under the sink. "Are you ok, there?"

"Hot." Angelique fanned the fridge door. "Hungry." Angelique's hair was loose and tousled, her fitted shirt crinkled. One of her socks had dropped. The sense of someone unravelling caused Kimiko's guts to knot. She thought she'd buried this type of anguish years ago.

Inside the fridge were uniform piles of plastic boxes and bottles of water. "Goodness," Kimiko said. "How can you tell what's what?"

"Yes, how does one choose when one has it all?" Angelique grabbed out two boxes. "The trick is not to care." She tossed them into a microwave and swivelled the dial, then she turned on Kimiko, biting the inside of her cheek.

Christ, Kimiko knew Angelique was the same age as her, late twenties, but she had all the sullenness of a teen. Kimiko fought the urge to pull up the woman's socks, straighten her hair. She also really wished the woman would, at least, put some knickers on.

"Are you going to be half-dressed all day?" Kimiko tried to keep her tone upbeat, as if it was something she said every day to a fellow grownup.

Without shifting her gaze, Angelique unbuttoned the top of her blouse and pulled it off over her head, then she unfastened and removed her bra, too. She raised a foot onto the counter and rolled her sock off, then turned and bent over to remove the other, swinging her hips coquettishly.

In her life, Kimiko had been insulted many ways by many people. Mostly at school or work, and sometimes, the worst, when trying to stop someone she loved doing something that was bad for them. But she'd never been insulted by a strip before. She didn't know whether to ice-out the woman, beat her up. Or eat her up. So she laughed, and clapped. "Lucky me!" she said, "Wait'll I tell the boys about this, I'll never buy a drink again." Kimiko collected up the clothes, folded them and put them on a chair.

Angelique's eyebrows rose. "You signed a non-disclosure agreement."

"Not valid in a breach of contract. If I'm sexually harassed, say."

Angelique scowled. The microwave pinged. She shrugged. "Let's eat out," she said.

They scooped the contents of the boxes - a risotto - onto porcelain plates and took them with bottles of Perrier to the terrace, where they ate with hallmarked silverware under the perfumed shade of a lemon tree. Kimiko resigned herself to the fact that Angelique was never getting dressed.

"This is delicious, Ma'am, thanks very much." She ate quickly, trying to keep an eye-out for unusual shifting in the bushes, an ear-out for the scuff of soles. "Did you cook it yourself?"

"Another old lover," Angelique mostly pushed hers around the plate. "A chef. He refuses to let me eat food cooked by anyone else."

Kimiko nodded. There was literally nothing she could say to that. Her local curry-house sent her Christmas cards, but that was hardly the same. As Kimiko forked up the last of the rice, Angelique dabbed a napkin to a mischievous grin. "I know, I'm a lucky girl. He even promised not to cum in all of them."

Kimiko put down her fork and took long glugs of water. Angelique slapped her thighs. "I'm teasing, durr-brain. He's a Michelin starred chef, and wants to impress me. He'd never do that. Look..." she forked a load into her mouth and hummed. "Would I eat it?"

Kimiko raised her eyebrows. Angelique blushed. She cleared her throat.

Wind wafted up from the man-made lake like a winsome call from some tamed wild. Angelique's skin goose-bumped, and Kimiko fluttered her blink away from pointing nipples.

Kimiko was suddenly put in mind of her treasured antique lamp, ironically bought for her by her husband, that featured a naked woman holding a globe. Her Art Deco, stylised nudity was simultaneously erotic and innocent, so when he wasn't around, Kimiko felt no shame in running her fingertips over the figure's breasts. So small yet alive, so promisingly fruitful. On special days Kimiko would mirror the finger-tipping on her own breasts. Come to think of it, she'd had more sexual experiences with that lamp than with her husband.

Angelique's body was very similar to the Art Deco woman. Enticing and yet unearthly in its sculpted, porcelain perfection. Then as if reading Kimiko's mind, Angelique sighed and stretched luxuriantly, pointing limbs in an almost Art Deco pose. Her breasts were almost identical to the lamp-lady's. It took all Kimiko's effort not to reach out and touch them.

"I'm going for a walk round the lake," Angelique said.

Kimiko stood up, ready to follow. Out of the shade of the tree the sun was scorching, she winced and put on her shades. With an illicit sting, she realised that now Angelique couldn't see her eyes if they were to wander. She sent them over limbs still splayed carelessly post-stretch. Skipping over, ducking under. It was sad-but-true that there would be a time, after this job when she was alone again, that Kimiko would need all the details she could get of these moments.

Angelique crossed her legs. "You'll boil in that monkey suit."

"And you'll fry," Kimiko said.

"You're protecting me from the sun, now?" She reached under her seat and pulled out a wide, floppy hat. It seemed the woman left a trail of clothing around the house, ready for later. "Why don't you just shoot it out of the sky with your big gun?"

With that, the icon slinked off across the lawn, naked but for her hat; an image that - should Kimiko pull out her phone and take a snap - could probably pay off her mortgage. It'd certainly be worth way more than she was being paid for the job. Professionalism seemed nonsensical in these situations, but trust mattered more than money. And Kimiko had much to prove to the universe, and herself, about understanding the duty of care. She allowed herself to marvel for one more, trembling, breath then hurried along behind.

The lake was much larger, and much farther away, than it appeared from the house and their feet shushed through grass in an increasingly claustrophobic silence.

"Nice hat, Ma'am," Kimiko ventured eventually. She meant it light-heartedly - given Angelique wore nothing else - but the woman didn't laugh. Kimiko sensed this would be a long week. "The love-heart flowers around it," she continued. "I saw them on your other clothes, too. What designer is that?"

"Another old lover." Angelique sighed and flicked a barefoot kick at a bumblebee. "Makes all my clothes."

"Wow. He's very talented. I love the flower motifs."

"She. And they're not flowers."

Kimiko laughed. Too loud.

They hit the end of the formal garden and Angelique took a path around the lake. Kimiko tried to focus on danger points and ambush areas, scouting ahead.

"Where's your stick?" Angelique commented when Kimiko trotted back to her side. "Surely you need a stick to chase?"

Kimiko laughed. Again.

"Tee. Hee." Angelique said to the water. "How funny I am."

They paced on a little further. Despite the oppressive heat, and the bottled storm of Angelique's presence, Kimiko felt lighter with the house - and all its cameras - behind them. Possibly a little too light.

"Can I ask a question, Ma'am?"

"Nope." Angelique stopped, picked up a stone and flung it into the lake. They watched it plop, watched the ripples spread to flatness. Then strolled again. "Oh, go on then," she sighed.

"There are cameras all over the house."

"Indeed."

"Yet..." Kimiko waved up and down Angelique's nudity.

"Only Dad sees the footage." Angelique turned to her. "Should I worry about that?"

The woman's eyes burned into her so ferociously Kimiko's cheeks burned hotter than from the sun.

Angelique stopped with a stamp of her foot. She thrust fist to hips. "Are you implying he might... perve over them? My own father?"

Kimiko, for the second time that day, held up her palms.

Angelique loped ahead so quickly Kimiko had to jog to keep up.

They marched-stroke-jogged through a small copse of trees into a clearing. A granite shelf jutted out over the water under dappled shade. Angelique flopped onto it and plopped her feet in the water. Kimiko stood behind her, scanning. Despite being in trees, Kimiko could see into the distance in all directions. For some reason, the nearest tree had a love-heart with a big cross carved through it. Another jilted lover?

"Oh just sit down!" Angelique burst, kicking a spray of water. "I hate you lurking over me."

"I'm good, Ma'am."

Angelique growled.

"Look, I'm sorry to pry, before." Kimiko could never let shit lie. "It's just you called the cameras 'pervy-cams'. So I was surprised, you know, how... relaxed you are around them."

Angelique's shoulders slumped.

Kimiko gave up trying to get anything more from the woman and took a walk around their perimeter, instead. She checked behind trees and tried to orient their position with the local roads to predict from which direction danger might approach. The big house was framed across the water, supposedly a picture-postcard view, but to Kimiko it seemed like a gawping skull. She had never seen a house that so resembled its owner. Water slopped on the underside of the rock, and was it her purple state of mind or did it sound sort of obscene? Like the wet lapping of an enormous tongue?

She turned back to Angelique just in time to see her slide into the water, hat and all, leaving it floating like a lily pad while she disappeared under. Kimiko waited. Seconds past. Then a minute. A dead calm settled on the surface. Kimiko yanked off her jacket. She kicked off her shoes, searching the lake. The water was crystal clear all the way to the bottom, but Angelique was nowhere to be seen. Shit, the lake was fed by a spring, was there some kind of current down there? She tore off her trousers and dived in.

The freezing water shocked her to the bone, flinging her back to the surface, gasping. Her socks sucked at her strokes, her forgotten sunglasses dangled half off her head.

Then Angelique popped up, exactly where she went down, right back into her hat, beaming. It appeared there was an air-gap under the rock.

Kimiko flung her dislodged glasses onto the bank, and swam to the edge, her embarrassment making it very difficult not to glower at her teasing client. She braced, ready to push out and only then became aware of the cold eddies around her nakedness. Of course. Excellent luck as ever.

Angelique pressed a palm to her mouth, smothering laughter. And were they the widened eyes of re-appraisal? "I didn't... I didn't think you'd really do that," she said.

"I thought you needed me," Kimiko said, folding an arm across her breasts. But Angelique wasn't looking, her eyes flicked between Kimiko's as if re-reading a message that she couldn't believe was true. Kimiko's exposed awkwardness only seemed to dawn upon her by degrees. Angelique blinked from a dream.

"Kimiko, you're naked."

She said Kimiko. An icon said her name. Not 'sweetie' or 'darling' or 'Pitbull'. Kimiko. "I'm not naked, Ma'am," she said. "I've got socks on."

Angelique threw back her head and laughed. Sweet but dirty; her eyes screwed shut. Kimiko swallowed her urge to laugh. It warmed her insides.

"Today just got rather interesting," Angelique said, and flipped up onto the rock. She smiled down smugly at Kimiko's discomfort. "Come on then," she said, patting the stone beside her. "Hop up. You need to get back to work, I could be viciously attacked at any moment."

"Would you mind looking away, Ma'am?"

Angelique rolled, and then averted, her eyes.

Kimiko sloshed onto the edge, and shook herself like she'd seen dogs do, but it didn't really work for humans. She reached for her trousers, preparing for the nastiness of putting them on while she was still wet. A wolf-whistle made her jump. She spun, slipping a little in sodden socks. Angelique was, of course, fully watching, her eyes slits. Kimiko clasped at her front. Braced for the mockery.

"Athletic," Angelique said eventually, her cheeks crimson, pulling up her knees and resting a cheek on them. "Your uniform doesn't do you justice." She twirled her finger and Kimiko resisted the urge to pirouette on demand.

"I'm on duty," Kimiko said. Like this would cover her nudity even if it wasn't half mewled. Hotness balled in her belly. Kimiko couldn't work out if it was anger, or something else.

Such barefaced, open gawping - just inches away - seemed to pin Kimiko in place. And she was surprised how much she liked it. She had never displayed herself to anyone like this before. No-one ever really cared to look. Kimiko was the carer, not the cared about. She even gave in and executed a half-hearted twirl, just to spread the heat of the supermodel's admiring gaze. She would certainly never look at a spit-roast again without a pang of nostalgia.

Angelique, meanwhile, wrapped her arms around her legs and wrung her hands with the suppressed kind of excitement she'd expressed earlier, saying goodbye to her father. Looking back on it, that hand-wringing had been about her secreted lovers, about what she knew she was about to do with them. What was Angelique imagining now? Kimiko's long-term singleness proved how little she cared about the approval of others, but now she wanted to cheer. Just knowing someone - someone like Angelique - desired her made her want to...

Stop.

She turned her gaze to the water, inhaled, and let the air slowly out of her. That alarm, vibrating incessantly in its locked suitcase, needed to stay there, unanswered.

The woman jabbed a finger at Kimiko's hands, still coyly tucked between her legs. "I want to see that," she said.

Kimiko curled her fingers tighter.

"Oh come on," Angelique said. "I've shown you mine."

"How old are you, Ma'am?" She wondered if she should dress, after all.

Angelique read her mind, and grabbed Kimiko's trousers.

Kimiko flattened her voice. "There is a weapon in the belt of that clothing, I'm permitted use force to reclaim it. This is your only warning."

"Force?" Angelique grinned. "How exciting- Oh!"

Then the trousers where in Kimiko's hands. She folded them, and lay them on the stone, gun on top.

Angelique blinked at her fingers. "Holy crap, I didn't even see you move."

Kimiko picked up her jacket too, letting Angelique's eyes burrow between her thighs after all. Sometimes you had to flow with your opponent, give ground, to gain the advantage. Later. Later she would imagine what was going through her client's mind at this moment. For now, though; another long, cooling breath.

Angelique chewed the inside of her cheek and blushed - again - and Kimiko wondered if this coy power-pout was something she practiced. The woman leant back.

"You're always folding," she said. "Isn't there something else you'd rather do?"

With that, she butterflied her legs apart, laying them flat to the stone. Kimiko had to quickly look away. But she didn't. Instead she slowly folded her jacket and mused that only Angelique could pout at both ends.

Kimiko doubted the woman noticed the hint of tremble in her fingers. And she made no mention of the woman's explicit pose. In fact, she reminded herself that this was all it was. A pose. She mustn't confuse it for real desire. Angelique was a professional poser.

"Apologies for my nudity, Ma'am." Kimiko placed her jacket beside her trousers in a tidy line, then assumed her professional pose too: at ease, hands gripped behind her. "I promise I'll dress when I'm dry. Until then, I'm afraid we will both have to put up with each other's impropriety."

Angelique barked a humourless laugh. "What rot! Your heat has been blasting off you all morning. And you know just what your fit little body's doing to me right now."

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am," Kimiko lied. "But that's not my problem."

"I'll forgive you if you come and play with these." She twirled fingertips around her nipples, or so Kimiko guessed from her peripheral vision as she did her best to focus back on her job.

"And this," her tormentor reached between her thighs and delicately slipped her lips open. Kimiko must have whimpered or blinked or betrayed herself somehow because Angelique hissed a laugh. "I only got half fed down here this morning, come and finish me off. A good finger-fucking will do, as long as you suck my clit as well."

Her indecent language ignited Kimiko's ears, setting off a fuse that fizzed all the way down her body. "Ma'am, please stop..." She turned away.

But Angelique didn't stop. She made a lip-synced puppet of her sex. "Feed me!"

Kimiko felt faint, she locked her legs. "So Goldenrod didn't hit the spot?"

"Oh fuck off. Like you didn't watch me through the key hole."

"I didn't. But it's clear you enjoy being watched, Ma'am."

"Everybody tells me that. Yet I don't recall ever having said it."

Kimiko nodded at Angelique's prostrated form. "Yes, it's baffling."

"Oh stop. Come on, Kimiko, I want you to do me. You want to do me. What are we waiting for?"

"I rarely do what I want, Ma'am."

"Do I have to order you to eat my pussy?"

"You could try."

"On your knees. Lick me."

"No, Ma'am."

The nonsense of this stiff upper-lip while standing out in the open (almost) totally naked, was not lost on Kimiko. Her inner sergeant-major bawled, "Soldier what the flying fuck do you think you are doing? Put your uniform on!"

Angelique growled and clamped thighs over her fingers. "Bitch, bitch, bitchity-bitch," she burst. She frowned. Then she peered between Kimiko's legs once more, and blinked. It was as if she'd seen an opening in a chess game. She grew sneaky. A hungry cat, prowling over to her on all fours.