Meeting Kaiser

"And?" Ellie prompted when she could speak again.

"When I was born apparently I was as arrogant as a dictator, so my father started calling me Kaiser, and I suppose it just stuck."

"For the same reason," Ellie said, "because you're haughty and proud," and felt his breath of laughter against her shoulder. She should go now, she thought, to maintain the interest, and leave before he wanted her to. She had no idea what time it was. "I have to go," she said softly against his ear. "Where's your bathroom?" For a moment Kaiser didn't move, and then Ellie felt him lift and then settle on his side so that she could sit up. She gathered her clothes and left the room.

His flat was small: a door stood open into his bedroom but she could see little, and next door was the bathroom. Ellie washed quickly and dressed, her mind snapped back in place and active.

When Ellie returned to the living room, Kaiser was lying full length on his stomach on the sofa, his lean cheek resting on one arm, the other resting on the open book on the floor that he was reading. It was thick and academic and Ellie could see the hieroglyphs. He had switched on a lamp and the glow of it lay over his body, his athlete's, god-king's body, with the triangular torso and taut rounded buttocks, and long muscular legs. She walked over to stand by his head and his hand came out and closed around her ankle and then ran up over her calf, then under her skirt and up her thigh. She removed it and then crouched so that her face was level with his.

"I'm going," she said softly. He withdrew his hand and then slid it through her hair, cupping her jaw, and his thumb stroked against her full lower lip. It was a substitute for a kiss.