The Designer

Creampie

*This is my first but hopefully not my last erotic story.

*Any and all comments are welcome, without feedback I can’t improve.

*I hope you enjoy the characters and the story, many thanks for reading.

-Peaches

*****

She dropped her keys for the second time.

“Fuck!” she snarled as she picked them up from the floor.

Her hands were trembling. Mentally shaking herself, she took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. Finally she gained entry to her apartment. Closing the door quickly behind her she leant against it and looked through the spy hole. No. He wasn’t there. She sighed and rested her head against the door. Relief washed over her.

With a sigh she put down her handbag. The routine had begun.

First stop hallway: heels kicked off, cardigan hung up. Kitchen: cupboard, wine glass, fridge, wine. Living room: stereo on. Bathroom: taps on, bubble bath, strawberry this evening.

She sat on the bathroom stool wine glass in hand and contemplated downing the whole lot.

“Sod it,” she thought, there’s more where that came from.

With big gulps she slugged back her drink. The alcohol enveloped her in its warmth. She needed it. Placing the glass on the tiled floor she got up and unzipped her dress. Her clients appreciated her sense of style and had come to expect high standards in the way she presented herself. As a result vintage dresses had become her uniform, part of her brand. Sourcing them was a bitch though. Trying to fit the 32D bust of a modern girl into a 1940s Dior was rather like forcing a square peg into a round hole. Thankfully being handy with a sewing machine had its merits.

With her dress now gathered around her feet she turned to face the full length mirror on the tiled wall. She gathered her dark hair into her hands and lifted it to the back of her head, then let it tumble from her hands in waves. Yep, it could do with shampooing tonight, she thought. She turned back to the stool and placed her right leg on it, she unclipped her garter and rolled down her stocking and repeated the step for her left leg.

“Fuck!” she yelled as she looked over to the bath and realised she had less than 10 seconds before overflow. She raced to the taps and shut off the flow just as the water escaped running freely over the rim.

“Fuck!” she grabbed a towel from the rail and mopped up as much of the spilled water as she could.

Sighing she threw the sodden towel into the laundry basket and made her way to the large Victorian sash window. Air. She needed air. The steam from the water was suffocating her. She opened the clasp and heaved the sash window open. Taking in deep breaths she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the fresh air. Feeling a little clear headed she finished undressing and sank into the inviting depths of her bath.

After 30 minutes of scrubbing and preening her bathroom routine was complete. She threw on her comfy dressing gown before switching off the bathroom light, plunging the room behind her into darkness.

She crossed the hallway into her bedroom. This was most definitely her favourite room in her apartment. Her sanctuary, as she called it. It was decorated in muted tones of green and beige. Dominating the room was an enormous French upholstered bed against the middle of the far wall opposite the bedroom door. She had hunted high and low for vintage materials to make her numerous cushions from, a process that had taken her no less than 19 months. Other than the bed the room was sparsely furnished. Two bedside tables and to the left a wall sized bookcase that was rammed full of various tomes. In the right hand corner was a lived in armchair, next to it was a small table with a reading lamp. It was here that she escaped into her fantasy world, devouring every book she owned and more. Under the table were her slippers, she slipped them on and laughed as the reindeer nose twinkled. They had been a Christmas present from her best friend and though garish she loathed to part from them.

She walked from her bedroom and crossed to the bathroom, she remembered the window needed closing. Even though the bathroom and her bedroom faced on to her garden she was still wary of forgetting to close either window at night. This was London after all. Completing the task she picked up her wine glass and headed for the kitchen.

Dinner was leftover reheated pasta with a side salad and a small glass of wine in front of the TV. Before she got too settled for the evening she peeled herself from the sofa and took the dishes into the kitchen and deposited them into the dishwasher. The rule was two hours of work every week night, it was when she was at her most relaxed and ideas flowed freely. She made her way into her workroom come dressing room. It was large and jam packed full of things that sparkled and glittered. Along one wall there were numerous shelves piled with bolts of material and baskets of remnants. One whole shelf was devoted to jars upon jars of buttons, in all colours, shapes and Ümraniye Escort sizes imaginable. Upon a workbench underneath the shelves there lived an outdated computer and a modern Singer sewing machine along with jars of beads and ribbons. There was a handmade built in wardrobe and a dressing table with a vintage oval mirror on the other side of the room. Before getting to work she changed out of her dressing gown and into her pajamas, cotton shorts and a vest top.

She yawned and checked the time. Almost two hours had passed and she decided that was enough for today. She had made some real headway with the new collection although tomorrow night she would probably scrap at least three quarters of it. She saved her work and stretched as her dinosaur of a computer shutdown. She got up and took her dressing gown from the coat stand next to the door. She couldn’t resist running her hands through the soft silk scarves hanging there like leaves. She shivered with pleasure and turned out the light.

After washing up and brushing her teeth she snuggled down into bed. Too tired to read she closed her heavy eyes and drifted gently to sleep. She dreamed.

——————

She dropped her keys for the second time.

“Fuck!” she snarled as she picked them up from the floor.

He saw her hands were trembling even from this distance. He watched as she paused steadying herself. Then she unlocked her front door and was gone. He imagined her in her apartment, taking off her cardigan, kicking off her shoes and heading for the kitchen. What would it be tonight? A hot cup of tea? A refreshing glass of water? A relaxing glass of wine? Wine, he thought, she would have a glass of wine or two tonight.

He strolled slowly down the street until he reached her front door. The front door was freshly painted, racing green that was what you call it he thought. The light was on in the living room though there was not much to see through the wooden blinds, she was in another room. He walked to the side of her building to the high garden gate. He tried the latch. It opened. He smiled and walked into the garden gently latching the gate behind him as he went.

The garden, though small, was neatly kept. There was a small shed which no doubt held a multitude of gardening implements. He knew she had green fingers and spent hours at the weekends tending her many flowers and herbs. He crept alongside the building and thought to make his way to the shed when a light came on, casting its glow over the garden. The bathroom, he thought, that’s where she is. He made his way to the corner and glanced around at the window to confirm his suspicions. He was relieved that he hadn’t crossed to the shed, she would have seen him and that just wouldn’t do. He pressed his back against the wall and waited.

——————

He had fallen in love with her the first time he met her. Not love at first sight, that was too cliché. But by the end of their first meeting he knew that he loved her.

She was fresh out of university and walked straight into her first job as an assistant to the assistant of Rosalie Waincott, fashionista extraordinaire, stylist of the C list. Rosalie was rumoured to have a sharp tongue and a penchant for throwing things in a hot temper. But he knew that was all balls, Rosalie was a pussy cat. At least when you knew how to handle her. He had known Rosalie for a few years and had worked with her on a number of projects. He was her photographer of choice and even had him on speed dial. Speed dialing him into her bed on more than one occasion.

It was while working on one of Rosalie’s projects that he met her.

“Evangeline Roberts, Eva.” She said, introducing herself with a smile and holding out her right hand to him.

“Tom Harris.” He replied taking her hand shaking it and returning her smile.

It was a long day. Rosalie had a new client, Emilia Bloom, an up and coming soap star with a 6 month contract for Eastenders. Emilia’s management wanted a plethora of publicity shots to promote her. That meant a 16 hour work day. Tom hardly noticed the time passing, between setting up each shot and taking umpteen photographs he watched as Eva fluttered in and out of the studio. He made sure to order a coffee each time she asked so that he could stop and talk to her even for a few minutes. After a few hours work they stopped for breakfast. Tom headed outside for a cigarette and found Eva sat on the steps lighting her own.

He sat down next to her and pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and put it to his lips.

“Borrow a light?” He asked. She smiled and reached over and lit the cigarette for him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him again. The wind blew her hair in her face and she laughed. “Bloody hair.”

“So… How do you like working for Rosalie?” Tom asked her.

“Overwhelming!” She replied instantly.

“Ha! She does take some getting used to, doesn’t she?”

“You seem to handle İstanbul Escort her well enough I noticed. Care to give me any tips?”

“All you need to get into Rosalie’s good books are three things,” Tom held up three fingers and checked them off as he went through the list “Charm, wit and a huge penis.”

Eva laughed, “I’m screwed then. At least I don’t have to deal with her so much I guess. Poor Sarah takes the brunt of it. She’s got Sarah in there alphabeticising the shoes by designer… I mean, can you believe that? Alphabeticising bloody shoes!” Eva shook her head in mock despair while Tom laughed.

“I’m surprised Sarah didn’t delegate that one to you seeing as you’re her assistant.”

“I bet she would have if she could have. I’m on probation still; I won’t be touching any clothes or shoes for another two months. One of Rosalie’s quirks. You know, in case I’m not trustworthy and try to shove a pair of £350 shoes into my tiny pockets.” She tried and failed to put her hand into her dress pocket to demonstrate that they really were tiny.

“You’ll settle in soon enough, I’m sure.” He flicked his cigarette out into the road and looked at his watch. “Time to head back in.”

Champagne, he thought, that’s what she reminds me of, sweet and bubbly. He wondered what she would taste like as he drank her and then mentally slapped himself. He needed to concentrate on the job. The rest of the day went as expected. Rosalie barking orders, Emilia lounging in this position or that position, Sarah and Eva fluttering about on one errand or another. Tom managed to grab a few minutes with Eva here or there but each time he was left feeling like he wanted more.

“OK people, it’s a wrap.” Yelled Rosalie. Finally the day was over at 10pm.

Tom started packing up his equipment. “Need some help with that?”

“Sure, that’d be great.” He answered and handed Eva a pile of filters. “They go in that case over there.”

At last they finished packing everything into Tom’s car. They were the last ones to leave and Sarah had been waiting impatiently outside to lock up. Eva held a tripod in one hand and waved goodbye to Sarah. Sarah huffed at her and stormed off.

“I see you made a friend there.” Tom said with sarcasm.

“Ah, she’s alright, probably just tired.” She found a space for the tripod in the boot of Tom’s car. “Well, it was really good to meet you; there aren’t too many friendly faces in this line of work so I’ve noticed.”

“Likewise. And like I said you do get used to it. Eventually.” He closed the boot of his car and walked to the driver’s door. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Well,” Eva replied. “I’m going to get a takeaway on the way home and eat in front of the TV while watching some pants reality show I should imagine. That is unless any of my housemates are hogging the remote.”

“Do you want to go somewhere for dinner?”

“That beats Chinese for one and Mersey Shore any day. Why not?”

Tom took Eva to Café Vert a little known French Restaurant in Islington. The food was great and the conversation was better. Eva loved the homely family run restaurant and adopted it for herself. Over the years she whiled away many an hour in there armed with a pencil, her sketch book and a mug of coffee. For Tom it was where he fell in love with Eva. She was incredibly attractive, sure, but it was more than that. She was a paradox. Gentle but fierce. Thoughtful yet candid. Confident and painfully shy. She was real.

“Bollocks!” Said Eva, her light brown eyes flashing. “Look at the time!”

“Midnight, the witching hour. You have to be somewhere?” Asked Tom.

“No, it’s just so late. It’s been a bloody long day, at least it’s Saturday tomorrow and I can sleep all day if I feel like it. And I have a date to look forward to.”

“Oh really…” Fuck! A date, he thought. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Pffft, lucky? Unlucky you mean. Poor guy will have an evening of me talking at him. He doesn’t really say much, just sort of sits and stares. But he’s nice enough and terribly good looking.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me. In fact it sounds like the height of fun.” Tom chuckled.

“Now you’re being a sarcastic boob.” Eva laughed. “Be a good friend and give me some advice! How the fudge do I make the guy talk?”

Warning! Warning! You have now entered the Friend Zone! Fuck!

“Well, I guess you could always shove a sock in it.” Eva rolled her eyes and gave him a friendly shove.

“Maybe you’re right Tom; maybe my overcompensating is making it too easy for him. I’ll give it a try.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Or maybe you should find yourself a more compatible date?” He suggested. Dropping a hint none too subtly.

Eva shook her head and laughed. “Oh really? And where may I find a guy that’s charming, funny, well read, well travelled, handsome and sexy?”

“Hmmmm, I don’t quite know…” He replied looking around the room.

“Not only that he has to always take care of me and Anadolu Yakası Escort take me by surprise. Always.”

“Now that sounds just like someone I know.”

“You are a huge boob Tom.” Eva shoved him gently and yawned.

“Shall we be getting you home then?” Tom stood up and held out Eva’s coat.

“Why thank you kind Sir, indeed we shall.”

After dropping Eva off Tom headed home, his thoughts filled with her. At least she gave me a kiss goodnight he thought. On the cheek…

And that’s pretty much how it was for the next six years. Tom became Eva’s best friend and Eva was blind to Tom’s flirtation. Even when he asked her quite bluntly if she would care to go on a proper date with him she laughed and called him a ‘tit’. She had many other dates after things didn’t work out with Mr. Silent. But nothing stuck. Tom, of course, continued to hump every young starlet that showed an inclination towards him. But the one woman who he wanted to be inclined towards him wasn’t.

There was one ‘incident’ though, around a year ago. Just when Eva started up on her own. She had been promoted to Rosalie’s assistant about a year after Tom met her. Sarah had left to live with her boyfriend in a commune in Montana. Eva became indispensible to Rosalie and proved not only her eye for style but for design too. She found herself altering and even custom making a number of pieces for Rosalie’s clients. Tom eventually, as ever, was the one to give her the push. Suggesting that she could and should branch out and set up her own label. Albeit a small label. Every spare moment Eva had she spent working on her own designs. Not all of them were successful but the ones that were earned her enough to be able to give up her assistant position.

It was at her leaving party that Eva kissed Tom. The drink was freely flowing and emotions were heightened. The music was loud in the studio and Eva wanted to speak to Tom. She dragged him outside and they sat on the steps.

“Déjà vu. It feels like yesterday when we first sat here. Do you remember that Tom?”

“I remember… You used to smoke back then.”

“I did. Do you have a cigarette?”

Tom smiled and handed her the pack from his shirt pocket. Eva took one lit it and passed it to Tom then she lit one for herself.

“You were the first person that made me feel welcome in this business you know. Not only that you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Are you getting all soppy on me Eva?”

“Shhh… I need to tell you something and it’s important.” Eva looked at him her face held a serious expression. “I love you Tom. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’d have given up the dream and gone back home to Swindon and ended up an old maid with a houseful of cats. I love you.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Startled he dropped his cigarette took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. He looked into her eyes. Amber, that’s what they reminded him of, her eyes were the colour of amber.

“Eva what are you doing?”

“I’m kissing you.”

“I gathered that but…” She cut him short and kissed him again. Deep and hungry this time. He moaned into her mouth and then kissed her back with fervor.

His hands dropped from her shoulders, one found its way into her hair and pulled her towards him. The other found its way to her breast. Suddenly she pulled away.

“I’m going to be si…” She cried and threw up all over his shoes.

After cleaning her up Tom told Eva he was taking her home. She protested a little, saying she wanted to enjoy her party. But then after a number of friends and acquaintances convinced her that she had enjoyed herself thoroughly enough she allowed Tom to take her home. She passed out on the front steps so Tom had to carry her into her apartment. He’d helped her move in two years ago and had picked out furniture with her.

After he had tucked Eva in her bed, still wearing her party dress, Tom settled into the armchair watched her sleep. The rhythm of her breathing relaxed him and soon he found himself drifting off to sleep too.

“Eva, I love you.” He whispered.

Tom woke the next morning to the smells of breakfast cooking. Full English. He stretched and got up, full of vigour, ready to face Eva and tell her that he was crazy about her. He followed the smell of breakfast and into the kitchen. Eva was stood at the cooker busy flipping the eggs the way he liked them. She looked up at him with a big grin.

“Morning Boob.”

“Morning Sunshine.”

Eva deposited the eggs onto a plate that was already piled high with sausages and bacon.

“Sit.” She ordered. He sat. She carried the plate to the kitchen table placing it in front of him; she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “That’s for last night. Thank you for taking care of me. I can’t believe I made such an arse of myself! And sorry for ruining your shoes. I remember throwing up all over them after trying to kiss you. I can’t believe I did that. What a way to go about ruining a friendship!”

Tom’s heart sank. Warning! Warning! Friend Zone! He was still in it.

“It’s alright Sunshine, I’m just glad you’re feeling OK.” Tell her, tell her! But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t risk her rejecting him. It would crush him.

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