She was staring at him. Watching the pulse beat at his throat. Saw the hair at the nape of his neck was still damp from a recent shower.
She walked to him, aware of each step. Aware of the increased beating of her heart. Aware too of the change in his posture. The dilation of pupils. The stiffening of his entire body.
She smiled and he seemed to relax. Gave her a tentative smile. Gave her confidence. Nearly opened his arms to her.
It wasnīt the first time. That had happened long ago. Something they had both regretted. Then regretted regretting. Confusing, at best. Heart-breaking, at worst.
It wasnīt his beautiful mouth. Or his beautiful body. Or the beautiful soul she had discovered lurking within the walls of his heart. It was indescribable. The connection. The desire. The inexplicable need.
It should have frightened her. It should have warned her that nothing good could possibly arise from such a relationship.
Why she didnīt stop herself right then was something she would ask herself later.
Why she had the great impulse, the unstoppable drive, she didnīt know. It was part of the same compulsion that controlled other things, part of the danger in her personality. The recklessness combined with the need, need, need.
Why he didnīt resist was another question…
He put his hands on her as soon as she got close enough. Long fingers wrapped around her arms and pulled her closer still. He buried his face in her stomach, kissed her there, breathed deeply.
He was moving slowly. She was all too aware of it. She wanted speed. She wanted him. Fast. But slow, too. Slow, to remember. To memorize. Etch deep into her mind. Speed was for her fears.
He didnīt care to have it over and done with. He was kissing her stomach and working his way up her chest, toward her breasts. His mouth warmed and cooled her skin at once, a strange paradox that added to her rising excitement.
Fingers in hair, tugging, silently asking for more. Mouth giving in, driving on, acquiescing. Tongue finding a set of nerves wound tight, so tight, it made her shiver.
The scent of soap and toothpaste. Clean and waiting for her. Waiting for the rise in temperature, the beads of sweat dancing along trembling skin.
She couldnīt deny it any more than she could deny herself breath. This was life. This was what she had been waiting for. There, in his arms, then under, feeling the weight of him, the solid, substantial core of his being, she knew she was alive.
Where was death in this? Where fear or sadness or doubt? That came later. In that moment, she couldnīt think. Only felt. Became part of the sensual world, experienced it fully, without reserve. Who dared let the second-guessing mind intrude on such a moment?
Later she could think. Later she could chastise herself for being stupid. Then and there, she would allow the pleasure that was missing in her life. She would allow it, take it, swallow it and hold on as long as possible.
This was her life. The moments she waited for. Everything else was filler.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Just felt like writing a little something.