Sunday Afternoon

Light streams in through the window of the flat, an occasional breeze gently puffs the sheers in and out like a bellows. The soft glow of the sun reflected on the hardwood floor shimmers in front of my eyes… I stopped writing several moments ago, dazzled by the beauty of the afternoon. Even more so by the beauty of him.

He sits across the room from me, back propped against a stack of madras covered cushions. Bare feet on the floor, laptop against his denim knees. He pauses for a moment, deep in thought over… a character, a sentence… I can see the little crease in his forehead as he turns toward the window, mulling.

The morning has been spent exactly like this. Him working, me kinda working. Desultory conversation, taking turns to grab the coffee once in a while. Quiet, lazy, wonderful.

The room’s got warm though… Old red brick building, ceiling high windows, gathers and cradles the heat. The single ceiling fan is over the bed that I’m leaning against but it really just moves the air around, doesn’t really cool. I’m good with that. I love the heat, love how it makes me feel. The golden ennui I’m basking in is not so good for the update I’m attempting to write but very good for body and soul.

I hear him snort quietly in aggravation at something he’s working on, watch him set aside his laptop and stand, stretching as he strolls over to the window and surveys the street below. From my vantage point, through half closed eyes, his silhouette is hazy round the edges, familiar but new and an irresistible attraction… Faded jeans casually hugging his hips and thighs, black tee showing off the arms and back of a man who still cares how he looks. Showing off to me anyway… When he turned back into the room, the sun lit up around his dark, shaggy hair and I could just make out those liquid amber eyes and the curve of his full bottom lip. His soft smile, outstretched hand, went straight to my brain, shutting down everything except want. Liquid lightening streaking through my body… nerveless fingers can barely hold my fountain pen. Shaking inside, eyes wide…

The invisible pull that he has on me… I stand on legs that threaten to crumble, my breath almost non-existent and walk to stand behind him at the window. He takes my hands in his as I circle his waist and lean my cheek against his shoulder. Feels so good in my arms…

And he smells so good, the faintest lingering scent of soap and shampoo… it’s hard to think anymore… I don’t want to think anymore. He turns to take me in his arms, lips just brush my forehead and the pheromones on his breath undo me. That lightening instantly turns into threads of red hot lava, wrapping tendrils round my nipples, circles my navel, kisses my sex… I pull his mouth to mine, his kiss is… god, I could kiss him for hours and I can feel every contour of his body through this thin cotton dress when his breathing starts to come faster and his hands are all over me, pulling me closer, rocking my hips against his…

I can’t get close enough to him, I want to be inside him, I’m drowning in those dark eyes… open his mouth with my tongue and the fire rages higher and… god! take this off! Break the kiss only long enough to pull the tee over his head and throw it. Can I touch enough, can I feel enough… The jump of muscle under skin, the desire that is becoming frantic. Catch his lip in my teeth while I unbutton him… nothing between us, I don’t want anything between our bodies… is the last coherent thought I have as I slip my hands down his pants…

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