She was His
By Numnut
9 Mar 2004
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his own and scented with the lipstick he didn't even know she wore. He drifted, lost in sensation, only briefly startled as her tongue touched his, caressing in tender exploration.
His hand curled around the back of her neck, his fingers roaming through her hair, her skin warm as she leant into his body, their extremities touching in a tempting encounter full of promise.
He held her to him. She was his. She was everything he could ever want. From her smile at his half-cooked jokes to her flabbergasted frustration at his silliness. She was his. Her scent filled his nostrils taking away every thought but those of her.
She was his.
A soft sigh escaped between her teeth, its little vibrations dancing across his lips. He answered it with an exhalation of his own, his body tightening in response, a heat building up in his bones.
She was his.
His hand drifted across her back, cotton underneath his fingertips, searching and finally attaining the electrostatic response of skin contacting skin. He tugged at her shirt gently, freeing it to hang loose from her body.
She leant further into his embrace.
Her hands caught his shirt and pulled.
He gasped breaking for air.
Her eyes found his.
She faltered.
Blinked.
Oh, god, no.
His breathing hitched as her eyes widened, realisation setting in. No, please, no.
His heart stopped as her hands fell away from him. She stepped back, confusion, remorse, misery on her face.
He could not speak.
She tried, her mouth shaping words with no sound, her face reddening. Her eyes shone.
With nothing said, she turned and ran. Her footsteps echoed the length of the hallway, their beat counterpoint to his pulse.
The door glared emptily at him.
She was his.
And now things would never be the same again.
-o-o-o-
