The scent of lavender drifted down the hallway of the old hotel. She was aware of every step she took. The rough carpet chafed her bare feet, but it didn't really matter. Despite the darkness, her destination - his room- seemed to glow. It called out to her as it had the night before, and the one before that, and the one before that. This time, though, it was different. She felt it in her stomach and in her fingertips and toes.
She stood in front of the door, knowing without question that he felt her there, the same way she felt him. She ran her fingers over the doorknob and let the shock of the cold steel on her warm skin wash over her. Turning the knob and stepping through the door into a room filled with cool city breeze, she suddenly became very aware of her attire. She felt naked in every way imaginable. The steady beating in her chest reminded her that she was alive. It reminded her that he wasn't.
She saw him in the shadows, his face slightly illuminated by one of the light purple candles that matched her silk nightgown exactly. She hesitated before taking a few steps towards him. His hair was tousled and his uncharacteristically cheerful light blue shirt was half unbuttoned and hanging out of his favorite black pants. He took his hand out of his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. Somehow he managed to look up at her without moving his head, and he flashed her a half smile.
All was still. All was silent, and still. Outside the open window was a different story: cars rushing past, alarms going off, all the imperfections of city life were still there, yet, somehow, they weren't. They were both too focused on the sound of her heart beating to move, to think. A gust of wind made the flame on the candle nearest him extinguish. He seemed to relax because of this; he never believed that he belonged anywhere but in the dark.
She saw an opportunity and walked closer to him. He was afraid because it had never been like this before. Slow, simple, and painless. She reached out and touched his cheek. The vulnerability in his eyes was almost scaring her,
but it didn't. She was strong, and he knew that; he knew that because at that moment, he was being weak, and he needed her to be strong for him. He needed desperately to be told that it was all going to be okay. She wasn't going to tell him that.
She carefully removed the bobby pins from her hair, letting a few pieces at a time fall and never graze her shoulders. His gaze went from her eyes to her mouth and lingered for a few moments on her graceful neck and the strands of hair that decorated it. She could feel it, but she wasn't afraid. She ran her hands over the front of his shirt and then slowly began to unbutton it. She took her time. Their passion for each other wasn't fast or violent; it was slow, slow and beautiful and warm.
As she finished her task of removing his shirt, she took a moment to lightly touch a fresh battle wound on his arm. He always had to be brave for everyone else.
She asked him to undress her, and he knew that this time it was really her saying it, not some fluke or fantasy.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it with her own, giving him permission to continue. He slid his hand down her arm, taking one of the straps from her nightgown with it. He did it again to the other arm, this time with more confidence, and her whole nightgown fell down to the floor in a puddle of lace and silk.
He stood motionless as her gentle fingers lightly caressed his stomach and found their way to his belt buckle. She looked into his eyes as she opened it, a subtly wicked grin upon her lips.
She leaned in to him, their lips making delicate contact that slowly became an intricate dance. After a few moments she pulled away to finish undressing him.
He was in a slightly drunken state, lost in the euphoria of a simple kiss or touch from her warm body. His eyes were half closed as she pulled him down to bed with her. Above the sheets, there was flesh. The hot, the cold, and the places where the hot and cold would meet to form a perfect blend of warmth.
He let his hands roam down her sides. With every touch he felt the blood flowing through her veins and the life that lay beneath him, completely trusting. Her eyes closed as he continued to explore her body with his hands. Some of her brown hair had gotten in her face in the midst of their passion, so he brushed it away with his hands and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She was everywhere: falling beneath him, above him, all around. He rained kisses from her delicate collarbone to her silky stomach, something he had done just a week before. The skin there was smooth and was like nothing he had felt before, even the first time his lips experienced the sensation of it. The reality of this situation made her mouth taste sweeter, her voice more full of need, and above all, it made him feel alive.
Her hands were shaking as she decided to take control. She mounted him slowly, and they both took deep breaths, whether they were needed or not. She rose and fell, again and again. His vision was becoming blurry, and his lips began to tremble from the loss of contact with hers. She leaned her head down to close the gap between their mouths, starting the dance where they had left off.
He continued to move with her. He saw flashes of lilac from the candles, pink from her lips, tan from the skin of her neck, all of this adding to his building moment of ecstasy.
And then he remembered, and then he forgot again. They knew what was at risk; they knew it when she walked down the hallway and into his solitude. They knew it always.
She stood in front of the door, knowing without question that he felt her there, the same way she felt him. She ran her fingers over the doorknob and let the shock of the cold steel on her warm skin wash over her. Turning the knob and stepping through the door into a room filled with cool city breeze, she suddenly became very aware of her attire. She felt naked in every way imaginable. The steady beating in her chest reminded her that she was alive. It reminded her that he wasn't.
She saw him in the shadows, his face slightly illuminated by one of the light purple candles that matched her silk nightgown exactly. She hesitated before taking a few steps towards him. His hair was tousled and his uncharacteristically cheerful light blue shirt was half unbuttoned and hanging out of his favorite black pants. He took his hand out of his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. Somehow he managed to look up at her without moving his head, and he flashed her a half smile.
All was still. All was silent, and still. Outside the open window was a different story: cars rushing past, alarms going off, all the imperfections of city life were still there, yet, somehow, they weren't. They were both too focused on the sound of her heart beating to move, to think. A gust of wind made the flame on the candle nearest him extinguish. He seemed to relax because of this; he never believed that he belonged anywhere but in the dark.
She saw an opportunity and walked closer to him. He was afraid because it had never been like this before. Slow, simple, and painless. She reached out and touched his cheek. The vulnerability in his eyes was almost scaring her,
but it didn't. She was strong, and he knew that; he knew that because at that moment, he was being weak, and he needed her to be strong for him. He needed desperately to be told that it was all going to be okay. She wasn't going to tell him that.
She carefully removed the bobby pins from her hair, letting a few pieces at a time fall and never graze her shoulders. His gaze went from her eyes to her mouth and lingered for a few moments on her graceful neck and the strands of hair that decorated it. She could feel it, but she wasn't afraid. She ran her hands over the front of his shirt and then slowly began to unbutton it. She took her time. Their passion for each other wasn't fast or violent; it was slow, slow and beautiful and warm.
As she finished her task of removing his shirt, she took a moment to lightly touch a fresh battle wound on his arm. He always had to be brave for everyone else.
She asked him to undress her, and he knew that this time it was really her saying it, not some fluke or fantasy.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it with her own, giving him permission to continue. He slid his hand down her arm, taking one of the straps from her nightgown with it. He did it again to the other arm, this time with more confidence, and her whole nightgown fell down to the floor in a puddle of lace and silk.
He stood motionless as her gentle fingers lightly caressed his stomach and found their way to his belt buckle. She looked into his eyes as she opened it, a subtly wicked grin upon her lips.
She leaned in to him, their lips making delicate contact that slowly became an intricate dance. After a few moments she pulled away to finish undressing him.
He was in a slightly drunken state, lost in the euphoria of a simple kiss or touch from her warm body. His eyes were half closed as she pulled him down to bed with her. Above the sheets, there was flesh. The hot, the cold, and the places where the hot and cold would meet to form a perfect blend of warmth.
He let his hands roam down her sides. With every touch he felt the blood flowing through her veins and the life that lay beneath him, completely trusting. Her eyes closed as he continued to explore her body with his hands. Some of her brown hair had gotten in her face in the midst of their passion, so he brushed it away with his hands and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She was everywhere: falling beneath him, above him, all around. He rained kisses from her delicate collarbone to her silky stomach, something he had done just a week before. The skin there was smooth and was like nothing he had felt before, even the first time his lips experienced the sensation of it. The reality of this situation made her mouth taste sweeter, her voice more full of need, and above all, it made him feel alive.
Her hands were shaking as she decided to take control. She mounted him slowly, and they both took deep breaths, whether they were needed or not. She rose and fell, again and again. His vision was becoming blurry, and his lips began to tremble from the loss of contact with hers. She leaned her head down to close the gap between their mouths, starting the dance where they had left off.
He continued to move with her. He saw flashes of lilac from the candles, pink from her lips, tan from the skin of her neck, all of this adding to his building moment of ecstasy.
And then he remembered, and then he forgot again. They knew what was at risk; they knew it when she walked down the hallway and into his solitude. They knew it always.