„My love for her is like a river's steady flow. Her presence vast as the endless ocean's glow. To reach her shores, my soul must strive, like the river's dream is ocean, she is mine." -Debabrata Dalai
-1-
March 2012
He just did it. There, in his kitchen. And that's how it went:
She was sitting on his kitchen counter chitchatting around (really? she did something like this? yes!); so he was looking at her out of the corner of his eyes while he was cleaning up their mess. Mess, which they made while having dinner (get your mind out of the gutter). He was putting down the last plate that he dried off.
It has been months since Claires' death and the feelings Emily had stirred within him some time ago now drove him almost always, as in every bloody minute, crazy. Crazy as in: like a hormonal teenager again. The ones he warned Emily about (those who just wanted the girls in their bed; expect he definitely just wanted this one girl in his bed, and forever). On top of that Gillian seemed different to him these days. Not, like she wasn't herself anymore, but like even more her real self again. Her hair grown longer, her smile more wicked, her attitude more dangerous. She was becoming his bloody nightmare, being all of these things that he loved and that turned him on.
So, like already said. He just did it there and then. There was no other way or time for him to have done it better in retrospective: or for him to even hold on any longer.
She was saying something to him along the lines of how she saved his ass again to which he just grinned at her saying, or rather asking, if he should thank her then, again. When she was humming in response, maybe in agreement, he stepped suddenly towards her: leaving the towel behind, on the ground to be precise. It was easy then, to nudge himself between her legs and leaning his face so very close to hers, like he does so often with everyone else around him, to read them. But that wasn't his main goal this time. With his movement, he could have sworn, her eyes turned darker. The only thing for him to see on her face was a daring smile. Doing it then: He stopped trying to control his heart beat, blood temperature and breathing. Pulling her face closer with his fingertip (under her chin) and taking the loop. There was no pushing back, no ‚Stop'- comment.
Just his lips against hers. A feeling between familiarity and fire. But also a thousand butterflies somewhere.
Pulling hair, biting, finding bare, soft flesh and groping might also have been included.
Afterwards she was asking him what this was about and he told her all about it.
"You deserve a thank you every now and then." He almost whispers.
"Is it always going to be like this?" She asks with power in her voice.
"My gratitude? Nah. That was totally egocentric."
Next: End of April 2012