05-21-2014, 11:33 AM
....he continued looking at her. Just gazing into her eyes, soft deep brown, staring back up at him. Her face filled his vision. He was connected to her. She smiled at him, a warm and languorous smile and her cheeks reddened. His heart pounded like thunder in his chest. He saw longing in her eyes. He felt it echo with his own, back and forth, a feed back. He held still, enjoying that pregnant moment, the promise, the agony, breathing her in. The moment stretched. And then she brought her lips to his and electricity shot through him, her lips soft and tender. He felt her body brush against his and he trembled inside.
And then, she moved back, the kiss ending. His heart pounded and he breathed heavily. She was still looking up at him with those eyes and that hunger. She stepped back and handed him an empty glass and said in softer voice, "I think something a bit stronger than orange juice is called for."
She turned around, his eyes locked on her, unable to look away, and went to the cooler and pulled out some champagne.
He gave his head a little shake to clear his mind. Be easy man, he thought. It's ok. Take it slow. Don't rush this. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. Part of him wanted to just take her right then and there, throwing caution to the wind. To just give in to all the pent up emotion, and passion and animal heat, to tear down the walls of self-control and to consummate this volcanic thing they had with their whole bodies. She was electric to him. Being around her fired him beyond anything he had imagined, this woman he had known for a half hour, this Ayden, this fiery haired goddess, her hand gripping his heart.
He breathed again, slowing himself down, a storm raging in his mind. But he didn't just want to sleep with her. One night stands could be fun- he'd enjoyed them- but ultimately were fleeting, two people using each other to fulfill a need. Desperately taken as they were to feel, for one brief moment, a connection to another soul, to life, to the uncaring universe, they often left an unfilled void the next day, loneliness, vacuous. It was masturbation with another person, momentary, transitory and empty. But he really liked her, liked the way she was. There was a germ of a real connection there, between him and her. He wanted that, wanted that connection to grow, if it could. There was still time for him and her, for that moment, when it came later.
The storm calmed and he returned to himself. He felt more at peace, relaxed. She turned around, a hint of a smile on her lips. Then she walked around the counter towards the table. "You grab the food, I'll get the drinks."
He took the pan and gently let the eggs slip onto each plate. Then he spooned up the grits. She had gotten out silverware and he grabbed those as well and took everything to the table where they both sat down. She had made mimosas. It was quiet. He picked up his glass. "To heavy crates and a mean cook."
He smiled at her.
And then, she moved back, the kiss ending. His heart pounded and he breathed heavily. She was still looking up at him with those eyes and that hunger. She stepped back and handed him an empty glass and said in softer voice, "I think something a bit stronger than orange juice is called for."
She turned around, his eyes locked on her, unable to look away, and went to the cooler and pulled out some champagne.
He gave his head a little shake to clear his mind. Be easy man, he thought. It's ok. Take it slow. Don't rush this. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. Part of him wanted to just take her right then and there, throwing caution to the wind. To just give in to all the pent up emotion, and passion and animal heat, to tear down the walls of self-control and to consummate this volcanic thing they had with their whole bodies. She was electric to him. Being around her fired him beyond anything he had imagined, this woman he had known for a half hour, this Ayden, this fiery haired goddess, her hand gripping his heart.
He breathed again, slowing himself down, a storm raging in his mind. But he didn't just want to sleep with her. One night stands could be fun- he'd enjoyed them- but ultimately were fleeting, two people using each other to fulfill a need. Desperately taken as they were to feel, for one brief moment, a connection to another soul, to life, to the uncaring universe, they often left an unfilled void the next day, loneliness, vacuous. It was masturbation with another person, momentary, transitory and empty. But he really liked her, liked the way she was. There was a germ of a real connection there, between him and her. He wanted that, wanted that connection to grow, if it could. There was still time for him and her, for that moment, when it came later.
The storm calmed and he returned to himself. He felt more at peace, relaxed. She turned around, a hint of a smile on her lips. Then she walked around the counter towards the table. "You grab the food, I'll get the drinks."
He took the pan and gently let the eggs slip onto each plate. Then he spooned up the grits. She had gotten out silverware and he grabbed those as well and took everything to the table where they both sat down. She had made mimosas. It was quiet. He picked up his glass. "To heavy crates and a mean cook."
He smiled at her.