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What are you waiting for?
His key turns in the lock; the doorknob is heard, twisting.
That knowing little click as the door is shut, gently, quietly, so as not to disturb the inhabitant of the room.
The chink of keys on the dresser, the soft tiptoed footsteps, almost creeping, almost unheard, her ears strain in the darkness to hear where he is at. With eyes tight shut, she hardly dares to breathe; she lets her senses guide her to his direction.
She senses him. He is close.
He removes his shoes, his socks, that task, he cannot disguise.
She knows he is seated on the chair.
That chair, the one covered in red silk, almost destroyed by passion just the day before.
He must be standing now, because she can hear the familiar slide of his belt out of its loops. The sound of metal hitting metal, as his belt becomes undone. His zipper is down.
She hears him slide his jeans from his toned legs, first one then the other, left then right, she knows the routine so well, he will leave them in their usual place, crumpled, unfolded, messy.
He removes his t-shirt from his torso, pulling it over his head by the back, she loves that.
Always the simplest things.
The way he always looks up at her and smiles as he does it.
That knowing smile.
The one she cannot help but fall for, the one that sends her spinning, uncontrollable, lustful.
She strains to hear harder this time, his bare feet making no sound as he pads across the room, will he disturb her? Will he wake her? Will he want to?
He finally draws the sheet back, his sheets are cold. Yet she knows he is warm.
She senses him and the tiny hairs on her arms and neck begin to stand.
In anticipation, in longing.
She lays still, feigning sleep, yet aching for him to come to her, to make that move. His breathing is quick; he is not ready for sleep yet.
Although barely a few inches separate them under the cool sheets, she feels there is a gulf between them.
Her body tenses, she can smell him.
That scent which always fills her nostrils with an unshakeable longing.
His own unique smell.
Her mouth waters as her mind inadvertently recalls his taste, the thrill it gives her. The taste of his mouth, the curve of his lips, the sensuality of his tongue, probing, exploring.
The sharp thrill of luxuriating in his every fibre being.
Her mind stops sharp, she can feel him.
His breathing is softer now, almost caressing her.
A soft smile begins to play on her lips. She knows he cannot resist her.
She knows it is only a matter of time before he can bear it no longer, and reaches out for her.
His warm breath begins to stir the hairs on her neck, she remains motionless, powerless.
She wants him.
She can feel his mouth moving closer, her breath burning her skin, his lips touch her.
Involuntarily she lets forth a shudder, she senses his smile.
Knowingly, willingly, she allows herself to begin the surrender.......
