Chapter 5

Now he was the one who stared dumbly, frozen in place. He was at a loss. Her fingers still gripped his arm, burning into his skin like a brand. He was sure that when she released him, the mark would last indefinitely. He wanted to beg her to let go.

By the time he was ready to beg her not to, she slowly relinquished his arm, looking somewhat chagrined.

“I wish I had a talent like that,” she said wistfully. “To be able to express what’s inside so eloquently. You have an incredible gift.”

He didn’t like talking about gifts, especially when they were wasted. He was desperate to switch the subject back to her.

“You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure you have plenty of talents of your own.”

She let out a soft snort. “Not like yours.”

“I don’t believe that,” he argued. “What do you like to do in your spare time? What inspires you?”

A hesitant smile played at her lips. “Well, I do like to write a little.”

Now he was getting somewhere. It was about time he pierced her armor, after she’d so thoroughly punctured his.

“What do you write?”

“Poems, mostly. Short stories.” Her shrug was self-deprecating.

“Really? That’s great,” he encouraged. “Why don’t you recite me one of your poems?”

She shook her head and her cheeks flushed the color of roses. “I don’t have any memorized.”

She looked up at him with those searching eyes again. He watched as they drifted over his features, pausing repeatedly on his lips. He found his own eyes following the same path over her face. He knew where it would lead.

“I’m sure you know something by heart,” he insisted.

She took a deep breath. “Well, there is one poem that’s kind of stuck in my head right now,” she admitted.

“What is it?” he asked softly. His head dropped slightly, his face drawing closer to hers. Her chin lifted as she leaned up toward him.

“It’s by a Swedish poet,” she began. She bit her lip and took another breath, then began to recite the words.

“My eyes want to kiss your face.
I have no power over my eyes.
They just want to kiss your face.
I flow towards you out of my eyes,
a fine heat trembles round your shoulders,
it slowly dissolves your contours
and I am there with you, your mouth
and everywhere around you --
I have no power over my eyes.”*

She was the one trembling as she finished. She couldn’t believe she had said those words to him; recited her favorite description of how she always thought true desire would feel. Of course, she left out the second stanza of the poem - the part that revealed the writer’s desire was unrequited and from afar; a mere fantasy that had no hope of being turned into reality.

But her reality was staring down at her right now, close enough to touch, to kiss with more than just her eyes. The embodiment of the kind of desire she had only dreamed about sat mere inches away, within her grasp. At last she had found the catalyst to turn her poetic notions of romance into reality.

He stared at her, transfixed. He had never cared for poetry, but this wasn’t the rhyming or pretentious kind. It was just . . . real. The words sounded raw and urgent in her quiet alto. He was used to women wanting to kiss him, but he’d never heard an entreaty like this. And he’d certainly never wanted to receive their kisses the way he wanted hers right now.

The wanting scared him a little. He wasn’t used to it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly felt it. Not like this - this yearning deep in his gut, twisting his stomach and pulling at the root of his groin, swelling his cock with need when he hadn’t even touched her yet.

His hand rose to her face to remedy that situation, tracing the blush of her cheekbone. Her skin was satiny smooth and soft under his fingertips. He let them stray over its creamy contours, down to her swan-like neck. Her head tilted back slightly in response, her eyes closing briefly.

“So beautiful,” he whispered at the sight of her beginning to give in to the sensation of his touch.

“Isn’t it?” she replied. “It’s one of my favorites.”

She was talking about the poem. The corners of his mouth raised in amusement. She had no idea how much lovelier she was than any string of words could be.

She couldn’t stop staring at his crooked grin, the left side of his lip raised in an Elvis-like smirk. She wanted to run her tongue along that pink ribbon of skin and memorize its moist contours.

He loved catching her in the act, watching her eyes reflect the sentiments of the poem she had recited. He could deny her no longer.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion as his face continued its purposeful descent toward hers, his fingers lifting her chin to meet him halfway. He couldn’t wait to taste those full lips; yet the agonizing anticipation of that first contact was almost as delicious as the kiss itself. He prolonged the moment as long as he could, relishing the quickening of her breath and the fluttering of her lashes as their features became a blur to one another.

She tried to stop the shuddering sigh that escaped her lips when they first met his, but it was no use. The tension consuming every cell of her body could no longer be contained. The exquisite feel of his lips on hers, soft yet firm, sent a swarm of tingles down her spine.

Why was this so different from any other kiss she had received? Maybe because it was thoughtful and deliberate; not hurried or impatient. He treated the kiss as if it were worth savoring in its own right, not as some annoying roadblock on his quest to get laid.

She pulled back slightly and gazed at the intensity in his eyes; felt his softly panting breath on her face. She was right about him. He did get it. He understood what was important. What was special.

She kissed him this time, anxious to build on the foundation of the first one. Her mouth opened against his, her tongue tentatively tracing his lips and pushing inside his mouth. The softest of moans escaped him as he responded in kind, lips caressing hers, tongue beginning a dance of exploration with her own.

Her hands were on his face before she knew what she was doing. His rough stubble under her fingers might as well have been the finest silk for the thrill it gave her. She stroked it gently at first, then more firmly, trailing her hands down the scruff of his neck to the line of his collarbone. She frowned slightly at the feel of his shirt collar in her way, and she slid her hands beneath it, only to have their progress impeded by the tie around his neck.

She broke their kiss long enough to grasp the knot of his tie and pull on it, loosening it until it came undone and fell to the floor beneath the piano bench. She needed to feel more of his warm skin under her greedy hands.

His breathing was heavy, his eyes wide with surprise as he stared down at her. The intensity of her reaction startled as well as aroused him. He assumed that she had come to him seeking something different than the crass groping of the boys she had known before; yet when he kissed her, she responded with passion and aggression. It didn’t make any sense. Yet he certainly couldn’t argue with her desires. He had no wish to.

He allowed her to begin to undress him while his hands wandered unbridled through her thick hair. He massaged her neck and scalp as he watched her nervous fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. He thought that maybe he should help her, but he wanted to see how far she would go on her own. Something had always stopped her before, or she wouldn’t still be a virgin.

He slid his fingers gently down her neck and over her chest while she finished unbuttoning his shirt. He ran the tip of his index finger along her skin where it met the bodice of her silky blue dress, causing a trail of goose bumps to rise on her flesh. She inhaled sharply and glanced up at him. Their eyes exchanged not just permission, but invitation. She exhaled shakily as she pulled his shirt tails from his trousers, leaving his bare torso glowing like burnished gold in the light of the setting sun.

She laid her hands on his chest; he inhaled sharply, his lungs expanding under her delicate fingers. She slowly explored the hard muscles beneath his rigid pink nipples, swirling her fingertips through the soft, sparse curls of hair that gleamed in the sunlight. She traced the planes of his abdominal muscles down to the soft skin of his belly, threading her fingers through the treasure trail of hair that sprouted below his navel and led to a noticeable bulge in his expensive pants.

She marveled that he wanted her already - that she had the power to turn him on so quickly. She tried to muster the gumption to let her hands travel further south; to stroke his hardness and feel it grow under her touch. But she stopped short, her nerves getting the better of her.

He sensed her hesitation and came to her rescue. He had figured out her pattern: rushing blindly ahead without any thought to the consequences, instead of taking her time and letting her mind catch up with her body’s impatience.

“Come here,” he said softly as he reached for her hand and rose from the piano bench. She laced her fingers through his and stood up, letting him lead her closer to the windows. He dropped her hand and placed both of his on either side of her face, marveling at how flawless she appeared in the unforgiving spotlight of a Seattle sunset.

“Let me look at you,” he murmured softly, his eyes sweeping deliberately over her face, then down her body.

Her heart began to race at his slow perusal of her tiny frame. His eyes may as well have been his hands as he let them roam over the swell of her breasts under her dress’s clingy fabric. She felt the sensation of their caress just as strongly as if it had been an actual touch.

He continued down her body this way, eyes studying the nip of her waist, the curve of her hips, the impossible length of her ivory legs.

“Turn around,” he ordered softly, and her heart pounded even harder. She pirouetted slowly, awkwardly, in her high heels, feeling his eyes like hot flames licking her body as she twirled. He managed to ravish her thoroughly from every angle without laying a hand on her, yet she shivered uncontrollably as though his fingers had stroked her from head to toe. She was desperate for the feel of them on her flesh. She had never wanted any man to touch her so badly. What she had recoiled from in the past, she knew she would now welcome with open arms, and legs.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” he asked. He wondered how she had missed it all these years.

As she looked up at his face, carved by the light into a collection of masterfully sculpted curves and angles, she knew nothing could compare to his beauty.

He ran one finger down the length of her arm, delighting in yet another wave of goose bumps prickling her flesh. Her quick, shallow breaths in the quiet air were a heady aphrodisiac. He studied the rise and fall of her chest, and was irritated by the dress blocking his view. It was his turn to want to peel the offending garment from her and get to the silken warmth beneath.

He walked behind her, then pulled her hair to one side so that he could bend down and breathe directly in her ear.

“Will you do something for me if I ask you to?” he whispered.



*Excerpt from ”The Lover” by Solveig Von Schoultz