He’s been staring at her for ages. She’s been trying to avoid his glance for ages. There’s an awkward silence between the two, like syrup slowly pouring from the mouth of a spoon, lazily suffocating the sound around them. She shifts uncomfortably, the clock ticks audibly, time passes slower than usual, or maybe it’s just her imagination. She blinks, green irises settling on him momentarily before looking away with another blink. He at one end, she at the opposite, the smooth mahogany of the dining room table separated the two. His gaze is unwavering, one cheek resting against the knuckles of his left hand, a gentle breeze toys with his hair. A small, ephemeral smile across his lips as he watches her work, quick, subtle movements, the dips and curves of her pen, writing her fluid script across paper.
She gets up, the chair scrapes across the wooden floor, the paper in her hand. Placing the pen on the table, giving the words one last look, she makes her way across the dining room. Sunlight spills across her countenance, across the valleys and hills, between the tenuous strands of golden hair, he never takes his eyes off her. Extending one slim hand, perfect nails, delicate skin, the silver button of her French cuffs, she slides the sheet of paper to him. Soundless it glides across the sunlit patches of the table, he picks it up, notes the perfect calligraphy, what effortless perfection, the loops and swirls of her letters.
She speaks, he could see a thin veneer of color across the wrinkles of her plump lips, “It’s my new address.” Words flowing like water, the whispers of an angel. She turns to leave, hand trailing across the table top, a slight friction tugs at her fingertips and then she feels his hand wrap around her wrist. The touch startles her, jumps slightly, hand instinctively seeks to break loose from his grasp. He doesn’t let her, spins her around and pushes her up against a wall. “What are you-?”
The kiss cuts her off, a forceful, lustful kiss, crushes her lips, leaves her almost breathless, a quivering pool of surprise. His hand travels from her wrist to her hand, spreading her fingers and interlacing them with his own. Other hand cups her face, her soft skin, like flower petals, he strokes her cheek. She feels his body pressing against her, backing her up against the wall, feels the lust and need, tendrils of emotion slowly strangling her heart, she moans into their kiss. Her hand, limp by her side, finds the curve of his back and draws him closer to her.
Forehead against hers, the rough crinkling of hair, the parting of their lips leaves a small line of saliva, like a spider web between their lips. He could feel his own heartbeat, pounding in his rib cage, like some animal, yearning to break free. His hand trails from her cheek, down her neck to a spot above her breasts. Beneath the soft flesh, he could feel her heart pounding as well. The same, ephemeral smile, lips brushing against hers as he breathes, “I love you.”
Her hand grabs his, presses it harder against her heart, “I love you, too.”