She stole his breath. She held his stare. Both were objects of her aim whether known in intention of beginning or residing deeper, somewhere, in depths of her subconscious. It did not matter. Effect was same.
Having attained, having achieved, she set about the room in feigned unnoticed and pretend indifference as woman is wont to do when aware of power and their holding of allure and upper-hand.
She poured a drink into stemless glass. It was of white wine, cool and crisp and clean, that tasted as sunlight-spring when a cool still holds. Cool lingered on her lips. Taste lasted on her tongue, and she thought of his mouth and kiss in erase of both away.
It wouldn’t be long. This she knew—sense and telling in the air.
Through window view, she looked on sky of perfect clear and blue. She thought of the shades she’d worn on homeward drive then resting on counter’s face, their tint and cast of all the world in ideal and dream-like hue. Removed, sky-perfection was unchanged.
Upon her body, she wore white sweater, loose and billowing of flow like blanket in stand-fixed wrap; warming, covering, insulating of she within; yet the loose of the weave and wear, when in light and warmth of dream-like sun, let body breathe and keep warmth-loveliness in enwrapping of its hold.
She felt the sunlight then through window pane and sweater’s plush; heightened sensings of her skin from warmth and knowing he was near. Advantage of her upper-hand waned as wanting waxed, and her power of allure became evermore a weakness in time-lasting of the wait feeling still his eyes, attention’s keep, and focus of his energy.
At home, she made herself the more. She rid her jeans of tight and fit, shimmying and drawing down from high and length of legs leaving stone-washed crumple on the floor; expose of her legs in warmth of the light, fronts sheened in catch of dream-sun upon.
Her energy changed in rid and new sense as she bared herself in light, expose of her low and blanket wrap of sweater, still, as she drank again of the crisp and cool in see of perfect sky.
Cool and crisp lingered again. She wanted still his kiss. She smiled. She mused, merry in thoughts’ making even impatience’s build in want.
Longing makes love all the fonder, she thought, having read it somewhere as ideal; and so it was when theirs became: run of his hands to her bare-hipped sides, turn of her body from dream-sky view to match of his smile and lover’s tell; erase of the cool, erase of the crisp on lips and tasting tongue; her savor of him the more; center-drawing of his hands under plush and loose of white; warmth and live of her skin beneath as he took her into hold; her arms in raise, his in follow, sweater’s lift and peeling draw of sleeves from wrists and last of hands; she open to full of he and spring-dream sun; eager and strong of his kiss again; hands’ firm to front then move and trace downward to her sides to sweep and strong low hold to her behind; her body fixed in close-drawn press in bringing to his own; her raise of a finger—break and pause of wait—as she reached for the blue-tint shades in rest on counter face.
She put them on. Smiling, musing, all became in new of dream-tinted eyes. In cant of her head, hold to his neck, she drew his lips to hers again; smooth and supple of warmth and taste, sudden lift of her body from low of hold that stole her breath in swiftness of the sweep; stronger kissing, her body curled and forward leaning, press-touching into his; her open of eyes, all dream-tint blue as he took her in perfect’s sunlight and open room.