Shared by Shewhoquotes.
A repeating, looping scene of her curls being teased by the wind, as she sat across the table from him, drinking her tea, reciting how badly she wants to go away and find a place where she lives alone.
“It’s my only hope to escape this life,” she sighs. “I’ve always let my feelings love freely, expressed with words my favorite books taught me.” He watches her every word parting from her lips carefully.
She notices. Looking aside, she continues, “I have manners, I have ambition, and I will succeed.” His eyes slowly move past her lips, down her neck until she abruptly stands up.
“Imagine if I were a field of blossoms and thorns.” She slowly stepped backwards until her back pressed against the wall behind her. “I push your soul against the field’s wall and breathe audibly under firm hands.”
He sips his tea, watching her every motion. “Maybe tea isn’t a strong enough beverage to see us through the field.” Putting his cup down, he moves in her direction, and gazes at her curves. “If my soul is backed up against the field’s stone wall, and your breath is tight enough to warm my skin, I should slightly tighten the grip of those firm hands, hoping the breath would evolve into a moan, or maybe even a word.”
Her breaths fasten as she takes heed to his every word, caressing her skin. “And so your lips meet mine and I marvel at how soft your world could be.” As she whispered softly, her arms slowly spread like angel wings against the wall. “Oh, and how thumbs were pressed into my back, falling leaves across my spine soft, but not gently.”
He rapidly walks to her, slowly closing the few inches between them. “Ah, my love.” His eyes close as a grin plays against his lips, while his hands travel up her spread arms. She then articulates, breathlessly staring at him. “How the tips of my fingers travel to captivate the man above me, and I cannot fathom any word so exquisite as the need for your voice to brush me.”
His breaths brush against hers, as it was the only song playing between them. He comes back, grinning, and whispers, “I would dip my eyesight far into the depths of those dark wishing wells that are your eyes.” His eyes flick open, meeting hers. “As you hold my glance slightly longer than you’ve ever done, I catch a glint on the border of your dilated pupils.”
Instinctively, his firm hands pull her closer, and he leans in once more, not to push back a stray lock of hair, but to sign his autograph on her lips, as they meet his own in silent union.
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