Sketch: (Unfinished)

She was lying on the bed, watching him, her dark eyes quietly contemplative. He sat in the chair across from her, drink in hand, the near-darkness of the room setting his teeth on edge. He could see a shadowy smile flit across her face for an instant before she stretched lazily, her muscles flexing beneath her skin. He watched her movements, languid and smooth, savouring the tension that floated in the air like the ghost of cigarette smoke. He was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body, far enough to have to stretch for his hand to reach it.

Her eyes closed as she lay back onto the bed, ignoring him, her breathing soon becoming shallow as she slipped out of consciousness. He watched her still, swirling the last few fast-melting ice-cubes around in his glass while deciding what to do. Finally, he put the glass down, stood up in one graceful movement, and took the two steps to the bed in silence. He paused by the bed, looking down on her, at her slightly mussed hair as it lay across her face, at the relaxed pose of her arms by her sides, at the length and curve of her hip as it jutted out at an angle, at the plane of her calf muscle, at the tautness of the skin of her feet. One hand bent to take hold of a lock of her hair – unusually thick tonight – and he rubbed it between his fingers, taking in its texture. He knelt by her side, lowered his head, and inhaled deeply to have his first taste of her scent – a heady mix of the perfume she wore, the moist undertones of sweat as it beaded on her forehead, the clean, fresh smell of her hair, and the natural smoky aroma of her body.

She stirred just then, eyes opening to meet his, limpid pools of darkness meeting his feral stare. In an instant, she was wide awake, aware all at once of his fingers tangled in her hair, the trace of whiskey on his breath, the intensity of his gaze, the tension in his body as he leaned over her, the raggedness of his breathing.

His first kiss was hungry, his second, almost demure. Somewhere between the two, he slid onto the bed to prop himself above her, still gazing deep into her eyes. She responded with unexpected passion, meeting his actions with equal, opposing ones of her own. They traded kisses, caresses, and urgent whispers as if mirroring each other, as mind-readers would. Sometimes hurried, sometimes slow, their entanglement soon led to clothes being discarded, letting flesh meet flesh.