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Waiting For You

(I have no idea why I wrote this. This was more of a spur of the moment writing prompted by a dream I had. No critiquing please! This is an experiment in style and please forgive me for any typos.)

At first, you weren't sure why he approached you. You don't consider yourself beautiful or even that attractive. Why would he come to you in the first place?

You talk for a while, just the two of you, the noise in the main room driving the both of you into a quieter room. You kept glancing up at him and he asked you if anything was wrong, and you shook your head.

You keep wondering to yourself why he would have approached you in the first place, this man with hair as black as midnight and eyes like quicksilver in the dim light. His pale skin gave him more of an ephemeral look and his smile left your heart beating wildly in your chest. Probably because you were holding your breath. It didn't matter. The fact was he was talking to you and everything around you no longer existed: all the stares and whispers that chased the two of you as you entered the room, the pointing...none of it.

You don't know how long you two ended up talking but suddenly, he asked you a question: "May I touch you?"

You stared at him a little in confusion. Curious about what he was up to, you nodded. "Yes," you answered.

He stared at you with an intensity you hadn't seen before, just like the glove he took off. He gently touched your temple and your cheek. He ran a thumb over your lips and you sword your heart skipped a beat.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered.

"Yes." He could have asked you anything and you wouldn't have denied him a thing.

He leaned in, his hand still on your cheek, and your lips touched. His kiss left you breathless. His fingertips left fire in their wake as they travled from your cheek to your neck, which you gladly presented to him. His breath was warm against your neck and you were vaguely aware of he straps of your dress slipping off your shoulders. You weren't particularly sure when your dress came off or his clothes did either. You just remember his hands caressing your body.

There was this sense about him. Something that said he just needed you. It wasn't urgent or demanding. It was just this need to know the texture and scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, the sound of your voice. You suddenly felt wanted. Beautiful. Desirable.

That was when he tasted your tears. And your flesh.

His lips danced over your skin and his tongue teased you. You gasped with the want of him. All you needed was the touch of his skin but denied you that simple pleasure. His hands held yours captive, to restrain you, but it was already too late. The need for him was too strong.

This man that you barely knew, that you had just met, knew you better than any man that you had ever been with before. You needed him in a way that you couldn't begin to explain.

"Will you give yourself to me?" you whispered, searching his face.

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He kissed you and did the one thing that nearly sent you over the edge. He didn't bite his bottom lip, which normally drove you crazy. No. He surrendered himself to you.

You touched his skin and trailed your fingertips over the scar just under his heart. You taste him the same way he did you and you began to do things to him that you had always dreamed of. You watched in delight as his back arched beneath you and the low moan that escaped from the back of his throat drove you over the edge. And when you impaled yourself upon him inch by delicious inch you watched his mouth form a soundless moan and his hands grip your thighs.

He sat up, almost abruptly, and there was a look in his eyes that you couldn't describe. Not at first. It wasn't desire or lust. It was hunger. He touched you again and the world only existed in sound and touch after that moment.

His scent lingered in the air, a heady aroma that reminded you of decadent pleasures and red wine. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks at such thoughts and opened your eyes. You were amongst people once more. No one seemed to have noticed the stain on your cheeks, perhaps mistaking the blush due to the wine you had been drinking.

You looked up and there, before you, was the man. Had you been hallucinating earlier? He gave you a knowing smile, which led you to believe otherwise. He approached you slowly, almost prowling. He came up beside you and offered his arm to you. Without a word, you took it. Denying him would have been pointless. You would have given him everything.

"The night is still young," he whispered in your ear and his voice sent shivers down your spine. "Let us go out this evening for pleasure."

You looked up at him and the look in his eye made you tremble in anticipation and delight. This night was just beginning.

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