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It felt like the most natural thing in the world to have him touch her — no awkwardness, no hesitation — as though they had been together forever. They left together — no words exchanged — his hand resting on the small of her back. They got into her car and she drove while he stroked the inside of her thigh, gazing at her with lust and longing. They came to her house, she parked and they got out together, walking along the short path to her door. As they got inside he pressed her to him, sealing her in his strong arms in a passionate embrace. He lifted her and carried her to the sofa. They didn't have to speak — the longing was visible on both faces. He started stripping her clothes off. Unbuttoning her top slowly, he kissed every inch of skin that was revealed. She sighed in content and let him do as he pleased. He revealed her large soft breasts, hardly held by a red lace bra. He shivered with lust, his eyes feasting on her snow white skin. He continued undressing her, pulling down. He remembered how when the train stopped, he had to chase her down, because he was too afraid to say anything before then. He thought back to their first date. He longed to be there again. He longed for one last look at her face, so he could be lost in her eyes again. He needed to be there. He needed to be there when they shared an umbrella in the rain of New York City. He yearned to just stand in the pouring down rain as she ran ahead with the umbrella, laughing. Oh the laugh. He recalled the laugh that made angels sing. The laugh that could pierce through his heart and make him putty in her hands. He took a deep breath. Beyond the juniper burning in the corner and beyond the flowers there was a faint odor. It continued to get stronger and stronger with each deep inhalation. He recognized her perfume, still radiating from the hamper. He remembered how she smelled and how her kiss tasted, a taste sweeter than any sugar that would whirl around on his tongue and stay for hours. But now.
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