FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
There’s really no need for it, but the dressing up ensues. The heels are picked out according to his height. The hair is brushed to take out the rain and the Tahari jacket is buttoned to the top, neatly pulled over the fitted camisole, conveniently hiding the black lariat necklace.
She slides in through the front door, spies him immediately, alone.
He looks up, unsure, then as she nods to the hostess, and confidently strolls across the room into his waiting arms, he pulls himself to full height. As he laughs she notes how his jaw pulls to the left when he allows his emotions to take over his face.
His lingering embrace allows her to judge his stature, to secure her nerves, to lock in an assessment of his strength in a few moves. Cheating, a bit, she inhales as they lock arms, detects no telling stories, wishes he had the drop to her knees effect, but knows his mind will engage hers and with it her weakness in his presence.
As she shakes the rain from her shoulders, she uses both hands to sweep her longest fingers across her cheekbones to clear the droplets from her face, while he leans in and breathes in his wordy exhale something about her beautiful eyes.
She casts her glance downward, nods forward to accept his compliment and graces his mind with how easily he creates a subtle shift in her tone and how comfortable she is with his nearness.
Forcing his mouth to emit words instead of a trail of kisses from her ear to her sternum, he pulls himself out of his thoughts and focuses on her moving hands as she tells her story. It doesn’t matter so much what she says, as how she says it…she could be telling him lies and extravagant ones at that, but he knows if she is here, and he is fully awake, the future is secure, just as his ability to read her is intact and his skill in defining her path is unshaken.
She allows one hand to find its way to the curve of her breast, where slowly, with her longest finger leading her mindful touch, she traces a path over each rib and down to the dip of her hip, where it meets the satin ribbon, the silk fabric and circles the last of the traditional attire of undress.
# for Reticent Mental Property