She stood in the doorway, keys in her hand at her side and stared at him where he sat on the couch. He would not look at her. He kept his eyes glued to the television and she knew he would crumble if he looked at her. Here was ego. Here was manly strength. She sighed at such machismo. It made her crazy but it seemed to be his defense mechanism so she decided she would only say what is in her heart.
"I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come 'round the corner."
She said gently. She saw him go very still, remote limp in his hand.
"Sense your scent when I come into a room you've just left."
A shift of her form at the door sent her keys jingling like some warning bell and his head snapped around to look at her.
Her sad, green gaze locked to his dark one and she continued.
"Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips, then let them part just the slightest bit when I lean into your space and kiss you."
He stood up slowly from the couch, his eyes never leaving hers and her heart began to pound as he closed the distance between them. He said not a word as he reached her, his fingertips glided over her cheek and she finally whispered.
"I want to know the joy of how you whisper 'more'."
"More" he whispered softly, his eyes closing as he leaned in and kissed her.
All became still within her soul and then explosions of desire washed through her.
This is why she stayed. This is what she wanted. He is who she wanted.
He is who she loved.
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