In the Pink

Two words, so heavily weighted.

How extraordinary that two such seemingly innocent words -- in any other context so innocuous, so unremarkable -- can have so much force behind them when uttered in that special tone.

An indication of so much more than merely a request for a body to move.

It's those two words that can change a mood completely -- a u-turn of cataclysmic proportions. A mood that was de facto broken... not a purposeful error, or intentional act. Just the way it goes sometimes. We've all been there. We recognise this.

They've been, up until now, in the living room, where they have been ostensibly discussing the sad and sorry state of world affairs, and the growing worry that is global warming. They've been there for about twenty minutes, following an hour or so spent at a very pretty outdoor bar-cafe, contemplating other interesting if mundane thoughts.

Throughout the whole discussion the underlying sexual tension has been... crackling, there's no other word for it. Uncharacteristic shyness on her part and natural reserve on his. Politeness has invaded the space -- unwanted and unrequested, but very much there.

And there you have it. Stalemate. Silence, punctuated only by faint, shallow, expectant breathing.

Shyly, he looks at her; she catches his gaze and holds it fast. Another eternity passes before he reaches out his hand and lays it on her thigh. From the electric charge that bolts up her spine as a result of his touch, she is actually amazed that no blue and orange sparks shoot toward the ceiling.

His eyes do not waver from hers, and he leans forward -- into her, into her lips, into their kiss.

Again with the electricity.

His hand travels up from her thigh to her breast, extricating it from the black lacy confines into the open, and grasping it roughly. The kiss becomes more passionate than before, as his fingers dig hard into her flesh. He gently slaps her breast -- and then again, less gently. She relishes the feeling and sighs into his kiss, running her fingers over his soft and oh-so-sexy bald pate.

Oh joy! The wonder of a man who knows how to keep her in the moment, so she can really feel that she's there. He plays her body like a fine-tuned violin, and he knows instinctively that she will submit to his touch, to his every whim.

His grip on her waist and breast tighten and her stomach clenches with joy. And suddenly he pulls away. She watches him as he stands, and walks away from the sofa. No more than two steps, but still -- such a wave of feelings have engulfed her over the last few minutes that she is momentarily unsure.

And then he pauses, and looks at her once more. He smiles, and extends his hand.

"Come here."

And she goes.