Considerings and she's bringing something new to the table. The first time I read this post, I was hooked and wanted to read more. Lizzi is an exceptional writer who has a firm grasp on just about every writing genre there is. This post is yet another great example of her talent. What she has written for us today sounds like an excerpt from a juicy novel that I would love to sink my teeth into. What do you think? Leave her some comment love and let her know how awesome she is!
I never truly realised until then that it’s absolutely true; a look, shared between strangers across a crowded room, can lead to so much.
I can barely remember what the party was for. Certainly everyone was there in their finest, dolled up to the nines and acting like each of them was the centre of the world. Social butterflies and every bit as insubstantial, their features leaving no trace in memory, only the faint impression of swirling, bright dresses, sharp suits and sparkling jewellery, soundtracked by laughter, the clink of glass on glass, and the relentless buzz of conversation.
That moment, though- that second - is ingrained.
Our eyes skimmed past each other, then simultaneously did a double take and whisked back to lock hard onto each other’s gaze. The atmosphere suddenly grew heavy and pressed in, and as though fork lightning had just shot out and hit its mark, the air seemed to sizzle between us.
Through the evening, we gradually worked our way closer to meeting, traversing the circles, keeping one eye on the other, sharing small, exclusively-shared upraisings of the corners of our mouths as we noticed that we were both doing the same thing.
We finally met, coincidentally, introduced by someone else. His gaze was so magnetic I didn’t even hear his name. Without breaking the look, his lustrous eyes holding mine helpless, he reached for my hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. The warmth of his hand on mine stunned me, and for the rest of the conversation, there was nothing else I could think of.
Our introducer finally left, and I found my hand once again taken in his. It was dry and soft, and exerted sufficiently masterful pressure that I’d begun walking with him before I noticed myself doing it. We were away from the crowds in a trice, and I ran silently with him through corridors until we reached his room.
Once through the door, time stopped.
He immediately pulled me close, and raising my face in both hands, kissed me deeply, leaving me in no doubt that anyone who’d ever waxed lyrical about ‘weak at the knees’ had somehow been lucky enough to experience this kind of feeling before I knew it was real. I staggered back slightly, coming to rest against the towel hanging from the peg behind the door, still slightly damp and scented of him – a rich, wild spice – and he followed, pressing forward until our bodies were touching from head to toe and I could feel the warmth of his skin through his clothes.
As though I’d been drowning, I pulled away, dizzy and gasping for oxygen. I reached for him, fumbling with buttons and fastenings and he grinned lazily, flashing a stunning smile, and caught my wrists, holding them away. With a twinkle, he murmured “Slow down…make this count”, the hint of accent in his words sending my senses reeling.
With suave, measured control he undressed me (where had my wedding ring gone?) and all my hang-ups were forgotten as I caught a flash of delight shining from his eyes. There was something else there, too – satisfaction, perhaps, at his conquest, but I no longer cared.
He laid me down across the bed and kissed me again, gently but firmly holding my grasping arms against the cool sheets, whilst desire rocketed through me, lifting me, straining every muscle to be closer to him, in contact, his skin burning against mine.
My breathing ragged, I pulled back and looked at him, losing myself in the depths of his eyes, as I was equally certain that I could feel my own pupils dilating. I couldn’t contain myself and let out a half-whispered plea - “Come on!”, and to my delight, he responded immediately, catching my urgency and removing his clothes in a few, swift, fluid movements.
He was perfect. Deeply tanned, sculpted and broad shouldered, with only the tease in his eyes and the rapid giveaway of his pulse, thrumming in the hollow of his throat, to give him away. He trailed his fingertips across my shuddering skin, eliciting a tiny, inadvertent squeak, and then grabbed me, powerfully sliding me underneath him, tightening his grip as I gasped and arched my back to meet him, clinging to his strong arms and lost in the scent of his hair as his kisses traced down my neck to my collarbone.
The bed shook violently, bucking me into the throes of wakefulness. The dark air blanketed me as I felt the prickle of sweat begin to cool on my skin, and felt the well-rehearsed movements of my husband turning over in bed.
Resentfully, I turned my back to him and lay, eyes watching the darkness, twisting my wedding ring around on my finger (now reinstated by reality), wondering about the technicalities of dream-cheating, and whether it made it worse if I *tried* to get back to the dream to finish what had begun.
Eventually my mind gave up, and I drifted off with the spectre of dark, shining eyes and glinting charcoal hair floating in my mind’s eye.
I stood in a cold, tiled room full of toilets, each in their cubicle, but none with a door.
Checking each of them in turn, I found to my dismay that their state of repair left much to be desired. Several had no seat. None had toilet paper. A few were overflowing or gurgling ominously. A building urgency sent me running through the room, which suddenly expanded until the whole world was full of useless toilet cubicles. Finally I found one which seemed promising. I flung myself in, and shut the door firmly behind me, turning to sit down and…
…discovered myself clawing my way painfully back into consciousness, doubly disappointed by my dreams and absolutely busting for a piss.
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Lizzi is a Deep Thinker, Truth Teller and Seeker of Good. Works a normal job and has a secret life as the writer at Considerings. Wife to Husby and Mother to two Neverborns, now dealing with the challenge of primary infertility. She is a frequent instigator of silliness and loves to entertain with words.