You crawl out of bed and go to the window, opening the curtains halfway. It’s pitch black out there, too, except for strobe light images in lightning flashes, the trees whipping in the wind, the cars in the parking lot gleaming, wet with the driving rain.
You don’t hear him move up behind you, but you can feel him. The heat from his body seeps into your back, and you can smell the warm, woodsy, slightly spicy scent of him, feel the almost magnetic pull on your body, urging you to lean back into him. You resist, but it isn’t easy.
“You okay?” he whispers, and you nod.
“Storm woke me.”
You stand there, silently, watching the raging storm together, the air vibrating with something unspoken. After a few moments, he leans down, his lips next to your ear, and murmurs your name. “Doesn’t this make you kinda feel like doing something a little wild?” The tips of his fingers glide up and down your arm, a whisper-soft touch, and suddenly you have to concentrate very hard on the act of breathing. Inhale, exhale, shallow and slow, and you’re feeling a little dizzy. When his lips brush against the slope of your neck, you sway, and his hands on your upper arms hold you steady. “If you want me to go…” He hesitates, unmoving, waiting for you to respond.
“Stay.” It’s the only word you can manage, but it’s enough.
