She stood in front of the window and looked out over the gardens. It had turned midnight in the city, the witching hour, yet it was still eerily light. The snow lay, its covering a thick blanket over everything. It had become perfect the world, a smooth white cover pulled over the reality of a bleak uneventful landscape. The trees, spooky and beautiful, highlighted with their white accents as they reached for the sky. Plants turned into sculptures, ethereal nymphs and dryads in the half light. The moonlight magnified by the snow, infinite endless white.
Tonight it was a winter wonderland of possibilities, there was magic in the air. As she listened she heard hope whispering in the moonlight, tormenting her senses, calling her name as she fingered the silver necklace that lay between her breasts.
She was naked, except for her high heels and the necklace, her curvy body almost as pale as the snow itself. She leant forward against the glass, the cold hitting her skin and making her shiver as she half felt and half dreamed. Her nipples hardened instantly in response to the intrusion of cold on her senses. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the heady smell of vanilla that pervaded the room. Sucking in her stomach she was delighting in her body's response at the same time as she wanted to withdraw from the sensation of cold. She could almost feel Jack Frost laying his icy fingers against her sensitive flesh.
The world outside was so quiet, peaceful, unspoilt. In the background the music played, the haunting strains of the violin filling the room. It was calling her, enchanting her like a snake charmer, making her want to do its bidding. She closed her eyes, stretching her arms above her head, reaching up, her fingertips pressed hard against the window, supporting her. She arched her hips forward against the glass, pressing her sex to it, her dark hair highlighted against it. Her full breasts pressed hard against the window, squashed against it, sensitive, a smear of her juices gleaming already on the glass.
If anyone was out there and looked up now they would have a great view of her, wantonly displaying herself for the world. She pushed her full dark lips against the glass and drew back admiring the perfect red image that they had left. A kiss for the night, for the stranger, the man she imagined, who may be watching her from one of the windows, admiring her body, wanting her, needing her, running his hands over his own body as he drank her in.
