She is restless.
She paces back and forth across her bedroom floor, the shimmering light of the full moon, bathes the floor in silver. The French doors are open to the courtyard, wispy curtains blow in the soft sea breezes, yet she is hot in her black lace gown. Her hand travels to her throat and she longs for his caress once again. She hears the ocean crashing on the rocks below her haven on the cliff, but those sounds are drowned by her own thoughts, crashing about in her head.
When will he come? Where is he? Why isn't he here? Her fist pounds against the door frame in frustration.
She is wet with longing. She lies on her bed, touching herself, rising again, unable to satisfy her own lust and looks out of the window. The moon is full in a cloudless sky. The leaves rustle. Were those his footsteps?
No.
Her breasts ache for his touch and her palms press against them hard; she brushes her fingertips across her full, red lips, imagining his demanding and hungry kiss; they trail down her pale throat, imagining his thirst.
She turns and he is there. She smiles slowly taking in his handsome form as he seems to glide across the floor to her. She trembles in his presence, like an addict before a fix. He caresses her hair, her face, running his thumb across her full, red lips possessively. She moans, her head rolling back in pleasure, and she hears an impatient growl deep in his throat as his hands find her taut nipples beneath the lace. She gasps in lust as he takes handfuls of lace neckline, ripping it away from her body, leaving the delicate fabric hanging in shreds from her pale shoulders.
