[He kisses her as if stealing the breath from her, not quite as controlled and refined as before, edging closer and closer to the intense sort of deep kisses he had given her when they first met. She find herself swept up in the passion, her hands falling away to run along his sides, tangling in his suspenders, wrapping around his waist. She clings to him, unable to restrain herself any more than the moonlight could stop shining over her, framing them in white.
She pulls back just for a scant moment of air, before pressing forward again of her own volition, grateful that he hasn't been disappointed in her after all, grateful for how tender and sweet he is making an effort to be, grateful for how much he loves her—
No, how much he appears to love her—the cynical thought comes unbidden, emerging from a dark corner of her mind lurks like a vicious specter. True love or not, there is still the plausibility of it, and with how he gazes upon her with such reverence—why, he might even love her already. Because if this is anything less than a romantic consummation, it would be just intercourse, just a physical act, no better than her husband's disloyal sprees. She has to remind herself of that.
Does that mean, then, that she loves him—?]
I—
[The sound of her voice surprises her, already halfway to answering her own silent question. Although it had been barely audible, little more than a mutter, she realizes he might take it as further reluctance. Putting an end to her attempts at making sense of her muddled thoughts, she pulls him closer, into an embrace.]
no subject
She pulls back just for a scant moment of air, before pressing forward again of her own volition, grateful that he hasn't been disappointed in her after all, grateful for how tender and sweet he is making an effort to be, grateful for how much he loves her—
No, how much he appears to love her—the cynical thought comes unbidden, emerging from a dark corner of her mind lurks like a vicious specter. True love or not, there is still the plausibility of it, and with how he gazes upon her with such reverence—why, he might even love her already. Because if this is anything less than a romantic consummation, it would be just intercourse, just a physical act, no better than her husband's disloyal sprees. She has to remind herself of that.
Does that mean, then, that she loves him—?]
I—
[The sound of her voice surprises her, already halfway to answering her own silent question. Although it had been barely audible, little more than a mutter, she realizes he might take it as further reluctance. Putting an end to her attempts at making sense of her muddled thoughts, she pulls him closer, into an embrace.]