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He stood over her. Loomed was a more appropriate word. She had fallen, tripped over a corner of the rug while they danced sweet seduction across the common room floor to one of the couches. She hadn't been frightened; she was getting what she wanted, what she'd been waiting for. But now, lying there on the floor, robes falling away from her knees and exposing most of her legs, she found a wave of terror washing over her body. It began in her toes, moved up her uncovered legs, then to her stomach, her chest, and finally settled in her throat. Her throat where her voice was caught and her breath was escaping in raspy gasps. And he stood over her still. He didn't offer a hand, he simply stared; at what she figured must have made an appealing image because he wasn't making any move to help her out of it. And she was just too scared for action. There was something about him, she concluded in her foggy mind. Something about the way his eyes were flashing in the dimly lit room, something about the way his hair fell over his eyes in careful disarray. There was something about his stance and how he seemed almost predatory in that moment. There was something about the way he made her feel like prey. There was something about him that reminded her of Tom. She shivered and made to get up. Then he was upon her, pressing her into the ground, half on the carpet, half on the cold stone floor. He threw off his glasses and all at once a hand was cupping her head and another was sliding up her thigh. And he was kissing her. Kissing her hard. She thought about how cold she was, and how even with the heat of his body and the warmth of the fire, the freezing stones pressing into her back still chilled her. End |