More from ‘Water and Dust’.
Marc looked back at Brendan, whose eyes were still on the sky.
“What?”
Brendan indicated back onto their land with his head. “This way.”
As the dogs settled back to their post, Marc followed Brendan into the trees, he said, “We should be getting back.”
Without turning, Brendan said, “For who?”
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
She curls her finger around, so the flat of her nail runs smooths across his nape. He exhales, and seems to relax, as if anticipating that she’ll stop.
That makes her smirk.
She turns the nail again, now so the point is pressed down, a tiny furrow forming in his skin as she draws it down to his collar. When she crosses it over the vertebra where his neck bends, the bone hard under her touch. And as she brings it back up again, he’s panting, low enough that only she can hear him.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
He’s up so close to the glass that his breath fogs a tiny patch; a spot of frost on the clear pane. She smiles at the focus of his gaze on the water colour displayed in the case, protected from his intensity and his undoubted desire to touch and feel the brush strokes.
“These are amazing,” he breaths.
She responds in a whisper. “Yes.” She returns to looking at the painted roses and the snow drops, aware as ever of the orbit of heat emanating from his body.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
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