At her mercy, he found himself curious, he found himself aroused, he found himself amazed. He wasn’t aware of the power he had over her, though he knew by the smell, the taste of her, that she wanted it as much as he did. The chemistry, the interaction; he wondered if she gave of herself like this to every man that kneeled for her.
A part of him was violently jealous while a part of him was arrogant enough to believe that she felt this way for no man save him. That she couldn’t. Would never.
The blue-eyed man was gone, for whatever reason, and she was back. She’d be back home in a year. One year. It wouldn’t be that long, couldn’t be that long. He could imagine being with her more and more, wanting–in the space between heartbeats, he had a thousand desires that could not be made more clear–the taste of sweet cherries, and of her, lingered on his lips as he smiled for her, captured.
I sometimes picture you as Lana Del Rey decked in native headgear, declaring that she’s fucking crazy. I’m sure that doesn’t make any sense, but when you’re into the drink, there’s no sense in coming up for air.
I have no idea what on earth to say to that, except perhaps ‘thank you’? 😉
You have to watch the whole thing. It’s 10 minutes, but it’s fucking awesome.