He taps something deep within her. A mystery she ponders in the last moments of the day. He is an enigma, like looking at a reflection’s reflection’s reflection. There are moments when he comes so close she can feel his breath on the back of her neck as he inhales her scent, her spirit. But she doesn’t dare turn. She just has to be.
A battle rages in him, one she wants him to win. She doesn’t want to be his downfall. She just wants to know him, dark and scary parts and all. She has no right to this. No claim. So she must put aside her baser desires for his sake.
Legs squeeze together as she suppresses her very sex. A ragged breath is drawn. There will be no ravaging of her body. He will not split her open, quake her foundations and take that slightly cocky smirk off her doe-eyed face. Oh how the mighty have fallen, she imagined him saying tenderly afterwards, as she trembled and shied away.
The yearning is still there. But she must form it into something else. And will. Because she wants his peace more than she wants his body. So, as she rests on the cold, hard bench of her thoughts, hope is found. No… her lips, fingers, arms, legs, breasts and cunt won’t be the safe refuge in which he will find respite. For in those things nothing waits for him but turmoil.
But within the careful boundaries of friendship they both can find what they seek. This way the demons won’t be able to find a way in. There will be no room for fear—that innate terror of not being able to meet the expectations one so desperately wants to meet. Because now there are no expectations. Only acceptance.
And so she dreams. She lets in the beast, the wild and dangerous thing she doesn’t understand. He’s translucent, a fog. With guttural growls he lashes out, the serrated commando knife coming so close that she feels the whoosh of air as it passes over. She closes her eyes and the corners of her mouth turn up, revealing a ghost of a dimple. And he is left pondering the mystery. Why isn’t she afraid? Why is she smiling?