The Romantic and the Philosopher II

The way he said that’s sexy  made her quiver.
She noted the slightly lower register, the hoarse croak whispering above, the pant of breath, the crinkle of plastic, smack of flesh on flesh, the splash of sweat in a moans echo, she heard it all contained in those three syllables.
In that instance she wanted to reach over the table and yank him in for a kiss, migrate to his place as they tore at each other and fall in a tangled heap on his bed.
His face in shadow as sweat slid off his jaw to land on her chest. Tangled in his sheets as she watched him light a cigarette. Discovering and staying entangled until dawn. Him accompanying her in the cab home at 6AM, his hand travelling up her skirt as he stares out at the waking city. Cupping her head and kissing her over and over before brushing his lips on her forehead and finally leaving.
She sees all that in the minute lifetime of his breath.
He exhales, smiles, and looks out at the rain slicked window. She lets out a frustrated breath and turns to try to entice him again.
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