In a warm, unfamiliar living room, two people sit adjacent to each other. The couch he lays comfortably across is pure white, matching the loveseat where she is perched. She's taking in his every breath, watching his chest expand and collapse. Electricity courses through her veins. Her shaking hand takes up the glass of Merlot from the gleaming glass coffee table. Images of clumsily spilling the deep red all over his perfect loveseat make her heart race. Can he tell how nervous he makes her? He isn’t even looking at her, but blindly ahead of him at the static of the TV set. What the hell is she doing here? It’s a trap she put herself into. The clever comments on the phone. The subtle hints of how badly she wants to feel him inside of her. The way she convinces herself that everything will be fine in the morning, when she knows he won’t call. She downs half her glass in one solid chug, and a little burst of color explodes across her cheeks. Flushed, nervous and hating herself for doing this, she downs the rest of the glass.

            After an eternity of silent seconds, he finally lifts his head and glances casually over at her. “It’s been awhile,” he says to her. The light from the TV catches and reflects the deep, glassy blue of his eyes. He’s so beautiful to her, and she feels the Merlot heating up between her thighs. Struggling to sound casual, she plunges into mundane conversation. How is his job going, and is he excited that he’s almost done with school? She doesn’t want to know the answers. She just wants that unbroken eye contact. She wants to watch his lips move, to imagine them wrapping around her own. Every inch that separates him from her makes her insane. She counts them in her mind. Sixty inches, sixty million fucking inches away and yet she’s sure he can hear her heart pounding.

            He notices the empty wine glass on the table and promptly stands up. Taking up the glass, he pretends to ask her if she’d like another. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wants to do this to her; it’s why he called her over. On his way to the kitchen, he passes close to the loveseat, close to her knees and her hair. She can smell him and feel his heat radiating toward her. With the wine glass in his left hand, he lets the right graze across her shoulder. “I’m really glad you came over.” He hides his smile behind the wall that separates the two rooms, but she catches it. She can hear it in his voice.

            His love for her is nothing more than a reflection of his hatred for himself. She’s been playing his game for so long, and although she knows she’ll never win, she prides herself in thinking that she’s ahead of him.

            He’s standing behind her with a full glass of wine in his hand. She doesn’t realize that he’s there until he’s only inches away. He passes the glass to her over her right shoulder. She takes it and drains a little more than half. Once again she feels the heat surge through her body, only this time it’s not the wine that’s causing it. His hand is on her shoulder again, playing with her soft red hair. His slender fingers follow it from her neck to the tips, halfway down her back. Goosebumps begin to explode along her shoulders, her neck, all the way down to her toes. She’s so hot right now. Why didn’t she think to bring a hair tie? Beads of sweat are forming along the base of her hairline and she can tell by his touch that he knows it is he, and not the Merlot, that is causing them. Both hands now are tracing the outline of her shoulders, playfully dancing down her spine. She’s so over-heated, and she’d like nothing more than to take off the clothes that are sticking to her skin. 

            “God, I wish he’d face me,” she thinks to herself, and as if he's reading her mind, moves his hand up over her shoulder, cupping her chin in his grip, and guides her face around to look at him.

            “I’m really glad you came over,” he repeats, every syllable bringing his lips closer to hers.

            Upon contact, her eyes close. This kiss is soft but determined. His mouth opens slightly and his tongue flicks her bottom lip. His hand is back around the base of her skull, fingertips wrapped in the tufts of red and tugging slightly. She turns her body so she’s completely facing him, kneeling on the loveseat and pushing herself into his slender frame. Wrapping both arms tightly around his back, she finds the bottom of his t-shirt and grazes her nails up the bare skin of his spine. His body tenses in response, and she can feel his grip on her hair get tighter. His tongue becomes more active and she pushes him closer into her body.

            The wine has taken its effect and she no longer feels timid or unwelcome. She knows that after tonight she won’t see him again for a long time, and she’s determined to make it last an eternity. Gently, she takes his head in both hands and guides it away from her own. Two inches apart, but he’s so far away!

            His glassy eyes are looking directly into hers and she drinks in the sight of bliss that’s reflecting off them like a starving child drinks deep from her mother’s bosom.

            “You think you’re going to hurt me,” she whispers to him. “You think I’m a fragile little girl who can’t handle you.”

            “Prove me wrong.”

            His look is penetrating, aggressive. He’s challenging her, and he thinks she’ll fail. That’s where this whole thing started. It started with him thinking she’d crumble under the weight of his strong, learned hands. Finally, tonight, she is going to prove him wrong.

            Gripping his hands in hers, she forces him to release her. She stands up and walks around the loveseat until she’s standing inches from his face. Her right hand slips around his waste and hooks into his belt loop as her left traces the outline of his ear. She pushes his head a little to the side and lightly nibbles his earlobe. His breathing, quick and heavy, fuels her desire to make him burn for her. Her tongue dances around the base of the earlobe and her teeth bite down into the flesh of his neck. She can feel his heart thumping between her lips and her knees go weak. She pulls away again and looks him in the eyes.

            “I just can’t get enough of that look.”

            Confused, he responds, “What look?”

            “It’s cute how you think you’re concealing it. The look you gave me the first time I saw you in class. The look I’d catch out of the corner of my eye as I was saucing a plate for presentation. The same look you’d have as we’d say good-bye each and every day, how you’d watch me walk away from you. That look of longing. Need. Starvation. You can’t hide that look from me, and you shouldn’t. It’s what gets me going. It’s what renders me helpless and makes me burn to submit to you.”

            For a minute, she can see some desire inside him to argue. He’s wasted so much time trying to pretend the fire isn’t there. He is absolutely terrified to admit that he is human, that he has such primal desires to rip into her like one of his perfectly prepared meals. He opens his mouth to speak but she silences him with her tongue.

            “Not tonight. No bullshit tonight. Tomorrow everything goes back to normal, but just for a few hours, you’re going to be fucking happy.”

            Again, her body is pressed up against his and she can feel him finally gripping her back, one hundred percent hers, if only for this moment. For a few minutes they stand there, tangled together in sweat and passion, kissing each other as if completely starving for it.

            Suddenly, everything she’s been waiting for, dieing for, explodes all at once. Her shirt is pulled over her head as he pushes her backwards toward his bedroom, her fingers fumbling to undo his belt. They collapse in a heap on top of the covers and within seconds are both completely naked. His hands and mouth are everywhere on her body all at once. Her hair is being pulled; his nails are digging into her shoulder, his tongue is flashing over her thighs, her stomach, her heaving chest.

            “You know what’s going to happen when I go back to work tomorrow.” His look burns into her retinas and she wants him to shut up. She doesn’t care. He shouldn’t care. Nothing else matters if he’s inside her, and she tells him this. She jams his head between her thighs, and he finds her wet and waiting.

            The softness is gone from his mouth. He’s devouring her now. Indeed, he hadn’t known the full effect of his starvation until his mouth was full of her. Her hands clutch onto the bedspread, dig into the pillow and slam against the wall. Her legs wrap tightly around his head as she yells for him. She needs him. He brings himself back up to her and kisses her hard. She can taste herself all over him and it makes her grab him tightly around the waist. She thrusts him deep inside of her and they both let out a moan of utter ecstasy. They pump together in perfect rhythm, working him as deep into her as they can. Dripping with sweat and short of breath, they’re reduced to animals. There are no thoughts of tomorrow. There are no thoughts of sleeping, of life or death. There is only the rising climax; the pumping that grows steadily stronger, faster. His hands wrap around her wrists and slam them into the bed over her head. All of his weight is inside her and her body writhes in pleasure beneath his. Her back arches as she struggles against the firm grip of his hands. Her toes dig into the mattress. She closes her eyes tight as her orgasm explodes in waves over her body. As her muscles contract, she can feel him throbbing inside her. Minutes go by. The room is filled with silence. He collapses helplessly on the bed beside her and pulls her body around his own.

            For a long time, neither of them speak. Then he reaches around and squeezes her tightly. She succumbs to it gratefully, wishing he’d never let go. But he does, and she knows that it’s all over. Tomorrow morning she’ll go home, he’ll go back to self-loathing, and they’ll never speak again.