Kiss Me Hard; Damn You!
What Is It About You?
The rain fell monotonously. A bigger splash splashed on the outer windowsill of Julian's reading room window from time to time. He stood at the window, his beautiful features raw in the white light of the rainy morning.
That morning, he had woken up to see the beautiful face of Rose silently and carelessly sleeping next to him. It warmed him up inside, yet it scared him to no end. The idea of the woman he had to share with his older brother had him breathing hard whenever he thought about it too much. This time, though, he controlled the suffocating for the sake of the same Rose, who was seated on a crimson velvet armchair, very close to him. It was his reading chair and she loved it very much, considering it an object that had borrowed most of him, of Julian's personality, thoughts, time, and body. Wearing nothing but a silken black robe, she had her knees close to her body, with her chin fixed on one of them. Her hair was pulled up into what had been a pony tail, but now had too many stray bangs to be that. Her almost naked body did not intimidate her, that much less ashame her.
Julian walked from the window to her, and put two fingers on her chin, lifting it up. He looked into her eyes, her eyes that expressed the whole world, all with a generous dose of pride and magnificence, a trait present in the two of them. They both knew who they were, and, great or not, beautiful or not, they were proud to be who they were.
"What is it about you?" he asked rather rhetorically, in his deep voice, and sat down on an identical armchair that was situated to the left, only a round, tall coffee table between the two.
Rose did not answer. Not because she had found the question peculiar, but because she simply enjoyed hearing him talk and because she had sensed the tone of the question.
He picked up his coffee mug and smelt it deeply, allowing the steam to invade his nostrils. Then, he picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one with amazing grace and casual attitude at the same time. Rose watched bewildered and in love and imitated him, taking the first puff as deep into her lungs as she could.
"I want you to be only mine, Rose," he said casually, as if he had said something of no importance. She raised her gaze and smiled with boredom.
"I am only yours."
"Are you?"
"You tell me. Am I?"
"That's what I'm trying to discover. You see, Rose, you're the kind of being that instead of making life easy, makes it complicated, as hedonistic as you are and as hedonistic as I am."
"So why did you ask?" she said leaving her feet onto the floor and putting one leg over the other, in a way only she could do, awfully seductive, awfully regular.
Julian's biggest fear made its way into his mind at this time. His head went blurry and lust, together with passion and a want to offer protection washed over him. He took his lover into his arms and didn't leave her until he had made love to her passionately, right where they were, on a velvet armchair, Rose dressed in a silk robe.
That morning, he had woken up to see the beautiful face of Rose silently and carelessly sleeping next to him. It warmed him up inside, yet it scared him to no end. The idea of the woman he had to share with his older brother had him breathing hard whenever he thought about it too much. This time, though, he controlled the suffocating for the sake of the same Rose, who was seated on a crimson velvet armchair, very close to him. It was his reading chair and she loved it very much, considering it an object that had borrowed most of him, of Julian's personality, thoughts, time, and body. Wearing nothing but a silken black robe, she had her knees close to her body, with her chin fixed on one of them. Her hair was pulled up into what had been a pony tail, but now had too many stray bangs to be that. Her almost naked body did not intimidate her, that much less ashame her.
Julian walked from the window to her, and put two fingers on her chin, lifting it up. He looked into her eyes, her eyes that expressed the whole world, all with a generous dose of pride and magnificence, a trait present in the two of them. They both knew who they were, and, great or not, beautiful or not, they were proud to be who they were.
"What is it about you?" he asked rather rhetorically, in his deep voice, and sat down on an identical armchair that was situated to the left, only a round, tall coffee table between the two.
Rose did not answer. Not because she had found the question peculiar, but because she simply enjoyed hearing him talk and because she had sensed the tone of the question.
He picked up his coffee mug and smelt it deeply, allowing the steam to invade his nostrils. Then, he picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one with amazing grace and casual attitude at the same time. Rose watched bewildered and in love and imitated him, taking the first puff as deep into her lungs as she could.
"I want you to be only mine, Rose," he said casually, as if he had said something of no importance. She raised her gaze and smiled with boredom.
"I am only yours."
"Are you?"
"You tell me. Am I?"
"That's what I'm trying to discover. You see, Rose, you're the kind of being that instead of making life easy, makes it complicated, as hedonistic as you are and as hedonistic as I am."
"So why did you ask?" she said leaving her feet onto the floor and putting one leg over the other, in a way only she could do, awfully seductive, awfully regular.
Julian's biggest fear made its way into his mind at this time. His head went blurry and lust, together with passion and a want to offer protection washed over him. He took his lover into his arms and didn't leave her until he had made love to her passionately, right where they were, on a velvet armchair, Rose dressed in a silk robe.