Late-night assignment

[Noémi Jourdain]

He left her breathless. The moments ran together in bliss, an enrapture of feeling she had never really experienced with another. When his arms pulled her close she shivered against his strength. Men had thought to own Noémi before, but it was not that which she felt. It was more like rekindling; the rushing memory of heat and belonging, and the capture of something all too easy to lose. The passions he revealed inflamed her. She wanted to lead him onwards.

When he held her by the chin, she was transfixed. The intensity of him blazed. Yet he slipped away from her like a setting sun.

She understood what he wanted, in as much as she understood what any man would want from her now. Her skin was flushed, her eyes darkened and sultry. She could tease the buttons of her blouse while he watched, make a show of invitation until he was utterly unravelled by the time she pressed herself close again.

Yet she wondered at what he truly saw. She did not want to be but another penitent in hopeful worshipful at his feet, beloved of a moment and easily forgotten by the time the sun rose. Nor did she want to be relegated to another of the designs he made of his world, only ever perceiving what everyone else was permitted to see. “That sounds exhausting,” she told him, “and lonely.” It was not said in accusation; instead there was a weight of heavy recognition in her tone, one that sought like-minded acceptance. The sphere of her world was a different kind of loneliness. She was curled close still, caught in the intimacy. Her fingers brushed the hair at his temple.