Moments in Time: Blue, Spent and Wistful

Ambiguous noise and movement from the other side of the bed awoke him. Rolling over, he squinted in the darkness that was punctuated by the window’s crisp rectangle. The light outside was pale orange, other-worldly. A dim cacophony of traffic and street sounds floated up from the depths of this city that never slept. He glanced at his wrist but it was bare, his watch long gone, lost somewhere in the Hansel-and-Gretel trail of clothing and items that led from the door to the bed. She had taken him to pieces, he remembered. Undressing like some sublime act of deconstruction. Right down to his collar stays. God only knew where they were…

His eyes picked out her long silhouette. She was crouched low like a prowling cat, trawling the floor, finally picking up something. Up on one elbow, he watched as she shook out his crumpled dress shirt and put it on. Looking out the window, she buttoned it slowly and rolled up the cuffs, methodical as a child at finger paints.

“You only wanted me for my shirt,” he mumbled. It was hard to feign wistful through a smile of helpless joy.

Glancing at him through her tousled hair, her expression was smug. He moved the covers aside as she sank one knee on the bed and finished the last button. Then slid in beside him. A waft of skin and sex and perfume.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” she whispered. “Naked inside your clothes.”

“I knew you were many lovely things. I never dreamed you were a shameless mercenary.”

“I know.” She put her hand on his face, snugging his jaw in her palm, running her thumb along his cheekbone. “I may keep it.”

“You can have it,” he said, although it was terribly impractical, not to mention his best and favorite blue shirt. The expensive one. But in the dark of night, in a room such as this, with a woman like that, all things were possible.

He rolled onto his chest, utterly spent. “Lie on my back,” he said.

Barely disturbing the covers she slithered closer and her weight settled up and along the full length of him. Her arms around his arms, her head on his head. His fingers reached to weave with hers, pulling her embrace closer. Feeling her exhale on his neck and her body warm beneath the fabric of his own shirt.

“Is this comfortable?” she whispered.

He sighed. “I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

“Is it how you thought it would be?”

“Yes,” he said. “I may keep it.”