By Laura Petellat-Entwisle
She seizes this moment. He is here. Art hangs. People meander. She comes close enough He can smell, Roses, Orange Blossoms, Sandalwood, Honeysuckle, and a hint of Oud wood. "Oh God, it's Her." He knows that soft face. Those eyes. He remembers Her lips. Every. Single. Day. She stands, eyes forward, an old movie monster, bearing a gift. She smiles gently at his sweet gesture. Shifting on Her feet, Her hip cocks up, shifting Her toward Him. Her scent filling His nostrils. He can not stand idle. "She is so close. She's doing it on purpose!" "Maybe?" She glances at Him. Sideways. Catches His eye. She smiles so coy, She seems to be issuing a dare?! Is She? She looks forward again. Clears Her throat. Another sideways glance. "Hello". A firm sinewy hand, fingers like tentacles slip through Her hair, into a loose makeshift bun. Clutching sudden and tight He pulls Her head back as She moans. A predatory lupine thrust and His mouth covered Hers. "Oh you know me so well..." She lamented.