Delectable (Sinclair Bryant)

A Mutual Need

Sinclair had a habit of not drawing the curtains fully, or at all sometimes, which is what woke Sian early that Christmas Eve morning. It was warm in his bedroom, the heating had already turned itself on to battle the winter outside. Sinclair was still blissfully sleeping beside her when she rolled over towards him; he had an arm wedged underneath his pillow, slightly propping his head up, and had pushed the flannel covers down off his chest.

She wanted to run her hands through his sandy hair, to move it off his face but she didn't want to wake him yet. So, instead, she studied him. His rested brow and the delicacy of his sleeping eyes, moving in dreams. The faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks that he would shave off as soon as he could, and the long, intricate arch of his nose. He could be a Roman bust. Apollo, with all his purity and light. Maybe that's why he always left the curtains open, Sian thought, with a smirk at her lips. 

Sinclair's lips, however, did not conjure thoughts of purity. Seemingly untouched by winter's harshness, they were warmth and softness, and lustful. She brushed her fingers over the bare skin of her shoulder, to the spot she knew he had marked last night, while her body remembered just how good it had all felt. She shuffled with the discomfort of this new yearning until her bare chest brushed against his arm and her head was near resting on his freckled shoulder.

Sian diverted her eyes downwards, lazily following the expanse of his chest where his sleeping breaths rose and fell; knowing nothing of her growing unrest. His soft stomach muscles were relaxed and the trail of hair that led over them, past his belly button, drew her eyes to where the duvet soon cut off her ogling. His skin was smooth, blemished only by what looked like faded chicken pox scars. They were small and silver; a few dotted around his upper chest and one below his left pectoral muscle.

The urge to wake him, touch him, breathe him in, grew. It wasn't all that surprising, considering the attention he had lavished upon her last night and the reciprocation he had deterred. After patiently building her sensitive body back to climax, he again shook his head and kissed her, then had her cuddled up into him before she could protest any further.

To halt her urges, she slipped out her side of the bed, took Sinclair's green striped dressing gown off the back of the door, and stood by the window. Though it seemed bright when she first woke, the morning mist had yet to lift and the sun could not be found behind the covering of ashy grey clouds.

She wrapped her arms around the fluffy material of Sinclair's gown and rested herself against the wall. Sian had not felt so comfortable in years. The main source of her newly found contentedness stirred and stretched until the span of his long arms eagled out over where Sian had slept and over the edge of the mattress on his own side. Sian, with a small sigh and a warm smile, made her way over to the bed and cupped his warm hand, placing it over his chest. Looking down at him, serene and comfortable, looking gentler than ever, she let herself and her mind linger too long, admitting to herself that she was falling, far too fast, for Sinclair. She turned quickly.

Padding over the plush carpet, she left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and made her way to the bathroom. She was going to shower but the gold claw-footed bath, that stood perfectly in line with the window above it, was too tempting and with the day she had lined up, an early morning relaxation couldn't hurt.

Sitting on the edge of the bath, Sian leaned in and plugged up the hole, then turned the thick, gold handles until water spurted out and began filling the bath. She couldn't see any bubble bath, but she found lavender soaking salts, which she sprinkled over the shallow pool now filling the tub. The smell quickly spiralled upwards, towards her and aired around the room with wisps of steam.

Sian left the bath to fill and made her way over to the mirror above the sink. Edging herself closer she looked at her skin, checking her pores and wiping the smudging of mascara from the corners of her eyes. The darkening under her eyelids signified she hadn't slept enough but she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep and Sinclair needed his hibernation hours. His office was now officially closed but he was going to drive her to work and was toying with the idea of going in. She quickly brushed her teeth; Sinclair had bought her a toothbrush to stay at his house, as well as the toothpaste she used.