Crestfallen [COMPLETED]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ - 43

Alex

Joanna and I step inside out of her car, walking over to our home.
Both of us visibly tired from our visit to the art gallery.

Yet, beneath the exhaustion, we both reckon it was worthwhile.

That the magnimosity of experiencing a thousand lives through art is truly something to cherish.

As we enter inisde, Joanna heads towards the bedroom. I decide to step out onto the balcony to take a call from the hospital.

Moments later, I reenter the room, my steps naturally slowing down, as my gaze falls upon Joanna.

She's standing before the mirror, the zipper of her dress pulled down to her waist, revealing the expanse of her bare back.

Only then I  realize that she's changing.

Our eyes lock, and arousal surges through me.

Desire, intense and raw, pulses in my veins, my body reacting with a primal urge that I can hardly control.

My heartbeat quickens, and the air feels charged with an unspoken tension.

Her dress straps slide down her shoulders, teasingly revealing glimpses of her breasts.

The sight fuels my imagination, igniting a fire deep within me that I haven't felt in so long.

And I am going crazy, my mind fuzzy with want.

I want to touch her, to trace my fingers along every curve of her back, to feel her skin under my hands.

Slide that strap completely over her shoulders, that's torturing me.

But I force myself to retreat, to step outside the bedroom and close the door behind me, choosing to respect her privacy.

Leaning against the wall just outside the bedroom, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of sensations swirling within me. At seeing her like that.

. . . . . . .

I lay on the bed, my body aching from the day's activities, yearning for the solemnity of sleep.

Still, sleep eludes me. Joanna shifts beside me, and it looks like sleep hasn't embraced her either.

A strange sensation courses through me, the realization that I had spent my nights in solitude, here in this bed.

And now she's really here, back, beside me.

A faint smile graces my lips at that.

Our hands brush against each other accidentally.

And the smile fades from my face.

It's a fleeting touch, but it sends a jolt through me, heightening my senses.

Joanna doesn't immediately pull her hand away, and neither do I.

We both lie there, side by side, gazing up at the ceiling.
As the air thickens with unspoken emotions.

I can feel my breathing becoming uneven. I'm acutely aware of the closeness between us. The palpable tension brewing.

I keep waiting for Joanna to retract her hand, expecting the moment to end.

Yet, she let's her hand stay, the touch lingering.

I don't shift closer, and neither does she.

Our shoulders press together, and I feel the fabric of my shirt brushing against her bare shoulder.

Every inch of contact feels like fire, igniting a warmth within me that I haven't felt in a long time.

My fingers move gently against hers, tracing patterns almost subconsciously on her palm, on her long nails, along the lines etched.

Her hand responds, closing over mine. I can hear her breaths, rapid and uneven, mirroring my own.

Our hands stay intertwined, firm yet gentle, as if each touch carries some weight.

It's a silent connection, a bridge that speaks volumes without words.

We fall asleep like that, with our hands intertwined.