By Brian Anderson
He liked the way she moved.
There was a fluidity to her as she crossed the bedroom. He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she eased onto the stool at her dressing table. Her body shifted beneath the silk confines of her negligee. It was an undertow. A flux charged with energy. He felt as if the air between them was alive with the power of her beauty and his desire for her.
The lamp light infused her auburn hair as she brushed it. He watched her shoulder blades scythe beneath her albescent skin and shift the narrow straps that crossed them.
He loved these moments.
The graceful flow of a beautiful woman in an evening room, naked beneath such flimsy cloth. The gentle flourish of her limbs, the suggestion of her breasts. He wished that these moments could last forever. They brought serenity with them. But like everything in life they quickly ended. All it took was a tiny, innocuous act to destroy them in a single breath. To crush them like the skull of a bird between thumb and forefinger.
She placed the hairbrush onto the table and he felt himself involuntarily step toward her. Their eyes met in the mirror. The moment was dead. She spun and said
“Who are you..what do you want..how did you get in here?”