Pull my hair

His mouth tastes of sweet limes.

With surprisingly deep blue eyes he studies me. He's looking for something. My weaknesses perhaps, my flaws, my insecurities. He smiles softly. This man has something I want.

We went from strangers to lovers that evening over single-malt scotch and pink champagne. It's amazing what decisions such lonely intoxicated minds make. Especially when he has money to spend.

We take our evening to the next level and stumble into a luxury hotel.

Our room overlooks the beach. It is beautiful; surreal. Everything is fuzzy and light.

Nothing we do to each other feels good; nothing feels bad -- we two strangers are at a point where we can no longer feel. We just want. And we want all night long.

The ocean breeze wakes us. I was sore. He was to blame, as was the scotch.

He sleepily complains and I smile at his hang over. Picking up the phone I order Grey Goose bloody Mary's and egg-white omelettes for both of us before lifting myself up off this cloud.

I was leaving in five hours -- flying back east to a place I called home.

"You leaving?"

"Yes. In a little while."

"... Don't."

"Don't?"

"Why do you have to go? Stay the weekend with me."

I turn to face him. Smiling, he lay there naked as Adam on the ruffled white bed; naked and proud as if his body could convince me to change my mind. He knew it could.

"Darling ... I will not stay the weekend."

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" His lines have probably worked before.

"Yes."

"I like you." He looks at me. He's even more handsome this morning than I remember him in my drunken haze of last night. No distractions. Fighting them I get up and pull a sheet to cover me.

"I ordered us breakfast." I said making my way to the bathroom.

"You're perfect." Ah. He had successfully found my weakness. I smile at him.

"And single." I had found his.

Stepping out of the shower my hair dripped around my shoulders. My skin smelled of oranges and warm lavender.

"Towel?" He smiled letting himself into the steamy room.

"I'm sure we could find a better way for me to dry off." I gave in just a little.

The bedsheets worked perfectly.

We took our bodies to the limit one last time. Hoping maybe this time we could feel something. Windows open. Room service knocking.

With tabasco and vodka on his lips he smiled at me.

"I think I love you, Rose." He said those words on purpose. The man is a shark.

"Darling, of course you love me." So am I.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because ... You'll never see me again."

We smile at each other. I wonder if he, a fresh fourty-four, and I, an almost twenty-five, have ever known our true selves.

"That's where you're wrong, Rose. I'll fly east to see you. Take my word."

"Well then, darling. Let us drink to ... love." I toast. The spicy cocktail runs down my chin a little; a drop falls and his eyes follow.

"To love," he whispers as he reaches intowards me.

He licks the drop that landed on my chest. I inhale sharply ... in that moment, I start to tingle.

To love.