He wore no cologne but he smelled of man—a combination of wool and soap and starch and a slight whiff of sweat around the collar. He pulled her into him and held her tightly. His shoulders and back were firm, his arms long, his hands just a little bit rough, catching on the silk of her dress. She felt each finger as if they were separate from his body, slender little creatures that stroked and pulled at her clothing, that moved slowly across the small of her back looking for a place to burrow into her flesh. His breath was warm and moist at her neck, his lips brushed her skin as they moved to her face to kiss her. She turned her face to his and kissed him hard, but turned just as quickly to rest on the comfort of his shoulder, allowing him to pull her in even tighter. The embrace was everything—the tight, hot melding of bodies that reinforced and renewed their passion, the first touch that took her back to their last, the memory of him, the promise of him, the fire of him.
She smelled of cigarettes and cologne. She was always nervous upon seeing him and smoked too much in the car as she drove to their meeting place, then dousing herself with more scent to cover the smoke. She fit perfectly in his arms. She pressed her breasts and body into him, not to arouse, but in an attempt to be inside him, to connect with his demon. Her fingers moved across his neck and she felt his muscles tighten in anticipation of her touch. Her hips began to move in an involuntary rhythm that matched her need, and she felt his firmness begin to soften and tremble. They clung to each other, they sucked in their smells and desires, they felt the marriage of bodies and wants, and they were once again reminded of the urgency that attended their love making. The embrace was everything, where their fragile connection of lust alone was made strong, and they could imagine being in love. You take my breath away, she whispered. Yes, baby, he replied.
art work: Fabian Perez, The Embrace II