There was so much about his steady gaze that made her veins rush with Valium She was hooked onto his aura. He didn’t walk, he sauntered and she watched him rein her in like no one had before. Whiskey was his poison, her’s, his intensity. There was no barstool, there was no scotch, there remained only the clarity of a headstrong lust, drowning all sanity, banishing all romance. It was fast, it was strong, and it was so wrong. She knew the next dawn would bring loneliness and craving, regret and sorrow. But, oh what a man, with eyes that screamed in agony, fingers that left scars and lips that dealt in back alley kisses.
Of all the silliest ideas, she had ever had, kissing him was fatal. His lips left her drowsy, his hands sent her to a land she feared. He smelled of addiction and ecstasy for a worn heart. And he pushed her to the wall and she knew she was his, long before he spoke of worldly things. No prerequisites to their camaraderie, they were a show all right. With ticking seconds, he crept into her soul, and stole everything she had been only a few hours before. Iron grip, silk lips, open shirts and a few shots of Jack. She could imagine him in the New York sunshine, but oh, what a man.
She put the glass down with all the ferocity of a storm, and left the bar. After all, he was a beautiful patron at a lonely pub, the most dangerous of men that ever were. There would be no love, there would be no dance. Just the feral attack brought by the dust of his essence, and she would be lost in an abyss no one could solve.
‘I’ll write of him, in ways that will make even the strongest of women turn in need, and the men of his kind, look for me on downtown barstools. He is after all, heroine for my wretched heart. An addiction I haven’t quite worn off yet. Let him be Him, and I shall be me. The words will someday bring us full circle. Until then, our lust will be something so largely incomplete of a memory’