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I almost don’t want to speak to her. Or, more accurately, I know it would be better if I didn’t.
There would be less chance of me losing control, of snapping like an animal, leaping at her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her to me, then sliding my hands down her body and possessively clasping onto her hips.
She’d moan as I leaned down, pushing my lips against hers harder, fiercer, feeling all the primal passion I never thought I would.
I’ve never felt like this, not with Rachael or any of the women I’m photographed with.
Just her.
And I don’t even know her name.
I can feel her presence in the room as I move between groups. Wherever she is, it’s like some part of her is calling to me, screaming out for my attention. Every piece of me wants to give it to her. I want to give her as much as I’m capable of – my passion, love, and desire and my hunger for her young body.
My love.
I’ve never felt it, except for the parental love which flowed through me for Anna. But in terms of a partner, that kind of love….
I don’t even know what to compare this feeling with, and even then, I can’t fight it.
I’m walking across the party, choosing my moment when my woman is alone at the buffet table.
It’s stunning how quickly that transformation happened, like an expert quarterback throwing a ball so fast it seems to teleport from his hands to the receiver.
Already, she’smy woman, in my mind, at least.
I can’t think of anybody else touching her. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she has a boyfriend.
She turns and looks up at me, her expression going tight. It’s difficult to read how she’s feeling, except tense. I can tell that much.
It makes me want to try and help her with it.
I can think of countless ways to relax her, thoughrelaxprobably isn’t the right word.
This close, I can smell her perfume. It’s subtle, just like her makeup is, a light layer that draws out her natural beauty instead of hiding it. Everything about her seemsrealin a way no other woman ever does. I’m not sure what that even means, except I feel alive just looking at her.
Adrenalin pumps through me.
“Hello,” I say. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Logan.”
She laughs softly, looking down. There’s so much shyness in my gorgeous young woman.
“I know.”
I chuckle quietly, thinking for a moment. I can feel my cheeks going red. But I’ve never reallygone red, not even when I get embarrassed.
But the sensation’s there.
It’s new like everything is in her presence.
“I guess you would. What’s your name?”
“Lucy,” she says.
I offer her my hand, knowing I just want an excuse to touch her. It’ll give me something to think about, some memory to cling to when she’s gone.
At home with her boyfriend, living her life, whatever shape it takes.
She raises her hand slowly.
