The Lustful Thief

ManoJob

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The city slept under a blanket of distant, indifferent stars, but in the quiet of my room, the world had shrunk to the space between our breaths. He moved with the silence of a shadow, a thief not of gold, but of my guarded composure, his fingers tracing a question upon the slope of my shoulder. I felt the solid warmth of his chest against my back, a fortress against the cool night air, as his sigh stirred the loose tendrils of my hair. My own breath hitched, a fragile captive in my throat, when his lips found the sensitive curve of my neck in a kiss that was both an apology and a claim. A tremor, delicate as a falling leaf, coursed through me, and I leaned into his strength, my hands finding the tense planes of his arms. The air grew thick with the scent of his skin and the unspoken words that hung between us like ripe fruit. Every point of contact was a small, burning star, mapping a new constellation of longing across my skin. I turned within his embrace, my gaze meeting his, and saw my own raw yearning reflected in the stormy depths of his eyes. In that silent exchange, I willingly surrendered the last keys to my hidden chambers, my soul laid bare. He was a thief, yes, but I was a willing accomplice, plundered and utterly complete.