‘Aaaaah …’ She blinked open her eyes, focusing them on the ceiling, willing them not to close again. Tuesday, and last night had been wonderful. She raised her arms above her head and stretched her body awake from fingertips to toes, then curling herself into a ball she lay, hugging herself tightly, remembering. Last night they had come together as if they’d been parted for weeks, not days; as if only last night was left to them, then after that – nothing. And that was mad, she knew it, because soon they would have a tomorrow; maybe a whole year of tomorrows. Soon, it would be; not if. She smiled, calling back last night; calling back Paul’s lips, his fingertips, his hard, lean body. Once, when first they were lovers, she had been a little surprised, afterwards, had not wanted to move from the circle of his arms. She had even found it difficult to speak, except to say his name, because the newness, the enormity of it, had left her strangely shy, once the pulsating need for him had left her.
What do You think about Whisper On The Wind (1992)?
