Moon struck
No clothes, pure features, twisted and one in the crinkled bedsheets. Early morn sun beams through lace curtains, painting such eesome frames of the married lovers.
The cold air of the second week of January slithering away, leaving the world a day.
Each moment they are for every version of them. Every breath drawn in the lover's name. Moon struck in love, can't get enough of this love. Can't part with the other half, even for a beat of the heart.
Neva squirms in the bed, from sleeping on the sides—she twists her weary body to lay on her back. The heat of the late morning sun, warming her up, she slowly arises her dewy eyes.
A heavy arm wrapped around her naked waist, she glances at the man dreaming deep in serene. Beautiful features, soothing to the heart—sleeping so sweetly. A great contrast to the toe curling behaviour of his from the night.
Glimpses of the night gone by colors her cheeks in burning red. Awake and radiant of the present, she quickly gazes away from him. She could never familiarize with the morning after sights of him.
He's a storm, further peace to the heart. A protector, provider, leader, a house-band. This page of her life, the fate had written an apocalypse of nightmares and tranquiled dreams.
She couldn't bind her fingers of the dark clouds hovering over, of the tragedy she brought.
Of the wife she's of the man tangled up with her in the crinkled bedsheets—under the warm duvet.
Every so often she wonders, her aunt and uncle, do they worry for her, look for her? Her heart aches, when the phase had been nice, she couldn't tackle up the courage to tell them about Rhett.
And now, he's her husband. She couldn't even share the delight of the sacred matrimony. When the next day turns, they'd be married for a week.
Scattering her wrenching thoughts, fingers grazing her chin has her eyes drift to him, who's now roused and gleaming.
"Which kind of ponders had you so away from me?" His hoarse, cavernous voice grunts. Her lips curls up a little in the edges, "Nothing you should fret about." And in a beat of the heart, he hovers over her. Kissing, nibbling, sucking her blossom lips.
All his manners, the touching and caressing, heated her mind up of his scheme to draw off their energy on bed. She presses him away by his naked, robust, finely sculpted chest.
Heavy breathings floating in the air, Neva merges her gasping self. And in a breath, Rhett dives for her lips once more, as she had to shove the pitiful man away again.
"Why?" He almost whines. Neva glares at him, "I don't plan to be on the bed for the whole day today!" She says, her stern eyes melting his heart softly.
"Just quick ten minute would be fine." He murmers, pecking her nose and cheeks. "Absolutely no! I'm so sore." She whispers the last, her warm cheeks reddened gracefully.
He smirks, and in the blink of a second, worry laces his eyes. "Are you in pain?" Embarrassed, she sinks her teeth in her bottom lips, "Get off of me." She doesn't reply to him, pushing him, hardly applying any strength. He relents—laying himself down beside her.
She attempts to rise from the bed, when his arms draws her hard to his chest. "Let's stay this close for a moment." His voice muffled, he buries his face on her delicate neck. She sighs, smiling away her purpose.
"Can you give me just ten minute?" Rhett lovingly begs, with those glossy large eyes of his. Neva side eyes him, suspiciously.
Sly fingers crawling up, his gaze whirling fiery, gliding smoothly from her waist to her comfy, swelled bosom, having her tense up.
Her hand traps his perverted, roving larger one. "You're a beast." She resembles a wave. Leaving the husband perplexed and pouting as she had speedily slid out the bed.
She swiftly drapes a midnight blue towel on her all together—from out the cabinet drawer. Barely blessing his eyes with her glory of gorgeous, naked frame.