Chapter Four
It was dark when they finally reached the Tower. After Sebastine had changed into regular attire, they had decided to go out for lunch and ended up talking until dinner. She loved talking to him, he was so smart and sweet. They talked about religion and why he had joined the priesthood, they talked about his childhood. They talked about anything and everything, ignoring all else.
They stood underneath the Tower, in the same place she had stood when she first arrived. It was all so magical to her, standing facing him under the symbol of France. She didn't even quite know what was happening when he brushed her cheek with his hand. His hands explored her face, pushing her hair away from her face as he caressed it.
"What color are your eyes, Emmy?" He asked, tenderly stroking her eyelids. She couldn't resist a smile as he examined.
"Brown. My mom says they are the color of melted milk chocolate, but I just think of them as plain old brown." She wondered, fleetingly, if it even mattered how she explained her eyes to him. Had he ever seen color? Or had he always been as he was?
"I like the way your mother thinks." He smiled. Timidly, he put both hands on either side of her face and brought it closer to his. Their foreheads touched briefly. Her heart began to race, her palms becoming sweaty. He was so close to her, her body pressed gently to his. He held her face so tenderly, her stomach was full of butterflies. With everything inside her she wished he would kiss her. She lied to herself saying that one kiss would be enough, knowing that one kiss could never be enough for either of them.
Time seemed to stop around them, melting away like a Dali painting into surreal landscapes and dimensions. Or maybe they forgot about time so that it kept going and they were stopped in-between the ever-passing seconds. He kissed her forehead, his lips like satin against her skin. She let a pleasant sigh escape her lips, indulging her senses with the breathtaking feelings taking over her. She looked up at him, searching deep in those lime green orbs for a similar feeling.
Without warning he kissed her, full on the mouth. He tasted sweet, like a simple fruit wine, pleasant to the palate. Slowly, his hand came to the base of her skull, cupping it tenderly. Her arms came around him, pressing him closer to her. A slow fire was building within her, threatening to explode into an all out inferno as his other hand came to rest on the curve of her waist.
They stood there for a long time, drinking in the simplistic alcohol of a first kiss. Truthfully she never wanted it to end, as all things must eventually. He pulled away then, leaving her breathlessly craving more. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing deeply and gently nuzzling her neck. She ran her hands up to his shoulders, holding him to her. It was so perfect, another sigh escaped her lips.
He stopped, his hands coming up to her face again. For an instant she thought he would kiss her again and she lifted her face for it. A sad smile eclipsed the look of lust he had a moment before. He kissed her forehead again and then, taking his walking stick, began to walk away. She stood still only a second before she began to follow him. He was hailing a taxi before she had time to react. He was leaving her, she realized too late, and he was gone.
It was dark when they finally reached the Tower. After Sebastine had changed into regular attire, they had decided to go out for lunch and ended up talking until dinner. She loved talking to him, he was so smart and sweet. They talked about religion and why he had joined the priesthood, they talked about his childhood. They talked about anything and everything, ignoring all else.
They stood underneath the Tower, in the same place she had stood when she first arrived. It was all so magical to her, standing facing him under the symbol of France. She didn't even quite know what was happening when he brushed her cheek with his hand. His hands explored her face, pushing her hair away from her face as he caressed it.
"What color are your eyes, Emmy?" He asked, tenderly stroking her eyelids. She couldn't resist a smile as he examined.
"Brown. My mom says they are the color of melted milk chocolate, but I just think of them as plain old brown." She wondered, fleetingly, if it even mattered how she explained her eyes to him. Had he ever seen color? Or had he always been as he was?
"I like the way your mother thinks." He smiled. Timidly, he put both hands on either side of her face and brought it closer to his. Their foreheads touched briefly. Her heart began to race, her palms becoming sweaty. He was so close to her, her body pressed gently to his. He held her face so tenderly, her stomach was full of butterflies. With everything inside her she wished he would kiss her. She lied to herself saying that one kiss would be enough, knowing that one kiss could never be enough for either of them.
Time seemed to stop around them, melting away like a Dali painting into surreal landscapes and dimensions. Or maybe they forgot about time so that it kept going and they were stopped in-between the ever-passing seconds. He kissed her forehead, his lips like satin against her skin. She let a pleasant sigh escape her lips, indulging her senses with the breathtaking feelings taking over her. She looked up at him, searching deep in those lime green orbs for a similar feeling.
Without warning he kissed her, full on the mouth. He tasted sweet, like a simple fruit wine, pleasant to the palate. Slowly, his hand came to the base of her skull, cupping it tenderly. Her arms came around him, pressing him closer to her. A slow fire was building within her, threatening to explode into an all out inferno as his other hand came to rest on the curve of her waist.
They stood there for a long time, drinking in the simplistic alcohol of a first kiss. Truthfully she never wanted it to end, as all things must eventually. He pulled away then, leaving her breathlessly craving more. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing deeply and gently nuzzling her neck. She ran her hands up to his shoulders, holding him to her. It was so perfect, another sigh escaped her lips.
He stopped, his hands coming up to her face again. For an instant she thought he would kiss her again and she lifted her face for it. A sad smile eclipsed the look of lust he had a moment before. He kissed her forehead again and then, taking his walking stick, began to walk away. She stood still only a second before she began to follow him. He was hailing a taxi before she had time to react. He was leaving her, she realized too late, and he was gone.
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