She is driving him insane.
Her eyes wander around the room, focusing on random objects from time to time. He can sense she is thinking of something, and thinking hard.
But he will remain silent. His angel must think in peace.
Minutes pass. Not a word is spoken.
He can control himself. He will not interrupt her pondering.
Maybe… just one quick question?
No. Her thoughts are not for him- Why else had God hidden them? Why else would there be a protective wall, if not to secure them from his eager eyes?
Her eyes are gazing at the scene outside the window now. Her conscious is in a distant world.
What does this world look like? Cherry trees blossoming in spring? Or seagulls flying over sapphire oceans?
He would give anything for that knowledge.
And if he asked?
And he thinks he has restraint! No, he is a weakling, not even able to hold himself from this!
A short, simple question. She can answer with a yes or a no. And then she can continue her daydreaming.
Fool! If he interrupts her now, she will fall back to Earth. He will pull down an angel from heaven!
"What are you thinking?"
There. He said it. The weakling has deprived the angel her privacy of thinking.
She is his one exception. And she has well deserved that privilege. He has no right to know.
Soon the far-away look in her eyes will disappear, making her leave those magnificent dimensions of her mind.
To his great surprise, this does not happen.
She has heard his question. But yet, her eyes stay remote. A smile lightens up her beautiful face, making him forget his frustration for a moment.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
It is back, the irritation. Is she walking over the dunes of Sahara? Bathing in the sunlight, letting the brown sand engulf her delicate body?
Slowly, painfully slowly, she turns her head.
She is here now, her dreamt-up paradise forgotten.
Oh, the selfishness of the monster in him!
Her eyes are now fully alert, staring at him intently. A mischievous smile embellishes her angel's face, unfamiliar on her lips.
The playful angel.
A rosy color spreads across her cheeks, her natural perfume filling the air.
And she opens her mouth. He waits for her words.
She closes her mouth.
Her lips pull together. She has changed her mind, not willing to bless him with her stories after all.
She has every right to.
But he cannot wait.
"Bella, what were you thinking about?"
She slides a little closer to him on the black sofa. Close enough for him to feel her radiating heat, but not close enough to touch her.
The distance disturbs him.
But by moving now, she will surely keep her thoughts to herself. And that would be unbearable.
A moment of silence. The pounding of her heart. Erratic beating, uneven breathing.
She opens her mouth again. Some air escapes.
She closes her mouth again.
Say something, please.
She is still staring at him, the same strange smile on her lips.
If his heart could beat, it would be crashing out of his chest.
For a third time, she opens her mouth.
It closes. It opens.
The first word. The battle is half-won.
But not over.
The thumping of her heart increases, she turns her eyes away.
She is deciding something.
Her decision is made.
"I was thinking…"
Suspense. Unnerving anticipation.
He will wait. He will be patient.
He has waited for one hundred years. Can't he wait for two minutes?
But surely he could have lived his life three times over by this time.
The minutes are ticking by.
Or are they only seconds?
It doesn't matter- they are an eternity to him.
"You were thinking…"
Tell me. Love, precious angel. Let me in all your thoughts. Bless me with your words.
Now she looks at him again. Mysterious.
Something is playing underneath those eyes.
There is an unsaid intention in her words.
"Hmmm… how to say this…"
In words. In clear words that will not leave me perplexed.
"Uh. I was thinking…"
Love, are you teasing me?
If he was insane before, there's no word to describe his condition now.
"You really want to know what I was thinking?"
Yes. Yes. Every time. Whenever you think, I want to know.
There is no need for an answer. She knows it already.
"You want to know?"
Agonizing. This is torture.
But instead of a beast in black, his captivator is an angel.
He whispers. The word hangs in the air, refusing to leave the room.
"I was thinking…"
The mysterious smile widens.
"Nope. I don't think I'll tell you."
Did she just say that?
Did the angel just deny him her thoughts?
She has every right to, he knows.
But it is torture.
He will bear his pain in silence, though.
Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet.
Her thoughts, her thoughts, her thoughts.
Two mantras in his head.
Her smile widens.
She is purposely tormenting him.
All angels have a demon side.
A beggar. He is a filthy beggar. Why not drop down on his knees while he's at it?
Maybe he should.
If it makes her talk, he will.
But there is no time for that. Because she is opening her mouth again.
"Maybe I should tell you, after all…"
Yes! Grant this yet another undeserved wish.
She edges closer.
Her warm skin touched his.
The blood is running through her veins at a fast pace, playing a melody of seducement.
Closer. Her whole thigh is leaning against his.
"Should I tell, or should I not…"
His prison guard is staring him in the eye, burying him under her intent gaze.
She comes closer.
Her face is just above his, only inches parting them.
Her breath smells of freesia.
The ultimate torture.
Is he in Hell?
A kiss. A brief, gentle kiss.
Then an image.
Bella underneath, kissing him passionately. Warm, luscious lips envelop his. Flesh on marble. His arms wrap around her, their small distance vanished. Her delicate waist in his hands. Her fingers in his hair, tearing at them but causing no pain. Only lust. Every curve of her body is pressed against his body; he can count every toe, every hair, every cell. His hands leave their place on her hips and travel up her shirt. The cloth is in his way, and he must rid of it. The top button is open. Then the next. And the next. She sighs in satisfaction.
But it is just an image.
"I was thinking…"
Another short kiss.
The electricity is lightning now.
And she is under him.
He kisses her. Pure instincts in control.
The instincts of a man.
Their bodies, pressed together.
He wishes there were no clothes to cover them.
Her waist is between his hands, shivering a little from his cold touch.
He loves the reactions he gets from her.
Goose bumps on her bare arms, irregular breathing, red trails where his finger comes in contact with her skin.
The kiss is passionate, everlasting, boundless.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Her lips part, inviting him in.
Wrong. All wrong.
He is at the window now, trying to control his panting.
How he wishes he could return to her!
He can still sense her behind him, hear her breathing.
She is out of control, like him.
Returning would cause a nuclear explosion.
But somehow, staying back will result in one, too.
A minute of silence.
"What were you thinking?"
He turns back to her, but does not approach.
"What were you thinking?"
Her smile is no longer mischievous.
"That I love you."