Author Note: The word 'lull' could be a verb or a noun. I personally am using the noun version of the word, and whilst looking it a little more carefully, I found an example which appeased me: an extended pause between sets of waves. Yes, it's a surfing word, and this story is not about surfing. But just ... think metaphorically.
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There was a pause, a marked silence that seemed to stretch on forever in slow motion.
She looked at him, watched his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, as he tried to calm himself down. His blue eyes grew darker and darker, the more livid he became, the clearer it was to see just what was going to happen next.
They'd finished their shouting match, finished digging at each other with the first insult that sprang to mind.
She felt her own breath even out, her face grow warm with the anger that bubbled beneath her skin. The situation that had made her so furious burned in the back of her mind, playing over and over again, until she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain her composure. Knowing what was coming.
They moved almost in slow motion towards one another. Neither touching for what felt like an eternity. Their lips smashed violently into one another's in a kiss that was only teeth and tongue and raw anger. She let it fuel the lust, digging her fingers into his shoulders, rejoicing in the small flicker of pain across his eyes before he turned and pushed her against the wall so hard that the air soared out of her lungs.
That small, extended time frame – the lull between the anger and the passion was what she loved most about their arguments.