Surprise

He rapped her hand slightly, and motioned her away.

Standing up, she took in his full frame, and he towered over her, which only added to her feeling of helplessness.

Something that is so unusual for her considering how much she craves being in control.

He was with her and they each knew it.

"Close your eyes."

She did as he asked with slight hesitation.

How foolish could she be.

Walking around the table, he stopped and knelt down before her, uncovered the other two bowls, took out a strawberry, and dipped it into one.

All of a sudden she felt it upon her lips, soft and creamy to the touch, chilled, and very sweet to the taste before the rough texture of the strawberry became apparent. She bit down and began to eat the piece of fruit from his very hand.

It was some sort of sweetened whipped cream he had immersed it in and she was quite approving.

He again coated another strawberry, and pressed it softly to her lips.

With her eyes still closed, the other senses were more in tune with her surroundings and his rhythmic breathing heightened her already sudden yet deep arousal.

He was feeding her.

So gently.

So sweetly.

And so perfectly.

The next piece of strawberry was dipped in a thick and viscous coating, and when she tasted it she immediately could tell it was a quality chocolate he had melted for her.

Such a deep obsession she had with anything chocolate.

She adored every bit of the strawberry, and as she was finished she gently began to kiss his lingering fingertips as he traced them softly across her lips.

Giggling, she couldn't really contain herself, she had to say it.

"What a surprise this was. Wow."

"Surprise?" he inquired. "I haven't even yet begun."

She stammered in her, well, surprise at his comment.

"What exactly do you mean? There's more to this night?" she inquired in a bashful tone, finding it difficult to meet his piercing gaze.

He had yet to remove his eyes from her form since she had entered the room. It did not exactly make her uncomfortable, in fact she almost delighted in the intense attentiveness, but she was a bit taken aback by his powerful presence.

She shouldn't have been.

From the moment she first met him she could sense that he was different. Confidence is something so many guys she has met attempt to display, but if she had learned one thing in her numerous forays into the world of males it was that most paint a false portrait of bravado about themselves and bathe in it daily.

It is as if the guy becomes so engrossed in his own image that it dominates every topic of any conversation. You end up walking away half wanting to laugh but mostly wanting to cleanse yourself from the oil spill you just traversed.

Just too slick.

These guys were pretenders, and he was anything but that.

When he moved, he did so without concern for how he presented himself. His posture was of no concern. She was his focus.

As he looked into her eyes, worried not was he with whether she returned his stare and gave him her attention. He was only interested in her. Memorizing each detail with each passing moment.

Every line on her face and every hair out of place, he committed time and thought to each. Spiraling around her with every breath she exhaled, it was as if in these brief seconds together she had become his world and he her moon.

The security with which she felt right now was almost tangible. She could feel the warmth of his body only inches from her own.

While he radiated warmth, she felt the chill of the blustery evening on her skin. It was almost as if he had windows open throughout the house, and the wind had snaked its way from room to room to encircle around her in an envelope of winter bliss.

She shook at the thought, and the sudden vibration of her body startled her and she let out a sound.

"Eeep!"

Laughter.

She saw his face for the first time change from inquisitive and searching to relaxed as he enjoyed her misstep.

"Stop laughing at me!" she pleaded with him, hardly serious in her request.

He stopped and scanned the floor before returning his sight to her and a smile overtaking him again.

"Fear not, dear maiden, I see no mouse."

With that he bowed deeply in mocking fashion and continued with a kiss of her delicate hand.

His hand was warm to the touch, and so very firm in comparison to her slender fingers that seemed almost ice cold. Instantly she felt a tingling sensation wash over her beginning at the birthplace of their connection -- her hand in his own.

Secretly she wondered if he knew just what an effect he was having on her. He bent his head down and she could not help but close her eyes for this. His soft lips pressed so gently to her skin, and she felt the excitement stir within her as suddenly as a screeching bottle rocket soars off so immediately into the night sky.

She felt as if she could almost take flight along with it.

At the very least she was hovering well above the Earth at this point, if only it be his desire propelling her to such heights.

That was enough.

So much more than enough, she thought, before she realized his lips no longer remained planted on her hand, as she opened her eyes and saw a sparkle in his own.

He was watching her so intently and with an almost reverence that she found so indelible, she could never wash him away from her.

She was now stained.

And she never felt so alive.

"You may want to breathe."

Stopping, she felt her cheeks stinging red by his comment as she began once again breathing softly. She did not even realize she had been without breath, and mortified would be an understatement as to the way she now felt.

What a foolish girl she must be to him.

So flighty and wistful was she, while he was so calculated and reserved. What was she doing and why did she feel such an attraction to him?

Then she returned her gaze to him and caught sight of something she would never forget no matter the number of days she would walk this land henceforth.

His eyes?

Closed.

He was breathing softly.

She wasn't sure what exactly he was doing.

Ah.

He was absorbing the situation. Listening to her breathe again. He did not even bother to look upon her as she was lost in the burning of her cheeks and the embarrassment of her gaffe. She began breathing and he simply wanted to listen and absorb the experience of it.

Wherever does one find such a man and how did she stumble upon such?

She closed her eyes as well, and they sat there for an indeterminable amount of time, though she would gauge it as "quite a while" in later recollections.

And yet it was one of the purest forms of intimacy she had ever experienced.

She heard movement. He was stirring, but she dared not steal a glimpse for fear of ruining the feeling or making another mockery of herself.

Shame was not something she wore well at all, regardless if she suspected it would matter little if he saw it or not.

The floor creaked awkwardly behind her, and she surmised he must be there. What was he doing and why had he not said anything?

Suddenly his voice exploded softly in her head as he whispered into her ear.

"No one has ever looked more beautiful than you this very moment. And I know from deep within me that no one ever shall, save the tolling of wedding bells."

What does one say to that?

How does she reply?

She doesn't.

She sits there, in stunned silence as an emotional maelstrom gathers within her rendering no space within her tummy free from its assault.

Butterflies alight and flutter about her head, as she is lost in the dense thicket of an enchanted forest he has cultivated for her on his very own.

What siren's song could be more soothing or elegant to a wayward sailor than the chiming of the very bells that have been the ultimate objective of all?

There was no more time.

No more thoughts.

No more of anything.

She was alone on a sandy shore with the sun shining down as the foamy waters wash up and wet her feet before recoiling to the comforts of the deep only to do it again mere moments later.

And off in the distance there beats a flag wavering furiously upon the mast of a ship she can barely make out. After several moments of intense concentration, she discerns the heraldry symbol is a solitary red rose suspended in an ocean blue mist and she did not know why.

Still she sat there lost in her own thoughts unaware of time or any other concept so important to us all.

When something soft and delicate brushed her nose.

The fog seemed to clear as her eyes slowly opened and she looked down his arm to his right hand holding a solitary long-stemmed red rose before her, gently grazing her nose with its petals.

"I present to you, my lady, a red rose symbolizing my deepest affections for you. Should it ever wound you, know that you long ago pricked me with the thorn of your love and still to this day I have not stopped bleeding, my love."

She took the rose from him, and realized it had a sweet fragrance to it unlike any other flower she had ever encountered, certainly not a rose.

What more could he do?

Sensory overload had never seemed more appropriate.

"Come, sweet heart, I still have something to show you."

She stood up from her chair, her legs unable to support her at first, as she fought to regain her balance. Whoa.

Slowly turning to see what he was doing as she held her rose to her chest with both hands gripping it, she saw him scoop up the large box and place it on the chair beside her.

"Open it."

He offered to take the flower from her hands, and she obliged, attempting to stem her vigor to rip open the package, she meticulously began unbinding the tape holding it together and untying the ribbon's knots.

"Oh, please, tear it up."

The look on her face with such permission was that of a child on Christmas morning. She eagerly tore at the packaging before all that stood before her was a plain white box.

Inside revealed something she never expected.

A beautiful evening gown.

Magnificent in its splendor, the white dress was an exact replica of that worn by actress Drew Barrymore in the film Ever After. Complete with faery tale wings, and even a magic wand with a glittering star at the end.

She looked up at him, eyes wide in disbelief, and she pounced.

Hugging him tightly, she clung to his body and enjoyed the feeling of herself pressed against him.

She only came up to his chest, and she rested her head against it, holding him close and fighting back tears.

Tears of joy.

Tears of shock.

Tears of awe.

"How did you? I don't understand. Where did you?! What? How?!?" she rattled off rapidly, before he pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her.

She kissed his finger gently as he spoke.

"One of the first conversations we had. You mentioned you had never attended your prom in high school. Neither had I. It seems like yesterday, but you said only the perfect dress would get you to dance at that moment in your life in front of so many other people. Awkward as you were. Such a clumsy beauty. So I asked you what the perfect dress was."

She cut him off.

"This one."

He nodded his head, and pulled his finger away, taking her hands in his own, yet never losing sight of her eyes.

"I knew I would get this for you someday. I knew I would. I knew that day. I knew the very moment I met you.. I knew that I would fall. Hard."

He almost fought to say these words, as if it was difficult for him to verbalize such emotion.

"I'm just glad you chose to fall with me."

They embraced for a very long time.

Such emotion and passion exchanged between the two bodies.

Gripping and surreal, yet everything she ever wanted and so much more.

"I want to try it on!"

She could barely contain herself. A sugar rush could not make her so hyper as this had, as if he had intravenously injected her with liquid sugar, she scooped up the box and looked for some direction to go.

"Come this way, I'll show you where you can change." he said simply, and walked back into the den before making a right into a small hallway and heading left into a bedroom, presumably his own.

"Here you go, sweet heart."

With that, he gave her a kiss on her nose which sent sparks of electricity coursing up and down her back, shivering slightly from the wind as it blew past the curtains.

He had the windows open in here! Go figure. She was a bit chilly, still, but she was too excited.

She turned to the bed where the box rested, and pulled the dress out. Behind her, she heard the door shut, and she turned to look at herself in the mirror holding it up to her body when she realized she was not alone.

He stood in the corner, by the closed door, and he was still watching her.

"Surprise." he said quietly.

"Jeez, you scared me half to death!"

She said it as lightly as possible at that very moment, which is to say she was barely capable of speech let alone maintaining her perfect posture before him.

Why does she feel the need to have such perfect posture, anyway? One might say it was her desire to portray a positive image of herself for him, but she knew that was far from the root of the matter. Honestly, she always felt a need to stand as she was long ago instructed to do.

She loved to dance, and as any practitioner of the art form is aware, posture and one's movements were an integral reflection of the person.

An expert swordsman teaches his pupil to make his blade a part of himself, and treat it as not a piece of fabricated steel, but as an extension of himself.

The same she found was true with her dancing and it really had followed in life. She was always a perfectionist. Seeking to ascertain a control over every little aspect of her life from the most pertinent to insignificant things.

Such silliness most would say, but that is how she was.

Always so cognizant of the world around her she was, while maintaining a pristine image for all those that would walk into and out of her life each and every day.

That very afternoon she stood in line almost an hour at the bank awaiting a teller to discuss a charge on her account. As her ever-so-short lunch break dwindled, she stood resolute in complete harmony with all that surrounded her.

From the rhythmic tapping of a customer's pen against the countertop a few yards away as he conferred with a bank representative to the mother behind her jingling her keys together to amuse her young infant as they waited, she held the same stance. While she inhaled the musky scent of cologne emanating from an older gentleman two rows down, she painted rainbows in her mind along the sidewalks.

There she had stood in the middle of chaos, a brilliant beacon of fortitude, and she waited ever so patiently in perfect form for her turn to discuss her financial matter.

Just as a car outside raced by beneath overcast skies, it plowed through a rather large puddle that accumulated from the morning's showers.

The water erupted from the banks of the sidewalks and splashed up onto the sidewalk, and it washed away the imaginary rainbows she had created just moments before.

And as the colors melted into the earth below, she felt cold.

So cold.

As again she shivered when a gust of wind blew into the room through the open windows, swirling around her, before finally dying down once more.

She was back in his bedroom.

It was so dark, and she was so unsure of herself, but still she stood there in perfect form.

Yet he remained quiet and simply stood there. Watching.

"Well, what do you think you are doing?" she inquired with a humorous edge.

"Enjoying the view," he replied with a softness to his voice that defied reason.

There were so many different tones to him that it was true even of his voice. He could express so many different things just by the tenor of his speech. Command, anger, disappointment, enthusiasm, optimism, agony, and despair. She had in one form or another heard fragments of each of these within his voice in their time together.

She had felt each and every one in their time getting to know one another, but the one she yearned for each and every night was this one.

The softness to it was so soothing, and he used it often to disarm her. So often she would adore it when he fell asleep talking to her due to the fact he used this voice when he was sleepy.

Perhaps that was what it was, she considered.

The fact that we are most innocent and vulnerable when we are tired. No defenses and no walls, so often we speak the truth when we are tired, our brains no longer willing or capable to obscure our feelings.

Was it the innocence in his voice that was such a strong lure?

Did it even really matter?

"I shall not change in front of you! What kind of lady do you take me for?" she insisted, breaching the silence that had devoured the room.

Though she kept hidden from him the knowledge that his mere presence alone in this room coupled with the way he had spoken to her just now combined with the possibility of him watching her undress was absolutely appealing in every aspect and she was hoping he would not call her bluff -- because that is what it in fact was.

A bluff.

"I am here because you want me to be." he said quietly, continuing to return her gaze with his incredible eyes. Staring at her. Consuming every facet of her defenses, he opened every door she closed. He saw right through her.

He saw her.

Bluff called.

Gulp.

So what was she going to do now? She had no preparation for this scenario, and she always has a plan. Always. Organization was her backbone and proper accounting and scheming for each and every possible outcome in any given situation was what she relied upon to make it through each day.

Right now she was floundering about, and she found it both exhausting and riveting. The excitement that burned within her had yet to die down let alone extinguish.

Some call it a spark between two individuals.

Well, he was a raging inferno.

"What do you want from me?"

What do you want from me? How retarded of a question was that? She wanted to smack her palm to her forehead and bury her head beneath his sheets.

There she stood, with the most beautiful dress she had ever laid eyes upon within her grasp in the room of a stranger she had long ago fallen for though she dared not admit to anyone, least of all herself, for the very first time in his room and she awaited his response.

Laughter.

That was what she expected.

He would laugh and ridicule her for such a stupid comment, and she would stand there with her always perfect posture in her ever-so-awkward way, still the young misfit girl who never quite was accepted by the pretty people in school awaiting her punishment for her social deformity.

She knew it would happen. She expected it. Hell, she even deserved it. That's what girls like she get. They get to dream of fairy tale endings and nice homes with a wonderful husband and loving children, but they never got to actually experience any of it.

Here it would be.

It never came.

"A smile?"

So simple was the request that he really could not say much more than that.

She broke down as she let out an uproarious laugh, and she could instantly feel that familiar feeling of her eyes water as tears slipped out from beneath the lids and tumbled down her cheeks.

There she was, standing before him, crying on his dress as he watched her, soaking in the scenery that was her smile as it spread wide across her face.

Was she a mess or what?

Long ago she had told him, heck, she had warned him more or less.

"I have issues." she had said back then.

Well, that was an understatement she decided. She had problems if this caused her to let loose. For so long she has been searching for her other half, the person that fits the pieces within her and that can build her up in the ways that she so desperately needs as she offers the splendors of her own self to him.