TALES OF WHOUFFLE

31. Too Long

The cold, crisp breeze tenderly caresses her face as she steps outside. Her bare feet lightly touch across the smooth, wet pebbles, the hardness of the cold stone creating indentations on the smooth, warm skin of her feet. Foamy, salty waves crash against the edge of the land, rolling around and making the most wonderful of sounds.

Her hands grip the edge of the wooden doorframe tightly. The soft breeze now creeps into the space of her long, silk white dress, torn slightly at the skirt. It reaches all the way down to the floor, the collar is low and the sleeves are long. The fabric caresses her skin like a warm touch; his warm touch.

Long, brown, messy hair is draped at the sides of her face, falling down her shoulders so messily yet so gracefully. Her cheeks are tinged a slight pink, her dark eyes warm and soft like glowing laterns.

She's almost hesitant. Her grip on the doorframe gradually releases and she's taking baby steps forward, across the salty, slippery stones, towards him. It's been so long; surely, it must be a dream.

He's standing right there, not moving, breath hitched in his throat. She looks slightly older than the last time he saw her, three or four years at most. But still as beautiful as ever, as the first day he met his beautiful impossible girl.

As she moves closer and closer, the realisation dawns on her. He's real. He's really here.

Soon, they're standing face to face. The ocean carries on colliding with the shore, the wind carries on rattling her small wooden shack she had called home, the blue, cloudy sky carries on stretching for miles beyond the horizon. Everything carries on; but doesn't feel the same.

He stares at her with love and adoration in his wide green eyes, his anticipation growing. He's longed to touch her since the moment he lost her; he didn't just want her, he didn't crave her. He needed her like his hearts needed to beat, like his lungs needed oxygen.

They don't say a word, not a single syllable. They just watch each other, ever so carefully, she grips his arms tightly in fear of losing him again.

The waves grow louder now, more vicious, as does their anticipating passion. Every second that passes is wasted, and they don't have all the time in the world.

So they pretend.

His lips meet with hers in a frenzy of a love and lust cocktail, his hands thread through her messy, long hair and she grips his face lovingly. He runs his tongue along her lower lip, begging for entrance, and she gladly allows his access, exploring each other's mouths.

She breaks away for air and he sees this as an opportunity to suck and bite at her soft, exposed neck; so delicious and tempting.

He indulges in her warmth , slipping her dress off her shoulders and letting it fall gracelessly to the floor as he continues to map out the expanse of her skin with his mouth. Soft little whimpers escape her throat, her skin is set alight by his stolen kisses and the cool air caressing her bare body.

He kisses downwards, stopping for a moment at her breasts before going lower and lower, tongue tracing her body. There's only one thing left to say, to reveal both their desires.

"I love you ..."

The old truth; whispered amongst small colonies and great civilisations, passed down as legend, myth, folklore or Fairytale; was never more alive in that very moment.

It had been too long.

(Lovely readers! My deepest apologies for not updating sooner! I'm afraid to say I've sort of lost my flare for Whoufflé. Don't worry, I will never abandon any of my works, but idk, ElevenAmy has consumed me. ElevenClara is still quite nymphadorable though, so Tales Of Whouffle still marches on valiantly!

Please remember to vote and comment for another chapter - I do love feedback! 💜

Lmfao.

I hope you all had fun during the holidays - and a great new year x

- A 🌌)