Silk Tea

Rise

The first time he touches her, intimately, was accidental. It was one of those evenings where time had become a blur, and both found themselves running late for a dinner they'd promised his parents they'd attend.

Iman's steps are quick, fleeting between their room and the handbag she leaves in their study.

From the armchair, Charles shakes his head; annoyance creeping under his skin. He finds himself stopping short of raising his voice and sighs, "Come on," He mutters loud enough for  himself to hear, eyes glazing over the watch on his wrist. His legs shakes restlessly beneath him, eyes staring at the overcast sky marred purple as dusk approaches.

"We're gonna be late." He finally announces, ensuring his voice is raised just enough so that she hears him. It takes a second before she peers out of their room with pleading eyes.

"Help me." Iman cries quietly, a breathy laugh escaping her lips to mask her embarrassment.

He grunts as he gets up, trailing behind her. He pauses in his step behind her as she stands in front of the vanity. He remembers this dress. He remembers her asking if it looked good on her.  It had been one of the very few times he'd accompanied her out for lunch, back when they first got married. He also remembers shrugging, mind engrossed in scanning over the messages on his phone to take notice.

She has his undivided attention now. 

It seems that he needed to take a moment to rid the breath hitching in his throat, and another to realise that his eyes have lingered for more than a second. His gaze crawls up to meet her expectant ones, and he reaches forward for the zipper halfway up her back. She sweeps her hair forward, and his eyes fall onto the expanse of skin, exposed and inviting, igniting an unfamiliar fire within him.

Theirs had been a marriage of convenience, and despite not having any initial attraction towards one another, they'd given in to the fact that the other was... there. They'd fallen in love more with the notion that they valued each other's values more than the they had for the other - if it had been love at all. They weren't the hardest creatures to please, that was why they were here; together.

But tonight is different.

Tonight he feels the urge to snake his arms around her waist, run his fingers against her spine, and allow his lips to ghost against the crook of her neck. He finds himself doing up the zipper much slower than she preferred, mind hazy from the slight touch of his thumb that he lets linger against her skin.

"We're gonna be late." She echoes, seemingly unaware of the intensity of his observant eyes as she speaks.

As they part, he realises that the watch she laces her wrist with is a gift from his mother. She turns around and finds that he is standing there unlike his constant poised self. There is a hint of slight awe in his eyes she recognises that is only seen when he watches his favourite films. She knows, because sometimes she wishes he'd look at her the same way.

It was the warmth of her hands against his arm that brings him back, "Hey," She calls, her voice is calm and velvety, "You okay?"

She sees his jaw clench a little, but his familiar smile returns as he gazes down at her, "Yeah," He reassures, matching her tone, "I'm alright."