The previous three days avalanches on her. Quite forcibly, yet innocuously.
How she ended up in the Netherlands alone from one goading from her aunt, and a rather contrasting support from her cousin. A get your guide package to tread the mudflats by the Wadden Sea after a leisurely first day. The guide and their endless sensual charisma without even attempting.
It upped and upped, even after right where they stood by the end of the tour. Tired. Glistening. Faultless. Surreal.
Ann and the tad bit older, imposing and distant Anne the guide on a date the final day. An inferno in the petite blonde’s belly.
Anne’s eyes ghosted over her one too many times while tennis shoes dug life sized holes on moist brown. The deep timbre weeding out any ambitious ideas towards the speedy water, yet planting one into her mind.
Against the hard luck of one time dates and no replies of interest in the aftermath. Her meek decorum.
With Anne’s browns gazing on her blues, not so much.
Anne’s watchful eyes. Ann’s curiosity. Brown ringlets with gilded ones greeting in the wind. Anne’s visuals.
Inexplicable.
Both found themselves upon the mud at one fell swoop, the waves crashing too close.
Ann’s crown squared up against the wetland and Anne on top.
A spark crackled between the two and Ann cautiously guided her hand towards the angel over her. Jaw. Cheekbone. Onto her mahogany halo.
Anne is of sandalwood and mint and saltwater. Closed eyelids and smile lines and sweet lips. Warmth and tenderness beneath a facade.
A peck became a smack before Anne’s huff into the kiss made Ann's adrenaline gallop.
They inked a colourful painting, an art only theirs. Rather incomplete.
The grasp on the younger lady’s hand was sturdy, willing, guiding. As if she's the missing fragment to Anne’s larger puzzle.
Anne caged Ann on her bed behind the locked door, tracing her golden hairs down to where she sensed she liked it: her ample hips.
The hues of their painting grew profound every minute, every movement until it was completed.
Ann might not be far from redeemable.
Anne might make her a habit.
A beautiful emulsion of reds.
“I want to see you again.”
Another kiss in mingling breaths.
“Me too.”
Another.
Another.
Another.
Another on Ann's doorstep.
The blonde thumbs her lips, which Anne cannot taste enough of.
She cannot wait to see her again.