by Herschel Cozine
She takes a sip, puts the glass down and runs her tongue over her lips. Leaning forward, her luscious breasts straining against the thin material, she runs a finger around the rim of the glass, dips it in the wine and puts it in her mouth. I watch, struggling for control. She smiles, her emerald eyes beckoning me.
Another slow, seductive sip. Silently the message is sent, the meaning clear.
Still I resist. She is toying with me, delighting in the power she holds over me—over men. How many times have I fallen victim to her game? I curse myself, powerless to end it. I hate her. I love her. I want her.
She lifts the glass and drains it. Setting it down, she stands, stretches and lifts her dress.
The object of man’s desire is revealed and I catch my breath.
Overcome with a lust that I cannot control I lunge for her, throw her to the floor and enter her. She grips my neck, meets my thrusts, groaning with a growing passion of her own.
I scream in release and fall away, dizzy and fulfilled. A last, the treasure I had sought was mine. I sleep.
When I wake she is gone. The glass of wine sits on the table—untouched.