Hopeless Romantic

Victor kisses the back of her hand and sets the red roses on the table. Yana watches him. She knows the flowers will sit untouched. What she wants right now is his mouth on her, not on her knuckles. His tie hits the floor. His shirt follows. The gentle touch is gone, replaced by something harder. He pushes her onto the bed, blonde hair spilling across the sheets, and works his belt open. Yana takes him in her hand, then her mouth. Her lips move slow at first, then faster, wet sounds filling the room. He grips her hair and watches her take him deeper. When he is close, he pulls her off. She stays on her knees, eyes half-closed, waiting for it. He finishes across her face, thick ropes landing on her lips, her cheeks, even a little catching in her hair. She runs her tongue over her lower lip, tasting him, and smiles up at the man who gave her flowers and then gave her exactly what she came for.