Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Quiver

   by SafeWord.

   I sit reading the paper when she enters, slamming the door, vibrating
the windows .

   It's no stretch to figure out what kind of day she is having.

   "Hi . . .  I've thawed out a couple of steaks.  Shall I put them on?"

   "No!"

   Okay! . . .  I think.

   "A drink?"

   "No."

   A small quiver runs up my spine, one of those nights . . .  though my
mind.

   "Well, I'm here, if you wish to talk or something."

   She walks by me without a glance, high heels sharply clicking on the
ceramic floor.  She looks poised, wearing her velvet black skirt suit,
showing her long legs, at their best.  A wide belt surrounds her slender
waist.  Black nylons, pumps, complete the image that is the assertive
business woman, I married.

   Behind my chair, she enters the bathroom.  The newspaper in my hands now
holds no interest.  I listen, all ears, all senses, attuned to her mood,
her every move.

   Flash vision in my mind of a rabbit hiding, shivering silently in tall
grass, while a hunting peregrine soars over head.

   Like that rabbit, I wait.

   Fast click, click behind me.

   Her hand, a flash, in front of my face and again click, click, click as
she walks away.

   In my lap, her panties, still warm, moist, from her body.  I gather them
up, breath her essence.

   She's decided;

   I fold my paper neatly as I stand, adjust my hardness, walk to her
bedroom.

   In my hand, her silk, my pass, to her sanctum.

   Leaned back on her palms, she sits on the bed edge, facing me, skirt
drawn high, knees spread.

   Revealing only her shrine to my hungry eyes, while hers, remain smoky,
distant.

   Thinking, as I kneel before her . . .  Tonight . . .  Again . . .  I'll
be dining alone.