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                                         The Passion

He glanced down at his watch and called for the check.  He said nothing until they were in his car and half way to his place.  "Just remember, you little bitch, you asked for this!"  The ever so cryptic remark was tossed at her with defiance and a singular eroticism.  For her, there was no emotion, though, or thought...simply an awareness of sheer physical acts of life upon the planet; instinctive, noble shadows in herself.  Lioness, leave thy cubs.

They are fine within the cave.  Lioness, those tawny flanks are thin, and belly lean from constant tending of your young, and it is time, now...time for you to feed.

Andrew gave her wine because she asked for it.  She drank enough of it to feel a rosy glow along her arms and on her breasts.  At first, he kissed her gently, his lips drifting to her cheeks and down her neck.  His hands were holding back her tangled hair.  His mouth returned then to her lips and parted them.  Oh, guileless one, she thought, eyes closed, you have waited long to take a lover.  They chose not to speak in the afterglow of dying fire.  A November dusk was on them as she dressed to leave.

"When?" he asked simply.

She looked at him, new poignancy coming to her eyes.  "I don't know.  Soon, though.  Very soon."