Scotch

The sun had gone to sleep hours ago. He was just sitting on the sofa reading in his baggy pants without a shirt or socks and without a shower when he heard a soft knock on the door. He ignored it. Then he heard it again, this time a little louder. Annoyed, he hauled himself off the couch and shuffled over to the front of the house. It was a red door with a gold knob and a dirtied bronze bird-shaped doorknocker that was making all the noise. When it swung open he saw her standing there. His heart stopped beating for a moment and he forgot how to breathe, the kind of thing that happens when you haven’t seen someone like her in a long time.

“Hi.” Her voice was sweetly harrowing and heavy and rattled in his bones. He remembered the last time she showed up on his doorstep like this. It had been raining that night, there was a full moon, and her thin cotton dress clung to her body like saran wrap, tempting him to touch her. Her curls were trickling with rain the way icicles drip on a warm, sunny afternoon in January. She kept licking the storm off her lips.

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t been expecting company, but he ushered her inside and watched her ass move across the room and plop down on his couch. Then he looked away, looked for something strong to drink.
“I left him.”
“Oh.”
“Pour me one of those?”
He nodded and let the amber scotch flow out of the bottle into two glasses generously. His senses thrilled to the pungent aroma of smoky peat and he breathed it in deeply. He walked over the couch and handed her the glass. He sat down and took a sip; she put her glass on the coffee table. They were silent for a bit, and he just watched her. She avoided his eyes at first but felt him watching her, which made her uneasy, but that is what she came here for in the first place. So she looked up and challenged his gaze. He started asking her questions. She answered him honestly and a melancholy lovelust grew inside him. They fell quiet again after a while, and the silence and the alcohol seduced him into giving into her captivating big blue eyes. He was lost there for a moment.
“I need to feel something.” She said, “Kiss me.”
“I won’t.”
“Why.”
“I’m afraid to.”
She now picked up her glass and took a deep drink from it. Her face crinkled as the alcohol burned her throat. She placed the now empty glass back on the coffee table and stared at it as if it were an unwelcome adversary or her greatest foe. 
“Do you have any ice?” She asked then, and before he could answer she was already gliding towards his freezer door. She returned to his side on the couch with an ice cube in her mouth. He watched as she slumped down, making her t-shirt slide up exposing her belly. She didn’t care, she rested her head on the back of the couch, closed those cool eyes of hers, pushed the ice cube from her mouth with her tongue, and skimmed it over her lips as if she were putting on lipstick. Then she slid the ice down her neck and into her cleavage, and down her flat stomach. The melted water slithered across her skin and pooled a bit in her belly button.  This was something for her to feel.

“This will do.” She whispered.
He lifted her off the couch and carried her to bed.