Gemotions

He heard the gravel crunch under her sensible shoes as she approached the door. A thrill – a pure, raw energy – shot through Mark. He’d been listening for the familiar sound, anticipating the inevitable confrontation. The music, a bass-heavy track, pulsed through the floorboards.

The knock was polite, tentative, but the heat in him flared. He yanked the door open, trying to compose his features, but he knew he was failing.

"The music," she said, her voice a low murmur, her face shadowed by the porch light. He caught the scent of her perfume, a delicate floral that he knew so well. He imagined her in the shadows of the doorway, soft and enticing. "It's a little loud." He felt a tightening in his lower belly, a potent ache.

"My apologies," he managed, his voice a husky whisper, "I'll turn it down immediately." He had to look away from her. The thought of her standing there, so near, so… tempting, made his pulse quicken.