The sun radiating through the tight fall of ringlets mesmerised him. He could hear her voice, like off in a vacuum. He knew he would be in strife when she twigged to his inattention, but he could not help himself. His line of sight wavered, his iris glazed over and he was off in a world of his own imagining.
The mind’s eye is a prescient device. He caught again the ray of light glinting through as she flicked an errant strand of hair catching on the gleam of perspiration cresting her right deltoid. He was conscious of the quiver in his right index finger, wanting to reach out and sweep up the slowly spreading sweat. Both nostrils flared as the memory of that body odour seared into his frontal lobes, that sharp, sudden smell of musk.
He shifted his backside in discomfort, a low moan escaping his lips.