There is a tension between them. He is breathing too close. She can hear his murmurings and hot breath in her ear. A shiver is running down her neck throughout her body. Her pupils have dilated, as if in fear— her fear of getting too close to anybody, her fear of intimacy.
He is too direct and she can’t help hating her not being able to admire this completely. She likes that he is honest and transparent but shiver runs down her spine when she gets any hint of intimacy.
She hates sex but fears intimacy. Sex is limited to the body. Intimacy churns out the ingredients of her soul, versions of her she hides from herself. She can be in charge but vulnerable yet she fears but craves his touch which seems to her like her new addiction.
Intimacy brings out the aspects of her she considers to be weak on the surface. Little does she know he worships her fierceness and loves her vulnerability. He can never provide her with anything. He may help at the most. He knows she is enough and that she knows this. They breathe the same. He is looking at her, admiring her but afraid to touch her. She is feeling him, looking in front of her. Her pupils are still dilated and he is smiling on some quality who hers that he admires and she is unaware of. This, for him, was more intimate than sex itself. He knows, love is more than sex. Love is intimacy by being vulnerable to each other, to be naked in souls before each other.