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She lit up the whole room the likes of which he had never seen before; she didn’t reflect the light she saw in others, as he did, but it came from within, soft and bright and alive.
He wanted it for himself.
He wanted to feel the light bleed into his skin when he held her waist, wanted to taste the stars when he caught his lips with hers, the heat between them perhaps enough to melt even his heart.
“Look at the stars,” he’d said. She’d been so easy to entrap, falling headfirst into it like she wanted it. A kind word here, a nod of the head there, even speaking of his family had only seemed to endear him to her all the more.
“Look at the stars,” she said, sighing as he teased off her stockings, his lips following the descent of the fabric.
“I already am,” he murmured, his lips dancing over the almost translucent skin at her wrists.
Perhaps it wasn’t even a lie, he thought as he sampled the delights of her throat, feeling the warmth, that beautiful light running just under the blush creeping its way down her neck.
Perhaps he even believed it, he thought as he buried himself between her thighs, desperate to reach her centre, her fascinating warmth.
And as he took her to new heights, Hans thought he might have come to know what a shooting star looks like up close.