acacia's first assignemnt

[acacia]

Just a scene, sorry to take a week.

The dinner has been going for an hour, and it feels like ten. With every bite of the magnificent roast duckling, May thinks another age has gone by as she stares into the smoldering eyes of her dinner companion. They, along with the slightly upturned corners of Michael’s mouth and the way his lips caress his fork, betray his intentions, and she finds that, for once in her life, she can’t wait for them to be realized.

The dessert course is even more fraught with purpose, fingers catching errant smudges of mousse on cheeks and tongues retrieving powdered sugar from noses. By the end, his foot has shifted from occasionally brushing her ankle to gliding up and down her leg. When they finally stand, he offers his arm – she knows it ought to annoy her, such an outmoded and pointless form of chivalry, but she takes it. Her entire forearm tingles.

In the elevator, Michael kisses each of the fingers on May’s right hand, then her palm, the mount of her thumb, and the wrist, before moving up the inside of her arm. She is glad that her dress has only short, off-the-shoulder sleeves so that she can feel the delightful pressure of his lips on her skin, and when the elevator stops at their floor, his lips working over her neck, she feels mingled irritation and excitement.

She expects him to continue kissing her as they stumble to the door, fumbling through each other’s clothes, the way it’s always been, but he stops and kisses the back of her fingers one last time, smiling – almost smirking. She’s nearly ready to slide into a heap on the floor, but he propels her – quickly, but not hastily – down the velvet-lined corridor to her room. He unlocks the door with smooth motions, pulling her in so that he can shut and lock it again, before pressing her against the wall for a passionate kiss that energizes her legs long enough to be gently and inexorably tugged to the double bed.

There he spends – wastes, thinks May – minutes pulling her shirt slowly over her head and her skirt over her hips before tossing them aside. He then leans forward – at last! – to kiss her collarbone and up her neck to her jawline. She closes her eyes and simply breathes, a small smile of ecstasy adorning her lips.

[Dragon's muse]

Very nice, you convey very well the sense impatience of May. Perhaps you could bring in a bit more of the almost wicked teasing of Michael. Flesh him out a bit more.

Careful proofreading will usually catch small continuity errors like the change in her attire. i also agree with Cariad, that the first sentence in English would imply that it was an unpleasant hour.

And very few nits to pick. i will get your next assignment posted today.

rose

Just a scene, sorry to take a week.

The dinner has been going for an hour, and it feels like ten. With every bite of the magnificent roast duckling, May thinks another age has gone by as she stares into the smoldering eyes of her dinner companion. They, along with the slightly upturned corners of Michael’s mouth and the way his lips caress his fork, betray his intentions, and (a semicolon here would increase emotional impact)she finds that, for once in her life, she can’t wait for them to be realized.

The dessert course is even more fraught with purpose, fingers catching errant smudges of mousse on cheeks and tongues retrieving powdered sugar from noses. By the end, his foot has shifted, from occasionally brushing her ankle, to gliding up and down her leg. When they finally stand, he offers his arm – she knows it ought to annoy her, such an outmoded and pointless form of chivalry, but she takes it. Her entire forearm tingles.

In the elevator, Michael kisses each of the fingers on May’s right hand, then her palm, the mount (mound) of her thumb, and the wrist, before moving up the inside of her arm. She is glad that her dress has only short, off-the-shoulder sleeves so that she can feel the delightful pressure of his lips on her skin, and when the elevator stops at their floor, his lips working over her neck, she feels mingled irritation and excitement.

She expects him to continue kissing her as they stumble to the door, fumbling through each other’s clothes, the way it’s always been, but he stops and kisses the back of her fingers one last time, smiling – almost smirking. She’s nearly ready to slide into a heap on the floor, but he propels her – quickly, but not hastily – down the velvet-lined corridor to her room. He unlocks the door with smooth motions, pulling her in so that he can shut and lock it again, before pressing her against the wall for a passionate kiss that energizes her legs long enough to be gently and inexorably tugged to the double bed.

There he spends – wastes, thinks May – minutes pulling her shirt slowly over her head and her skirt over her hips before tossing them aside. He then leans forward – at last! – to kiss her collarbone and up her neck to her jawline. She closes her eyes and simply breathes, a small smile of ecstasy adorning her lips.