Maureen watched him as he slept beside her. She stared into his closed eyes and pictured them resting beyond their carbon screens, these beautiful aqua-colored gems, these soft gelatin candles that have often alighted so quickly and effortlessly. She imagined what they’ll look like when he awakens the next morning, when his eyes open, slow motion, door number three as the beautiful crystal woman pulls out the grand prize of, can you believe, his soul, once again ready to absorb her breath again. She arched her back and let her small breasts stretch freely under her camisole, so carelessly sweeping her neck behind her and smiling this seductive, beautiful smile. This is how she is going to look tomorrow morning when he opens his eyes. He is going to open the curtains of his gel candle eyes and he is going to see her lying there, peaceful, her nipples soft, her skin soft, and he’s going to want to kiss her shoulders, smooth her hair. He is going to want her, right then, right there, more than he ever has before. She will be his queen in these plush white Ethan Allen bed sheets, these feather pillows, these wood floors. These thoughts excited her, for he was beautiful, this beautiful man lying in her bed and smelling her conditioner. His hand rested against her stomach and had remained there throughout the night. It was a gorgeous hand, strong-looking. She traced the veins that crawled up toward his fingers and down his arms, these veins like little roads that bless the oceans of her body…