Author's note: written for the Prompt Table activity on the Paint It Red Forum - prompt: "Desire"

Desire

He was kissing her like his very life depended on it.

Red John is dead, a small part of his brain kept on telling him. It looked as if the thought had suddenly prompted him to make up for lost time.

A moan escaped from her throat as one of his hands wandered somewhere along the hem of her shirt. Her skin felt almost like velvet under his touch.

"Don't stop", she murmured huskily as he leaned his forehead against hers – his breath shallow, his head spinning as his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

He took his time to explore the softness of her lips again – the taste of her last coffee still lingering on them. His senses were committing to memory every single detail about her – those beautiful green irises peering through half-closed eyelids, strands of her tousled hair hanging loose about her cheeks.

"We'd better stop instead."

His voice was barely recognizable to his own ears. Teresa opened her eyes fully this time, and stared at him uncomprehendingly for a while.

"If you're not sure about this…"

"I am. It's just…"

His thumbs traced a line from her cheekbones to her jaw as he gave her another peck on the lips.

"I don't want you to be my lover. I want you to be my wife."

He could tell that this statement had left her completely breathless.

"Okay", she whispered at long last.

Running her palms along his shoulders she wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in the crook of his neck.

As he hugged her back tightly, the same thought crossed their minds.

All they needed now was a little patience – that was all.