I typically like this exercise — using a bunch of random words within a story — but this one, meh.
Words: Glass, Open, Scary, Mark, White, Wood, Boots, Shade, Strand, Beauty, Export, Run, Tile, Sweater
The door opened. She startled. He wasn’t expected home yet. “Hello?” he called out. She heard him kick off his shoes, shove them against the wall next to the boots, the rustle of his coat taken off and hung up. Next, she surmised by listening, he pulled off his sweater. The tugging of the wool over his hair rustled. She envisioned the brown curls against the maroon knit. She’d picked out the color special, white too stark, black washed him out, but the reddish shade flattered his green eyes, his brown hair, that strand that refused to stay tucked back, instead hanging across his face. Rogue, like him. He was a beauty, she thought, the guy most girls would kill for.
“In here,” she answered, exporting the file, closing her browser window, logging out before he could see the stream of chatter from her girlfriends.
“What are you burning?” he asked, moving into the kitchen. Shit, she thought as she leapt up. “Nothing!” she called. “I mean, soup! But it’s not burning, just simmering!” She broke into a run, dashing through the French doors, skidding across the tile to a stop in front of the stove.
He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against him. “Hey, babe.” She stretched for the wooden spoon across the counter, snagged it, lifted the glass lid off the pot, stirred.
“Hey,” she mumbled. He pulled her tighter, snuggled his face into the back of her neck, her hair the only barrier between his lips and her skin. She urged her body to forgo the tension permeating through her. Her body found his attention scary, that much was clear. But she’d married Mark and didn’t plan to leave him, so his forcefulness was something she needed to come to terms with. It wasn’t as if she didn’t deserve it, what with her habitual socializing after work, the way she bought things just because they were cute or because she thought at the time she wanted them.
She lacked discipline, she always had. He provided it. For better. Or for worse.