She was incredibly shy.
The sort of woman who never made eye contact. When he spoke with her she always looked slightly to the side or to the ground.
She was the type of woman who covered her mouth when she laughed. And she never laughed too loudly.
As if her happiness was something to be kept under wraps.
She never held his hand in public. She would walk beside him.
Quiet and content. But she was never one to show her affections to others.
They always made love in the dark. The curtains drawn. The lights all out.
And in the dark she became another woman.
Her hands seeking out his body. Her mouth following. Touching him everywhere. Loving him in every way. Covering him with her body. Leaving him dizzy with her need.
He believed that that darkness freed to her to be someone else. Someone who loved to be seen. To be touched. To be adored. The darkness gave her that. Freedom.
What he never knew was that she wouldn't pretend to be someone else in the dark.
She would pretend that he was.