billowing knee-length skirt that brushed against the smooth skin of her pale legs, drawing attention down to her highly arched feet that had been bare since she'd kicked off her shoes right before the ceremony, yet remained spotless, as if she’d just emerged from a long bath. As always her skin was unblemished by make-up, cheeks naturally blush pink, lips a few shades deeper, telling of nibbling and biting in an effort to calm her nerves. However, her eyes, those magnificent sparkling windows, were the cause of him being stone hard with wanting, they told of her change, the renewal, and absolute purity of mind, body and spirit. Slowly he moved forward, not wanting to frighten her and saw her pupils growing bigger, darker, until the blackness overtook the unique Connemara green. As he reached out and clasped her hand, helping her to her feet, he smokily assured, “This will be perfect; everything you’ve hoped and prayed for.”
Timidly she attempted to extract her fingers from his hold