Fall from Eden
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A finger traced a line from hip to knee, the lazy circle around her patella sending delicious ripples along the silken parchment of her inner thigh. His fingers closed around her kneecap, the intensity of his grip a mute reflection of the magnitude of his desire. Already he could feel the demand rising, the need pressing at his edges and he closed his eyes, permitting himself a brief moment to savour the forbidden satisfaction of the thing's existence.
It was a pleasure she didn't yet understand, this denial, his hand on the leash, holding it, holding until the strain overburdened him and the tether snapped and he hurtled, transformed, over the precipice. The transition turned him inside out, the sensation more exquisite even than the fall from Eden that had been the pinnacle of his previous incarnation.
Too often in their lovemaking she would plead with him, her pretty eyes hurt, her mouth ever more warm and clever until his eyes shone as silver as the moonlit orb they so resembled. Only then would she feel as if she were enough for him; that he was in fact as pleased as his moans suggested. Silly girl.
He kissed the hollow under her knee and she sighed, allowing her legs to fall away, hips splayed, her gender unfolding, hidden spoils for the victor. He shivered at the sight of her, awed that she could still move him this way, and he bathed in the warm wet scent, anticipating the deliverance that would soon be his. His tongue lapped at the glistening skin, loving her there no less than the rest of her, taking care to corral her just a step from the edge and marvelling at his own restraint.
He remembered well those first few months after they'd met, his studied cool, the monastic demeanor a thorned wall between the two worlds, the counterfeit indifference collapsing every dawn, shouting Jesus, God, fuck, one hand steadying him against the slick wet tiles of his shower as he did the impossible, coming in icy gouts at the mere thought of the twin points of his dissimilarity sliding into her. She never would have believed she had the power to perform that miracle, so for the time being at least, at the first sign of upset he acquiesced, freeing the beast long before his own pleasure insisted upon it.
He growled and she strained against him, his name on her lips, each husky whisper a hymn of redemption he would never tire of hearing. She wanted him. She needed him - and even though he'd learned patience with the years, the final fall was fast approaching, the hard thrum between his legs uniting both halves as he rose over her and finally re-entered the garden he'd exiled himself from so long ago.
With her it was different, so very different; the sentiment cleaner, sexier somehow, the absence of sediment liberating him from the stifling compulsion to submit that in the past had so misshapen him. He drew back, electricity arcing between them. Beloved as he was, he knew by her nature that the invader would be given no quarter here. As fierce as Boadicea she fought, jostling, tumbling, her overheated limbs sliding against his waist, her defiance thrilling him in ways he'd never imagined. He revelled in the contest, exhilarated by the lamb's desire to play at being evenly matched with the lion. Finally, laughing, her took her as a conqueror takes a favoured concubine, his tender show of supremacy leaving neither of them in any doubt that although his was the strength, hers was the ultimate power.
He cupped her cheek, a wordless question passing between them. A tear rolled down the hard plane of his face. Surrender shone from her eyes with a selflessness that humbled him, so he slid into the delicate skin at her nape, both Lucifer ascending and Adam, falling, falling away from Eden as man has always fallen.