I feel just as unsure of myself now as I did the first time we met like this, though I know when I look at her that she handles this as she handles everything: without remorse and with little regard. It means something, but not what it does to other people.
She's terrifying in her conviction of everything. Feeling her mouth on mine doesn't make things any different. I'm still wary of her. Still in admiration of her. Still surprised by her when she makes a noise that's both feminine and just a little submissive. Maybe I'm making shit up. Or maybe not. She likes it when I kiss her neck. She likes it when I grab her hair. She likes it when I call her Titania, despite telling everyone she doesn't.
She likes it when she's cold. She likes my mouth closing around her skin. She likes to keep it secret.
And I like to give in.
Maybe the addicting part is the control she likes to give up.
Her skin is slicked in sweat and water. The bathhouse is hot. I start by trailing icy hands down her spine. She coos with lips that have only made that sound in the most private of times. She's vulnerable here, even with the door locked, and not because she's naked, but because she's on display for me to see in a way that she's only ever let others glimpse.
I imagine she doesn't make this sound for other men, men that don't know her like I do, men that haven't seen her broken down and torn open: her best, most terrible self, her worst, most beautiful creature. She's a woman of many facets. Each of them more complex than I can really understand, and still, I've only scratched the surface.
She's as impatient as ever, finding my cross necklace and tugging me down. The metal threatens to break. I don't wonder if she would apologize. It would come later, perhaps. For now, she's single-minded.
"Touch me."
That's how it started. Her demands. It feels like so long ago sitting in a bathhouse like this when I let my hands linger too long. It was disorienting expecting wrath and receiving praise. Back then I was even warier. Touch me. I do. Her breasts fill my hands and then some. I force them together and pinch and pluck until she moans, then I straddle her legs. This is also how she likes it. She opens her mouth in invitation. Her lips wrap around my erection. It's warm, warmer than what I'm used to. Most of the time it seems like all of my body is cold. Just magic, I suppose.
She sucks until she knows I'm going to come. Erza isn't a nice girl, though. She stops before I have the chance. Long ago I stopped telling her before it would happen, hoping that she'd keep going. It's a fun game we play. She's learned my tells, though. As much as I gripe, I do enjoy the tease.
She pushes me back and stands, then kisses me like it's the last thing she'll ever do. Then she turns and bends at the waist. Her body is an hourglass accentuated. She reaches behind and holds herself open for me. Sliding into her is easy. Everything we do is easy. I think she likes it because I've never disappeared on her. I've never tried to take anything she hasn't offered. I never broke her apart like her last love did. I've only ever been there. Maybe one day she'll go back to him. I know she doesn't like to think about it, but she can't hide the faraway look in her eye that tells me her mind is somewhere else when I'm inside.
I've never held it against her. After all, neither of us truly mind. It's just something we do.
It's true. Apparently I ship everyone. This almost went under a pseudonym because I can't stand how many stories I have under Freyjabee right now. Maybe the next one will?