Each kiss is like lightning, swift and painful, ruining her. There is no lingering sweetness, no tenderness behind demanding touches. Fiery fingertips swelter on her skin like salt rubbed into festering wounds, greedy soul gobbling up the memory.
She won't forget, she'll never forget. The hands that hurt, the hands that held her heart so carefully. For a brief moment, the pain stops and she can breathe. Her chest is delightfully empty, unburdened by the shards of agony buried in her flesh, and she inhales deeply.
The air smells like him. The scent that could only be described by him. Overwhelming, overpowering, entirely masculine, perfect. His strong arms are wrapped about the slender slope of her hips, holding her from the mattress and against his body. It's familiar, unchanged, the tension in his muscles, the raw strength. If she closes her eyes, she could recall a time so long ago. Memories so distant they seem like dreams. The only thing that brings her back is the pain working a raw band around her slender wrists. Her hands are bound above her head, the cloth of her bedsheet unforgiving against her moonlight skin.
He won't allow her to touch him, this is only about him. Her name on his lips sounds like a curse and a prayer, low and vilely reverent. Those cat-like eyes burn at her in the darkness as his lips seal over hers, tongue possessive, marking her as it explores the soft cavern of her mouth. When he pulls away, a shine rests on his bottom lip. He does not wipe it away and she shivers, wondering how he could stand having a single unworthy part of her ruin his perfection. This man that hates her, uses her. Lets her heal then comes back to tear her apart again. Yet she could never stop caring. Somewhere under the hurt and anger, she finds it cruel. She hates herself.
His bare thigh is resting between her legs, brushing at her core as if to tease. Her eyelids flutter and she turns her head, light bleeding in from between her lashes. Paris is outside the window, outside the world that suddenly diminished until only they and that room existed. His fingers grip her chin, gentle and demanding. Squeezing hard enough to get her attention but not to hurt as he pulls her face back to his, leg repeating the same slow gesture.
"Do not look away." Damp, warm lips brush against hers as he speaks, voice quiet. He gives her petal soft kisses until she is pressing back against him, tiny whimpers building in her chest. His teeth tear into her bottom lip and the taste of copper violates her senses. A cruel contrast. When she gasps, his tongue intrudes again rough as it twists around hers. The hand that held her chin wanders to her throat, fingers playing over her pulse point before he grips the slender column. He applies ghostly pressure and she gives the moan he loves most, the deep rippling sigh that has her arching from the bed. Part of her hoped he would keep squeezing until everything ceased to exist and she would fade away. He never would.
"My Jillian.." He breathes against her shoulder, "Jill." Her heart hurts again, desperately throbbing in her chest. She is tricking herself, believing he cares. That small lilt in his voice that betrays him and has her caving, falling all over again. His hips are bitingly sharp against hers when he presses into her, the cry on his lips more like a growl. His hands drop to her clothed breasts, sliding down to her sides where he grips her tightly. She would have bruises but she didn't care. Nothing would compare to the rivets he left on her soul.
Her cries are of pleasure and suffering, soft bleats that dance from quiet to loud. His eyes are on her face, pools of crimson that devour her whole. She only looks away when he tilts his hips and finds that one spot he knows she loves. Her body strains upwards like a bow, arms pinned to the bed and hips cradled against his. For once, she is quiet and he stills. A jingle of metal against metal startles her and she desperately struggles against the sheet that holds her wrists together. His lips part in wonder and his fingers almost tremble against her skin as he reaches for her only secret.
"You kept it." The ring he gave her years ago, the one of their union. He tears open her shirt and palms the small band of silver, staring at it with his lips pressed together in a hard line. Jill tucks her head against the pillow and trembles. He releases it and collapses against her, every line of his body tucked against hers. He is still sheathed inside her, hips rocking gently. He croons softly against her ear, a sound she was sure he had no idea he made. Over and over he finds that spot until she gives another soft cry of her release and he follows behind her.
He unties her hands and she rolls away, huddling under the blankets. She didn't notice the ring missing from around her neck, the weight on the edge of the bed as he sits with his head in his hands. He thinks she sleeps, but she simply lays still and weeps. For the both of them, for the bleeding heart in her chest that will never heal. The metal chain dangles from his fingertips and he watches the tiny ring sway as he contemplates. When he leaves, he takes it with him.
"Good bye, Captain." Jill sighs when the door closes, fingers curled into the blanket. Angry tears burn her skin and she gives a loud wail of pure anguish. He has taken everything and for the briefest of moments, those retreating footsteps hesitate.