It was fitting she supposed. Two lovers of literature; one an author with the skill to found an entire genre on the wings of her boundless imagination, the other with an eidetic memory capable of remembering and reciting prose from a seemingly endless repertoire. It was fitting, then, that their love of language often took an active role in their sex life.
Myka's head slams back into the wall as Helena's mouth comes into contact with her sex. The dull thud scattering her already muddled thoughts... she is drunk on the wet heat driving into her centre with feigned idleness, on the ticklish grazing of hair along her inner thighs. Despite knowing it was coming, she still found herself whimpering in frustration as Helena stops circling her clit with that wickedly talented tongue.
"Uh-uh my love. You know the rules."
Myka tightens her fingers around the kneeling woman's inky locks, the resulting chuckle sending a puff of air across her sensitized sex. Swallowing thickly, another surge of lust runs through her as she looks down to meet the amused gaze of her lover; eyes dark with intent and an impish grin spread across lips glistening with her own arousal, Helena is far too devastating of a sight for Myka to possibly reclaim her train of thought.
"Where was I?" Helena doesn't answer right away, turning her head instead to lay open-mouthed kisses down her inner right thigh, and then up the left (stopping just short of where Myka wanted her most), before meeting her gaze again,
"Wholly to be a fool." Myka laughs breathlessly and traces the arch of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow with her thumb before closing her eyes again to the distracting sight of the naked goddess settled between her thighs,
"While spring is in the world," Helena's tongue finds her again, teasing languidly across her folds before finding her clit and sucking hard. Myka's breath hitches, her head lolls back as she fights the nearly uncontrollable urge of her hips to buck against H.G's mouth.
"My blood approves," nails scrape down her side at the same time as deft fingers rise to tweak taut nipples, "and kisses are a better fate," teeth come out to play and Myka is sure the grip of her fingers wound through H.G's hair is at least a little painful now as they both let out a hiss in unison, "than wisdom." Helena has admitted that she enjoys the mingle of pain with her pleasure, and Myka has been too rough with lovers in the past: in so many ways they fit.
"Lady I swear by all flowers. Don't cry" as Helena drags her bottom lip along the bundle of nerves and blows gently Myka cannot this time control the jerk of her hips. The next time H.G's mouth is on her she can feel the smirk against her inner folds.
"-the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter, which says" Helena gently grasps her calf, lifting Myka's leg until it is draped over her right shoulder. The new angle allows for Helena to delve deeper inside her pushing nipping and tasting with even greater fervor, this and the fact that all her weight is now precariously on one leg causes Myka to falter once more in her oration. Her fingers skid along the edge of the words- grasping earnestly as she desperately seeks to discern the words she suspects are written in the white lights that dance on the back of her eyelids- but that was the point. That was the game.
Myka lets out a ragged gasp as Helena takes pity on her, the next verse reverberating against her slit as she speaks, "we are for each other; then..."
Her breaths are reduced to shallow pants, she's so close now... it's only by the grace of fingers sliding up and down her sides, grounding her, that she seizes the next words through the heady haze, "laugh, leaning back in my arms."
Her hips are rocking; she's given up controlling her thrusts. One hand still wound tight through Helena's hair, the other rises to her own, brushing back curls matted to sweat slickened skin. She cracks her eyes open, half-lidded as she dances across the brink of her release. She will not look down; she knows she is being watched. Myka knows the only thing Helena likes more than making her come is watching her as she falls over that rapturous precipice. And Myka knows if she looks down and sees those dark fathomless eyes she'll be done for, and she still has two lines left. To win she must finish before, well, before she finishes. Her thighs are tensing sporadically, her inner walls beginning to clench,
"For life's not a paragraph. And death," but suddenly there are three fingers deep and knowing and immediately hitting her g-spot with an unerring accuracy that would surprise her if it were anyone but H.G Wells perched between her thighs. Le petit mort sweeps over her, every sensitized nerve ending exploding at once, her eyes roll back, she can taste blood where she's bit too hard into her bottom lip, and with buckling knees she allows the gentle embrace of her lover to coax her to the floor.
When she finally comes back to herself, tear-blurred eyes take in Helena's face inches from her own, an expression inextricably both smug and awed that would take her breath away if she had any left. Helena leans forward gently taking one lip between both of hers and tracing an exquisitely slow line with her tongue on the inside of the malleable flesh. When she releases it she brushes their noses together as they breathe each other in, "And death?"
Myka crooks a lopsided grin, using the hand tangled through raven tresses to angle her the other woman's mouth the way she wants her. At last she finishes, an exhale against parted lips, "and death, I think is no parenthesis."
Considering Doing a Part Two where it's Helena's turn in a different type of word play. Let me know if you'd be interested, I've got some ideas. :)
The Poem used is by one of my favourite poets, E. E. Cummings
since feeling is first...
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis