I cannot move. I cannot breathe. I can barely feel the soft silk sheets as they ride lower, lower... and are replaced by red hot searing kisses from his open mouth.
I can feel him. I can hear his breath, feel it on my bare skin. I can smell him, his musky, heady scent; it drives me insane, tingling my senses; teasing. I long for him, to touch him, taste him. But I cannot move.
I cannot breathe.
His hands ride lower, lower still, dragging the white stained sheets lower, lower still. The air is cool; there is a slight breeze coming from the open window bringing sunlight with it to heat my already searing skin. And still more skin is exposed and his tongue darts out, licking, nipping and tearing at my senses. I shiver, not entirely from cold, but cannot move. I cannot breathe.
His kisses seer. They burn my skin and kindle a flame of passion the consumes my very bones until I can feel nothing but the fiery heat of it, nothing but him and the pleasure he gives; until I know nothing but him. I feel him above me, and I feel alive. He is so very alive. All muscle and bone and sinew and yet he is gentler than a mother to her cub. His skin is soft but his touch burns like his kiss. I feel him, every inch of him. I hear his heart beat within his hard chest, I feel it; beating in synchrony with my own. I feel his hands on the curve of my hip, his lips on the softness of my belly, but I cannot move. I cannot breathe.
He moves upward now, faster than his decent, kissing me once in the valley between breasts before his lips connect with mine. I am instantly lost in him, in the sensation as our chests touch. He manipulates my mouth around his, opening it wide and I taste his hot breath. Honey and jam. He exhales, filling my lungs, before he leans his head away to look down on me. He knows of my predicament; the merriment in his eyes give him away though it is burried deeply beneath a passionate purple gaze. He knows what he does to me.
He leans down again, reconnecting our lips. It is then that I notice the water. It drips from his hair and his body, the cold splashes creating an erotic feeling as they connect with my overheated skin. It is then, also, that I notice that the sheets that had previously covered my nude form were gone. But I cannot not move to cover myself. I cannot breathe.
His hands return their journey southwards, over the my thighs. He lifts my legs, wrapping them around his waist. I discover that he too is as gloriously naked as the day he was born. I move now, my hands coming up to tangle in his silky blue locks.
"Arkarian," the word whispers through my swollen lips. He is biting at my neck and does not answer. I breathe now; in short, fast gasps. He teases, lingering tortuously on secret places. But not for long, I know.
Impatient, I push upwards and he breaches slightly. A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest and I feel it all over my body. I would huff, but he enters swiftly, joining us. As always, I wonder at how heavenly it is to be twain. Often times it seems we were born to fill each other.
Steadily, softly, we make love. It seems in a few short hours, we have made love to last a century.
"Good morning," he chirps as I curl up into him. I am astounded at his stamina.
"Indeed," I smile drowsily at him, "I believe you need another bath."
He laughs, and smirking widely says, "I believe you need two."
I smile wider at his mischievousness and wonder, for the millionth time it seems, how I have been with this man for over a thousand years and yet he still takes my breath away.
I'm sorry if it's a little rushed or for any bad spelling/grammar. I literaly wrote this in ten minutes. I just needed to get something out.
I MAY continue this into a series of oneshots, i'll need your opinion on it first.
Please try out for the Isabel Gets Married contest!! It's a little competitive fun. Rules are on my profile.