Thanks for the reviews, guys! ThreeOranges is Beta Reader Extraordinaire! Enjoy this steamy chapter!
Last night was possibly the longest night of my life. Instead of anxiety keeping me awake, it was giddiness. I am so full of love for Gemma Doyle that I might go mad; I'm full to bursting, and my heart is the source of it all. It is all I can do to keep my teeth clenched shut in a maniacal grin so that I don't start singing love songs and reciting sonnets. Though I've not read many sonnets (and remember none), I feel it is the sort of thing that will spew from my lips if I do not keep them shut. I've never felt this way before.
So imagine my surprise when the knock on my door this morning was not the harassed-looking landlady collecting rent, but Gemma, bright-eyed and quite a sight to see. We talked all morning and over tea about our separate lives in each other's absence, and naturally Gemma had more to say. But even with four years of foreign living behind her, she couldn't think of much to say, so we had to come up with more creative ways to occupy our mouths. Now it is late afternoon and we have all but wasted the day catching up in more ways than one.
"What was it like in the Tree?" Gemma asks, wrapping her arms around my waist. I accept her into my embrace, pulling her close to me on the bed. Our bodies seem to fit together like pieces of a puzzle, despite the bothersome clothing between us, and the sensations such close contact produce make it hard to concentrate on anything but the urgent things occurring down below. Outside, a storm is brewing, dark clouds knitting together to form great shapes that resemble a lady's many undergarments, much like the ones that rest between Gemma's dress and bare flesh. How ironic. "Kartik?"
"Hungh?" My voice is strangled. Mind over matter!
"The Tree," she repeats calmly. "What was it like inside?" She shifts her legs, unintentionally increasing the pressure below to disastrous proportions.
"It was very…hard." I could slap myself. "I mean, difficult. Actually, no, that's not true at all. I've no idea what it was like. Is it hot in here?"
Gemma looks at me strangely. "A bit humid, yes, but the storm will settle things soon."
Oh, you've no idea, dear one.
The insistent pressure becomes impossible to ignore. I push on top of her, kissing her quite forcefully. She accepts my advances and opens her mouth to be tasted but I do not give her a chance to return the favor when she tries to take charge. All I can think of is kissing, touching, feeling her everywhere, all at once.
"Gracious!" she exclaims breathlessly. "Kartik, what has gotten into you?" I sit up so that I am kneeling. Gemma is sprawled beneath me, flustered and breathing heavily. Her breasts rise and fall in a hypnotic manner. A low rumble of thunder cuts a swath through the heavy air, but it does not do much to clear my head. "Kartik?"
My hand rests on her shin. I slide it up, dragging her skirts with it, disappointed to find blasted stockings shielding her legs from my touch. "Gemma," I whisper huskily. "You should…" Take your clothes off. Why can I not say it?
Gemma sits up and brushes a sweaty curl out of my face. Her hands are cool on my flushed skin. "Kartik, you look uncomfortable." I am. I let my forehead drop forward onto her shoulder, and her hands move to the back of my neck. She kisses the corner of my eye, my cheekbone, my jaw, then lets her lips hover near my ear. "You're not the one wearing a bloody corset though."
I groan, realizing that she's patronizing me. Doesn't she realize the urgency here? The expression of my sexual desire isn't exactly subtle. Or maybe she is incredibly stupid? "You aren't uncomfortable at all?" I ask.
Her eyelashes flutter against my cheek. "Perhaps a bit…uncomfortable." We lock eyes and I understand perfectly.
My hands find the soft swells of her breasts and her lips elicit a noise I've never heard from her before, a noise I want to hear again and again. "Then take it off," I finally manage to say. "Take all of it off."
"I can't," she says. I squeeze her breasts perhaps a bit harder than I meant to, noting the feel of them with a strangled moan. I must have her. And soon. Gemma licks her full lips slowly. "Not without help, that is." She kisses me firmly, her hands cupping over mine.
I was wrong in thinking that the evil of the world lies in the Winterlands. No, that is not the case. Evil can be found in its purest form around the waist of Gemma Doyle, in the earthly vessel of a corset. Whoever invented such devices certainly was not thinking of urgent young men whose fingers won't work correctly under specific circumstances. After a few stressful minutes, I manage to loosen it enough to pull it off over her head, throwing it across the room in one swift motion.
Making love to her is completely indescribable in words. I can only compare it to experiences, fleeting moments in life when something particular stays with me. It is pure relief, a breath of fresh air, the moment the pregnant clouds finally send forth their rain. It is only too coincidental that the impending storm outside matches what happens between us. In the muggy air, our bodies radiate heat, damp with humidity and perspiration from our exertions. Outside, the wind whistles like a lecherous man peeking in, eager to catch a glimpse of Gemma's bare breasts and my lips upon them. Pressure builds to near unbearable states, and moans rip through us like thunder, until I can't possibly take any more of the heat. And then finally, the rain…
We lay together upon the hopeless tangle of sheets, a sticky mess of flushed faces and messy hair. I am still reeling from the experience, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling in absolute awe. Just a few nights prior I had stared at the same stretch of peeling paint, begging for it to fall on me so that I might sleep peacefully without torturing myself with what if? And now Gemma lies in my arms, every so often smoothing her leg against mine. I kiss her damp forehead, feeling so full of every possible romantic thing to say that I cannot even comprehend the words. I only know their meanings, and hope she understands.
Rain pelts rapidly against the window. Outside resembles the runoff of water used to clean paintbrushes, a mess of murky colors that mean nothing to some, yet everything to others. My life has often felt like that runoff, as if I was deserving of nothing better than the drain, but today I am the painter, making sure the good colors are not wasted. My arms tighten around Gemma; despite the heat, I just want her to be closer to me. So many sweet nothings accumulate at the very tip of my tongue, but for the life of me I cannot say them. It is simply too much to get out. Instead, I kiss her, nuzzle her neck, stroke her fingers, and keep her close to make certain I do not lose her again.
In turn, Gemma does the same to me. She kisses my throat, traces the line of hair on my lower abdomen, and runs her hands over the muscles of my arms. Her eyes lock with mine, verdant windows that today show clear skies. I see it all in her eyes, the bubbling feeling of love that cannot be transcribed, the feeling that lights you up and sets you flying and makes you want to cry. She is searching, frustrated, just like I am. The words, everything that cannot be said (but so dearly wants to be!) pooling just beyond her rosy, unpainted lips. I kiss her, slipping my tongue inside. If these feelings cannot be said then at least they can be tasted. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and presses herself to me. And the storm rages on.
"It is so hot," Gemma whispers when we lie panting afterwards. "I cannot breathe." She jumps up towards the window and opens it wide. When she turns back to me, the sky is lit up with lightening and it is as if the goddess Selene has escaped from a Poynter painting, a pale curvy body illuminated from behind. She is absolutely beautiful, seemingly tailored to specific preferences I never knew I had. The wind from the open window blows her wild curls about her shoulders and I can no longer remain on my back, watching her.
We sit together under the open window, where rain is blown so that the cool drops occasionally fall on our skin.
"Thank you," Gemma says suddenly.
"For what?"
"For what you did four years ago. The sacrifice." Her large eyes seem to glow in the stormy light.
I brush my lips across her forehead. "That is the past, Gemma."
"I know, but I never got the chance to thank you for it. Or say goodbye."
"Well it is good that you never said goodbye, as I'm back now.
Gemma's fingertips graze my cheek in a soft caress. "Please tell me…what was the Tree like? Did it hurt you at all?"
"No," I murmur as her fingers touch my lips softly. I kiss them. "I have no recollection of my time there, only the feelings I felt when I emerged. I suppose it was like being an infant in a womb."
"It had your heartbeat," Gemma says sadly. "And the wind through the branches whispered my name. I thought it was you…"
"I am sure it was."
"But you said…"
"I said I had no memories of the Tree. I do have memories of afterwards." My hand travels the length of her side, from the hourglass curve of her hip and waist to her soft breast. She certainly has grown in the past few years; the result is quite pleasing to the eyes, and of course to the touch.
"And?" She kisses under my jaw.
"And all I could think of was being with you."
"Oh, Kartik," she whispers. "That is all I've been thinking about since you died." Her eyes are so beautiful. I could gaze into them for days. I feel as if they hold my entire life within them. She lightly brushes her fingers over my thigh, towards a private place that is not so private anymore.
"I never died, Gemma. It is the past; put it behind you." I close my eyes in concentrated bliss as her hand reaches my most tender spot. My head falls back to rest against the wall beneath the window.
"It isn't that easy, Kartik." She leans into me. "I made that suffering a part of me."
I have nothing to say to that. I think of what my life would be like if I had thought she had died instead, and I cannot summon the words to explain how terrible it'd be. Gemma has changed, and that is not something that can be undone, nor would I want it to be. I picture her years ago, the stubborn, feisty girl, and I look at her now, naked, vulnerable, and honest. She spent years accepting my death, only to find that her suffering was in vain, yet she still accepts me. Dare I assume she loves me?
I cup her chin and bring her face to mine. "Look forward, Gemma," I whisper as softly as possible. Her eyes search mine in desperation. "We can have a future together."
A smile tugs her shapely lips upwards. "I should love that, I think. But…I must find work so that I may live on my own. And you…?"
I grin. "I shall be the greatest illusionist in London," I exclaim.
Gemma laughs. "Oh, will you?" I can tell she thinks it a silly idea.
"Yes, and I shall need a beautiful assistant."
"Good luck finding one then. Though if she lays one finger on you I shall have to kill her."
"I never took you to be the suicidal sort. The only beautiful assistant I'd want is you."
"You can't always get what you want," she says. I give her a pleading look. She sighs. "Kartik, I've enough scandal in my life as it is without parading around in one of those revealing costumes!" My expression does not change. "The audience would not appreciate a magician's assistant with the shoulders of a boy," she states huffily.
I look at the shoulders in question and see nothing even remotely masculine about them, but I know I cannot change her perception of her own body.
"Then label me a degenerate because I greatly admire your ill-defined "boy" shoulders. And I would like to see you parade around in those revealing costumes."
Gemma blushes and rolls her eyes to the sky with a smile playing about her lips. "We shall see."
The streets outside are silent save for the gentle dripping of rain from awnings and branches. The storm has passed and it has indeed brought relief from the suffocating heat. A cool breeze washes over us, evaporating the last traces of our lovemaking from our naked flesh. I pull Gemma into my arms once more, reaching around to disentangle the knots from her sweet-smelling hair. She falls limp in my arms and kisses my shoulder lazily. I can feel her heart beating against my chest and I swear its pattern matches my own.
Aww! I love them. You've gotta give Kartik credit for staying chaste for her. Of course Gemma had V-power too, but not because she was saving it for him...she didn't know he was alive! But yeah, Kartik was verrrrry horny! Le siiiigh!
Has the coolest job ever,
LunaEquus
PLEASE REVIEW! I don't mean to be a stinker, but less people review for each chapter. As I'm human, I require a bit of extrinsic motivation, and that comes in the form of constructive criticism and reviews! Wouldn't want me to get discouraged, would ya? Mwahaha threats! That is what I'm good at.