Adagio

Chapter 11

Rated NC-17 for sexual situations

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

Evey

Evey listened to him. The low notes of pain lay heavy on her ears, the frozen grin now obscene. She longed to push the mask up and over his head. Instead she stroked his arms, petted him, and smoothed the silk over the tops of his thighs. She was silent. The time for words was over. What more can I say? Nothing. She listened to him breathe, waited to hear him calm himself, to hear him sigh. This is not the time to talk, but the time to touch. Long minutes of silence ensued as her hands spoke to him of her love, her fingertips were a poem on his body, peeling back the robe over his chest. They were a sonnet on his skin as she tucked her hands under the robe and smoothed her fingers over his scars, feeling but not seeing. She brought her hands up to the chin, no longer cold but hot now with his breath. He had told her never to touch it again. She let her fingers brush lightly over the hard surface on their way to the top of his head, not touching, not really, just hinting at a caress. She combed her fingers through his hair, touched his ears with her thumbs, felt the straps. He had not forbidden the straps.

"I want to kiss you now," She said very softly to him when she was certain he was calm. She remembered how this very setting had started it all just two days ago. But this time she would not pull off the mask. He would decide. Tonight it will be different. No more pain. Only love. And he will decide.

He brought the gloves up and placed them on her hands, gently peeling her fingers from his hair. He said, "Not yet. I want to look at you." His voice was raw. "I don't want to reach into darkness. Not yet."

"Then you will not," she said. She allowed him to take her hands from the mask, but when he released her she put them on his chest, then slid them down to his waist. Her fingers found his sash and pulled on the ends, deftly releasing the long silk ribbon from the robe. She watched the mask disappear from her sight as she wrapped the soft sash around her eyes and tied it securely behind her head. "I will go into the dark for you," she murmured, feeling for him now, blind. She felt his arms, moved her hands up to his shoulders; her fingers felt their way up his neck and to the mask. Again, she looped a finger through the elastic over his ear and waited.

After a long pause, she heard him. "That morning, I woke up and found myself tethered by this very sash."

She smiled. "I wanted to make sure that I awoke should you try to leave. I wanted to be there when you woke up, V. I thought you might flee. I wanted to be there."

He touched her mask, black and soft where his was white and hard. "It was not a difficult binding to evade." He ran two gloved fingers along the silk band all the way to the long ends that touched his knees. "Yet you slept."

"The wine…"

"Yes. The wine. We have had no wine tonight."

"No. No wine," she answered. When he did not respond she moved closer. " Let me love you, V. Permit me."

She listened to him breathing, long and slow. She felt him turn his head side to side, testing her grip on the straps. His decision. She waited. Then she felt him turn, the gloves grazed her hands briefly, she felt the wig move, the long strands of hair brushed her wrist and arms, then his mouth was upon hers as he bent her backwards. She felt herself lifted then set carefully against the cushions. He completely covered her, his body hard, strong, and heavy pressing her deep into the leather sofa.

V

"Eve," he breathed, reluctantly taking his lips from hers. "You are beautiful." He pulled back far enough to bring as much of her into his field of vision as possible. With the mask gone, his world brightened. He blinked in the light. She lay quietly on her back, propped up on the cushions, waiting. A soft smile curved her lips, still glistening from the kiss, her short curls lay askew, caught in the ebony silk of his sash. He tugged at each finger of his gloves one by one, then pulled them off letting them drop limply to the carpet. When his fingers were free, he used them to unbutton her blouse, top to bottom, delighting in the little squirm of her body when she realized what he was doing.

"I just wanted a kiss," she murmured, her smile widening.

"And you shall have another." He lifted her arm, tugged at the blouse to get it off. She sat up a little to help him. He dropped the blouse to the floor on top of his gloves.

"Ah," he sighed, disappointed. "Why did you wear this…thing?" He ran his finger along the underwire to show her what he meant, since she could not see him. He made disgusted noises as he tugged on a strap.

She laughed softly. "I didn't think you would want to…well…I was trying not to be…I was trying to be," she paused, shook her head side to side, "un-sexy."

"Impossible." He wished he were wearing his knives, for he would have made short work of this monstrosity of elastic and metal clasps. He refused to even consider unfastening it; dealing with the misery and humiliation of fumbling with hooks and eyes. One glance at the floor solved his problem. He was off and back so swiftly Evey did not have a chance to ask him where he had gone. A moment later a flash of steel and the offensive garment snapped as the elastic was severed. It flopped to both sides of her body. He set the knife down on the table. "I see my blades are all over the floor. All six?"

"Oh. I forgot to pick them up. I am so sorry."

"Think nothing of it. This one has come in handy." He tugged gently at the remains of her bra and pushed it over the side of the sofa to join the growing pile of clothing. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"No. I am rather warm, actually."

"Parts of you say otherwise." He touched each delicate pink nipple with the tip of his finger, watching them stiffen even more, saw her shiver and watched the bloom of goosebumps that spread across the pale skin of her arms. "I can see you." he said, "and it is a wondrous sight." He bent over her and took a tiny nipple in his mouth, kissing it. He rubbed his cheek against that soft mound of her breast as he stroked the other with his bare hand. "I have been thinking of doing this…" he murmured, his mouth full.

"Have you?" Evey whispered. He brought his face close to hers, kissed her mouth again, and felt her kiss him back. Again he pulled away, getting as much pleasure from looking at her as from touching her. Her hand floated up, feeling for him. "Don't go," she said.

"I won't," he promised, taking it and bringing it to his lips. "I am merely looking at you."

She sighed, smiling. Then turned her ear up, listening for him. He bent down again and kissed her ear, then her cheek. He put both hands on her arms and smoothed them down from her shoulders to her wrists, feeling the soft skin, squeezing her wrists and thumbs as he reached the ends of her arms. He had a fleeting vision, that Eve was a bounteous buffet, set down before him. A ravenous man. That is how I feel. First I must consume her with my eyes, then I shall feast.

He picked up the knife again, touched a finger to the mound of her belly, and drew his finger down low to the waist of her blue jeans. She shivered a little. "Don't move," he warned. The knife twirled, ribbons of denim blossomed beneath his hand. She startled a little, but the blade did not touch her flesh. After several passes of the steel what had been a nice pair of jeans was a pile of rags on the carpet. Her white panties lay exposed before him, thinly covering her mound of Venus with a tiny triangle of lace. He let the panties be for now; afraid that to knife the fragile fabric would push him beyond his ability to control himself. He was not yet finished with the first course.

She exhaled. "Can I move now?"

"Are you frightened?"

"A little…"

"Don't be. I know what I'm doing."

"Ohhhh…." She drew the word out long and low, "I don't think so."

He kissed her again to prove her wrong. She put her arms up and took his shoulders, bringing him down harder on her mouth. He responded with a soft moan. I can get lost here, he warned himself.

Her hands circled around the back of his neck under the wig, keeping him against her mouth. He obliged her silent request by taking her lower lip, gently pulling on it, using his tongue to capture its supple fullness and his teeth to delicately imprison it. He was rewarded with a sigh and a squeeze from her arms. He turned his attention to her upper lip, made that part of her his own as well. He began to hum under his breath, conscious of the sound, indifferent to it, knowing she would hear and interpret his growing arousal. He was aware she could feel as well as hear his desire. Nothing I can do about that. Well, yes, there is. He brought his mouth up, panting, releasing her. I need air. I wish to feast, not devour her.

Her hand reached for him again. He took it and kissed each finger, finally pressing the palm to his lips, closing his eyes. Calming himself. Slowly. Slowly. He breathed in deeply. Allowed the air to escape, felt himself relax.

"V?" she sounded concerned. Her other hand touched the blindfold.

"No." he pushed her hand away from the silk ribbon. "No. I am fine."

"You sound like you are in pain," she said. "We can stop."

"No," he repeated. "I am suffering, but not from pain. I want to hold you too tightly. Consume you." He kissed her hand again, took her finger in his mouth and felt the delicate bones with his tongue and lips. He put two in is mouth and sucked on them tenderly, exploring the joints, the nails, moving them about. He nibbled, and then removed them, drawing his teeth along her palm and to her wrist. Then her arm. When he reached the inside of her elbow he buried his face in that warm valley. She shivered. "Are you cold?" he asked again.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you," she answered. "You are very warm."

Hearing her speak reminded him of her lips. He shifted position again to reach her mouth and took it again in his own, silencing her. He kissed her as long as he could before needing to come up for air. He said, "This sofa is too small."

He delighted in the little laugh she gave him. "This sofa is a dangerous place. We never actually just sit here anymore," she said.

He sat back, looking at her again. She was still smiling at him, her lips swollen from his rough kisses. I must be more careful. She lay relaxed against the black cushions, her skin pale in the lights. The rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed beckoned him. He could not resist now that they were freed from their bindings. He leaned forward and kissed them both again, cupping them in his hands. "We don't," he agreed. "And it is too small for what I intend."

"What do you intend, milord?" she teased.

In lieu of an answer he straightened and picked up his knife. He touched her left nipple with the tip of his finger, then drew it slowly down the mound of her breast, across the swell of her belly and down to the waistband of her panties. He slid his finger under the lacy elastic and whispered, "I intend to hear you scream again. Be still." At this command Evey held her breath. The edge of the knife joined his finger. He traced a gentle path with the tip on her skin for mere inches before flipping the blade with one swift motion. The waistband evaporated in a puff of lace. The remnants of her panties floated like confetti to the cushions. He dropped the knife carefully to rest in the pile of ruined clothing.

"Ohhh,' Evey breathed.

He put his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her easily into his lap. Then he stood and carried her to his bedroom, ignoring the pain in his ankle. She did not protest, so he did not speak. The hors d'oeuvres are over. The feasting shall commence.

He kicked off his slippers before laying her down and arranging her artfully on the bed. The robe he kept on, though it flapped loosely against him now that it was missing its sash. Twice he repositioned her to the best advantage in the light, moving the lamps, adjusting the shades. She lay there, amused. He could tell by the sly smile on her face. She put her knees together, shyly, and made a quiet noise in her throat. He arranged the lighting so it would cast dark dramatic shadows of her body on the white sheets. The patterns pleased him. He lost himself in the art for a moment, reveling in his possession of this woman. My woman. Then the edges of his mind shot him a warning: We have no future. There is no tomorrow. He paused, recognizing the dangerous thoughts, feeling that treacherous edge of his mind. His heart beat a little faster as he fought against the familiar sensation. It will not take me again tonight. He willed himself calm. He remembered what Evey had told him: Don't let thoughts of tomorrow ruin the now. We are only in the now, and tomorrow never comes. He pushed the dangerous thoughts aside, pleased at how easy it was to retreat from the abyss by using her words as a shield. He turned to the woman in his bed. She lay there, blind, helpless, waiting for him. Saving him. I love her. No more waiting.

He moved the pillows, pushed the blankets into ridges until the tableau made a composition worthy of her body as the centerpiece. When he was satisfied with his canvas he climbed in beside her on hands and knees, moved her legs. Lifted a little foot and gnawed on her heel, then her ankle. She giggled.

He took his mouth from her leg just long enough to say, "You are delicious." Meaning it in every sense of the word.

"Then by all means, taste all you want, but want what you taste," she laughed as he bit her playfully on her calf.

"I want it. Oh yes." He bit her again, then rubbed the skin over the bite to smooth away the mark. He was progressing steadily up from between her legs, and as he neared her thighs she grew quiet and still, no longer making the soft giggling sounds he had been using to navigate. "Eve?"

"Ahh," she sighed. "I'm just waiting."

"For what?" he whispered, then put his head down to taste the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

"For the main course."

He smiled, then he moved up her body so he could kiss her mouth again, cradling her head in his arms, covering her with his body and the voluminous folds of his robe. He put his mouth to her ear, "I must pace myself to finish everything and leave nothing on my plate…or yours." He responded to her easy laugh by touching her face with another kiss before moving back down and returning his attention to her thighs.

Memories of his pain vanished. He breathed in her scent, absorbed her warmth, her flawless skin. She had tensed; the muscles beneath his hands were hard. Main course, indeed. He pushed himself forward for the first taste, holding her hips down with his hands, using his tongue to search for that delectable tidbit. He knew when he found it. She arched her back, bringing her body up to meet his mouth. Her knees came up as well. Yes. Time to feast. He allowed himself to taste every part, exploring with a careful finger the areas he had missed the first time, feeling her wet and ready for him. This sensation sent a surge through his body; hardening even more what had been merely firm. Careful, he warned himself, not yet. He used his tongue to dart across her velvet mound, ready with his hands to restrain her as she cried out and twisted in the sheets. You will hold still, he thought. You will not escape this.

He continued to touch her intimately until he perceived the rhythm she initiated with her hips. This is music we can both dance to. He stayed with her, his ears picking up every nuance of sound coming from her lips. Her moans, her sighs, and the little gasps meant he had connected once again with the elusive tiny button within the folds. He obliged her rhythm, knowing the regular pulses were the key to her song. As she moved harder and harder against him, and she became louder and louder he found it more difficult to control his own growing need. He paused several times to lift his hips on hands and knees from the sheets, panting, waiting for the threatened crescendo to drift down. Not yet. He reminded himself. I am creating a piece of art. Performance art. Each stroke of the brush, each wave of the baton must be perfect. The finale is everything. Those pauses in the rhythm merely maddened Eve. When he had to stop to mind his own progression she sobbed out in frustration, digging at the sheets with her fingers, twisting the fabric, changing his patterns and creating her own. He worked his mind and his body in concert, focusing on bringing them both to a crescendo at the same time. Patience, Eve. This will be worth the wait.

But too soon the timing was right. He knew it the first time he lifted himself from the bed and there was no corresponding lull to bring him back from the edge. He knew it when the gasps and panting breaths he heard from the pillows did not diminish when he lifted his lips from her body. The abyss reached for him and his mind went dangerously blank. Her musk permeated him, controlled him. The animal energies at the base of his spine seized him and he surrendered to it.

He drew in a breath and leaped, his hands on her arms, pinning her down. He arched over her, biting her shoulder, then raised himself up to connect with her. He entered her, sliding in slowly. Feeling every inch of her as she clutched at his back, her voice in his ears, calling him, calling him as if from far way. Slowly, he told himself. He set his teeth. Slowly. He forced his body to obey him as every muscle fiber screamed at him to thrust deep and hard. Slowly he withdrew and pressed in again, like the opening bars of a Mozart concerto. He was in agony, arched his back with the effort. I must hear her. She must be with me this night. Not after. Not before. Tonight we have come together. We have already merged. Mentally, emotionally, and now… physically. Tonight may be all we ever have. I will make it perfect. I will it to be so.

She moaned beneath him, thrusting her hips at him, moving faster, reaching for him, her hands blindly grasping. He felt himself harden even more, for her hands on his flesh were unbearably stimulating. He felt that electric warning that soon no amount of willpower would control. He gasped with the effort and nearly sobbed with relief when he heard the first notes of her climax. She cried out, her fingers dug into his sides and her body went rigid. She convulsed beneath him. At that moment his control evaporated. Her last upward thrust took him so deep within her he was unable to stop. He released himself from the fetters of his mind. His muscles responded, propelling him into her again and again, pounding until he exploded with savage liberation. His own voice joined hers; his bass notes the undertone to her treble cries. He held still, feeling himself pulsing within her. Timeless. She was still, too. Motionless. They hung there together. Floating. Untethered.