DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, nothing at all. I receive no monetary gain from writing, just happy feels. All characters are property of their respective owners.
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She nudges the door shut with her foot as she yanks on my hand, spinning me into her arms, and we collide like comets, tails blazing behind us as we crumble into the atmosphere, into each other. She wastes no time tugging the shirt from my torso, her greedy hands sliding under the fabric, pulling it up and over my head. I mirror her actions, hungry for the meeting of skin, the mingling of sweat and heat, for the vision of her body in front of me - naked and wanting.
We both still at the same time, and I hear the small hitch in her breath, the subtle stutter of her lungs as she scorches dangerous paths with her eyes across my form, traveling from my waist to the curve of my breasts, lingering on the scar stretched across my side, its angry presence a constant reminder. She traces its length with shaky fingertips, gentle touches cataloging my pain as her face floods with guilt and shame - and doubt.
I reach out to study the scar on her shoulder with timid curiosity, and she tries to inch away, but the door behind her stops the movement. The skin is lumpy and fibrous, crimpled from stitches and staples holding her together, and I know she's uncomfortable with my scrutiny of her injuries. I follow imaginary lines across her front, feather-light caresses ending at the scar on her side from the tube in her chest. I remember the fear, the uncertainty, the bravery she summoned, the way she held me as we shook, barren branches in the wind. I lean down to kiss her shoulder, and she tenses, her hold on me growing tighter.
Her hand still rests on my side, softly kneading the marred flesh, and I cover it with my own, urging her away from the past, moving so that the warmth of her touch is on my breast. She bites her lip as goosebumps raise the hair on my arms, as my nipple hardens under her palm, and our eyes find one another again, sharing secrets we're not ready to voice, writing stories we're afraid to speak. I want to tell her about the inferno living inside me, about the glow and the spark, the way it makes my heart combust and luminesce, but I'm overwhelmed in the moment, and the words fizzle out before they pass my teeth.
Like a mind reader, she seems to hear what I can't say and draws me closer, our lips coiling together as her hands waltz across the smooth skin of my chest, rolling my nipples between adept fingers, pinching the hardened peaks with just enough force to make me want more. She drives me backwards until my legs hit the edge of my bed, and her mouth curls into a devilish grin before she pushes me down on its waiting blankets.
She leans over me, her mouth descending on my chest, grazing her teeth along the puckered flesh, and I arch into her, weaving my hands through the softness of her hair. It's pain and pleasure when she bites down, forcing the moans from my throat, and I feel her smirk against my skin as I writhe under her expert touch. She lowers herself slowly down my body, taking her time as she explores the curves of my abdomen, kissing her way to the top of my pants, nipping at the newly exposed skin as she wriggles them down and over my knees.
She kisses me through my underwear, and it's almost more than I can take, the hotness of her breath driving me crazy, the leisurely speed of her actions building bombs inside me, unstable reactors begging to explode.
"Sara…" She hears the insistence, the need dripping from my words, and she doesn't care. Her mouth leaves searing trails of fire up my thighs, alternating between legs, between tongue and teeth, until her fingers hook under the thin fabric covering me and shimmy the garment free. Something like a growl escapes from deep in her lungs, its vibrations rumbling through me, ricocheting off my bones, and when I look down, the lust slithering across her features is overpowering, morphing her chocolate brown orbs into obsidian chasms that devour me.
"God, you're so wet." I shiver at her words, rolling my hips forward, my body aching for her, craving her so desperately, every nerve a live wire waiting for her grounding touch. Her arms wrap around my legs, holding me still as her tongue slips through my folds, swollen and slick with desire, and I cry out when she reaches my clit, her lips closing around the throbbing bundle of nerves, sucking gently as I buck in time with the rhythm of her motions.
The warmth starts in my belly, a rippling of fierce pressure pulsating through my chest and limbs, buzzing in my fingertips and toes, and just as the blood begins thrumming in my ears, hundreds of tribal drums all pounding out the same beat - she stops. The sound that bursts forth from my throat is guttural and strained, animalistic in its timbre and tone, and a faint chuckle wafts past my ears.
"What are you…" I don't get a chance to finish as Sara steals my words with her mouth, swallowing my question whole. I can taste myself in her kiss, on her teeth, on the smoothness of her tongue, and she bites down on my lower lip, tugging gently before breaking away to flip us, positioning me in front of her, straddling her lap, with an arm around my middle to hold me steady, keep me close.
Our eyes lock together as her free hand travels along the skin of my inner thigh, dipping into the space between our bodies. She doesn't look away as she enters me, and I swear I can see nebulae in her gaze, spiraling shapes that fluoresce and flow, forming planets in her irises, rising gases that lure me in and still my breath. With slow, determined strokes, she finds me, reveals me, emblazoning the darkness with brilliant shades of color, saturating my world with dust and stars.
I want her to come with me. I want her to know the outer limits of my passion, to feel the endless spectrum of rapture in my veins. I wrench open her pants, the button snapping free and landing with a dull thud on the carpeted floor. My fingers brush past denim and soft cotton, gliding through her wetness, and I thrust into her with urgent need. She feels like silk, like velvet, like everything I've been missing, and I don't want to feel anything else. I don't want to know anything else. In this moment, in her arms, both of us ascending into the stratosphere, the shadows of distant moons cradling us as we soar, I am complete.
She clenches around me as her body leans forward, her head nestled in the crook of my neck, and my name erupts from between her blushing lips, a frenzied mantra that trickles down my stomach, edging me into the beyond with her. It's pure delirium, crests of euphoria breaking against my spine as we heave and swell in perfect unison, our bodies two vessels navigating the capaciousness of ecstasy together.
We tumble backwards onto the bed, shaky muscles giving way, our breathing uneven and patchy, and reluctantly, gingerly, we untangle our quaking limbs. When I open my eyes, she's staring at me with a softness that I've never seen in her gaze, a misty glow that seems to stretch out and fold around me, bathing me in radiance. She skims my cheek with her fingertips, shifting so she's close enough that tips of our noses meet in a tickling graze.
"You're so beautiful." The earnestness of her statement, the sincerity in her face, it hits me in my chest, and I feel her words as they sprinkle down, sinking into my skin, leaving marks like a tattoo. I feel like we're untouchable, as if we exist outside the realm of what is tangible, hovering above the world, our souls intertwined like ancient roots. I try to fight the surge of emotion, but it consumes me, overtakes me, and a tear slips free, a lone bead of salty moisture landing silently on the bed.
She takes me into her arms, cradling me with gentle strength, and eases the blankets over our naked forms. Her hands wind through my hair, her lips placing kisses along my forehead, and we fall asleep with nothing between us but skin.
I wake to the mystical glow of the moon creeping along the sheets, smiling into my pillow before rolling over to find Sara, but the space next to me is empty. I wait for a few minutes, hoping she went to the bathroom or that she needed a drink, but she doesn't return. I hear no water running, no stairs creaking from the weight of someone walking, nothing at all. I throw on a t shirt and some sweatpants, willing myself to stay calm. I can still smell her on my skin, still taste her on my teeth, still feel her between my legs. This can't be what it looks like.
I move slowly through the house, in hopes of delaying the crushing feeling in my ribs, like my torso is caving in on itself, the bones ready to snap like dry twigs. Maybe she woke up and went downstairs to watch TV, not wanting to disturb me. Maybe she was hungry and got lost in cooking or baking some late night delicacy. My mind races with outcomes, with potential possibilities, with hundreds of alternatives to the scenario that's laid out before me.
"Sar?" It's a quiet question, an inquisition that expects no response, but I still feel the need to ask the empty air. Maybe it saw her sneak out, gather her things and leave again, the thief of my heart. At the bottom of the stairs, I still, looking for anything out of place, anything disturbed that might give me a clue as to where she went, or if she's coming back. "Sara?" It's human nature, I suppose, to call out when something is unknown, to seek answers from whatever is listening, to not want to accept the truth.
The living room is empty. The kitchen is the same as it was hours ago, my unopened water bottle still sitting on the counter, waiting to be drunk. There is no note, no hint of life, no sign of Sara at all. Did she really do this? Did she make for the hills, scuttling through the darkness with my love in tow? How could she do this to us, to me? Why?
I want to shout, to rage. I want to sweep everything from the counter with a blow of my arm and watch it all crash to the floor, watch the glasses splinter and shatter when they hit the linoleum, watch the flour puff up into dusty clouds as its porcelain container ruptures, spewing its contents along the walls and surfaces. I want to crumble where I stand, collapse to the ground and forget I ever saw the exquisiteness of her face, forget I ever knew the tenderness of her touch.
I turn on my heel, stomping towards the front door. I'll find her. I'll show up at her house. I'll force her to face this, to face me. I'm bent over, tying my shoes, when I smell it. I jolt upright, every hair on my body standing at attention, and it feels like snakes are creeping across my neck and down my arms, squeezing tight around my ribs. I know that scent, could pick it out in a sea of a hundred different aromas. My stomach does a flip, landing with an unforgiving thud at the bottom of my gut, and I'm just about to bolt for my bedroom when a forceful pressure rams into my back.
"Where is she?" Her voice is gravelly and hoarse, as if she's been screaming for days, and mixed in with the waning smell of her perfume is a musty odor, a foul, rotten stench that stings my nostrils and burns the back of my throat.
"Your guess is as good as mine." The pressure on my back turns to a jabbing pain as she shoves the muzzle of the gun harder against my spine, and I can almost hear the metal grinding against bone.
"Don't mess with me, you fucking bitch! Tell me!" She's crazy. Whatever sanity she had left is gone, dissipated into the fog. The woman behind me is an unstable mess, a desperate animal, a beast without care, and she wants what she came for.
"I don't know where she is, Liz."