Hannibal- 28
The characters are not my own. That honor belongs to Thomas Harris.
(O)
Hannibal removed the body and dishes from the dining room. When he brought the sorbet, soufflé, and crisp foie gras into the drawing room, Clarice greeted him with a glass of Chateau d'Yquem and coffee. When she turned her gaze to meet his, her eyes sparked in the firelight. It caused a hot chill to run down his body.
They talked about time and the rule of disorder as their teacups clinked on the wooden table.
"Clarice, I've come to believe that you have a place in my world. But I must tell you, it is one that I've secreted away from others for so long that I fear you will not acclimate."
"Hannibal," She set her cup down and missed his shiver, "have you ever thought that maybe I would say that you've made a place in MY world. You watched me and helped me dice a man's brain like yesterday's deli meat. I did not flinch. If you have room for me in YOUR world, then you should know that I have room for you in MY world."
His red lips curled in a smile as he was very pleased with her resourceful reply. She was unnaturally calm.
She sipped from her glass, hooked her trigger finger on the skinny golden straps of her gown, and let them slip down her shoulders. Her breasts were exposed and lovely. Cream on coral. Suddenly peaky in the open air.
Hannibal watched her trigger finger dip into her mouth, then, painfully slow, the finger circled each nipple. The Chateau d'Yquem droplets hung like dew off of a flower petal.
He felt himself sink before her like a worshipper. To his knees, he bowed as he took the petal into his mouth and kissed as deeply as he knew how.
She moaned, hissed, and arched her body towards him. His sleek, black head bobbed to each breast unable to decide which one he preferred as they were both equally luscious.
(O)
In a flash, Clarice flipped the role and pinned him to the sofa. She grinned wickedly when she felt his erection press against the seam of his breeches. His pupils dilated and pulse quickened. An ache clenched and caused a pulsing wetness in her feminine folds.
She chuckled at her thoughts.
"What do you find so amusing?" Hannibal's voice strained.
"Even when you're not talking out loud, I hear you in my head." She took his hand with the extra digit- the polydactyly- and guided it underneath her gown. The moment his hand discovered that she wore no undergarments was a moment that Clarice would revisit again and again in her memory.
Clothes were torn away from their flesh as if they were possessed instead of overcome by physical love. Hannibal discovered a sensitive piece of flesh below Clarice's naval. Clarice, likewise, found that grinding on his thickness was more liberating than anything she had ever known.
They made love right there in the drawing room's firelight until dawn.
Again when they woke.
And in every room that day.
Their bodies were sore, but nourished regularly and with vigorous attention.
Note to reader: This is just a quick chapter leading into the epilogue. Enjoy!
