Thorn of a Rose
The sky outside on this Christmas Day was pure white. Little flurries of snow blew around the frozen landscape beyond the long windows. A cool December breeze blew into the large room. It swept past long burned down candles, the strewn bed sheets and piles of clothes that littered the plush carpet. The room was cold now, yet all night it had been kept pleasantly warm by the intense body heat of the two entwined figures on he bed. The chilling fingers of the breeze crawled over the tousled hair of a man and toyed with the stray strands of hair that covered one of the woman's closed eyes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and nuzzled closer to her companion to shield herself but she was already being pulled from her sweet slumber and slowly her blue eyes opened to the morning.
Clarice shifted her position slightly wincing. She was as stiff as a board. Several livid bites and red nips peppered her skin and her still damp hair was uncomfortably cool on her shoulders. She turned to her companion. His darker hair also hung in damp tendrils from their shower. After they had both given up their virginity to each other they had somehow managed to reach the bathroom while staying very much entwined with each other. Neither wanted to loose the sensual mood that had set deep in both of the new lovers. She picked out the many bites on his own pale skin, one particularly dark one crowned his undamaged nipple. She knew there was a vicious bite on the back of his neck where she had held him up on all fours while her hands explored him until his arms shook.
She smiled lazily as she nuzzled lower into the plush goose feather pillows. She remembered how amazing she had found every inch of his body. The soft cleft behind his knees, the rough skin on the tip of his elbow, the delicate bones of his ankles and the sensual curve of his hips. She also remembered her surprise at how the very centre of his maleness had been so silken smooth and pale, yet could become so hot and hard for her. How his deathly pale body had darkened with passion, deep flushes on the smooth curve of his chest and cheekbones.
She realised that this man was no monster. He was the thorn of a rose. Beautiful and deadly. She was glad to love with the beautiful side of him.
The sky outside on this Christmas Day was pure white. Little flurries of snow blew around the frozen landscape beyond the long windows. A cool December breeze blew into the large room. It swept past long burned down candles, the strewn bed sheets and piles of clothes that littered the plush carpet. The room was cold now, yet all night it had been kept pleasantly warm by the intense body heat of the two entwined figures on he bed. The chilling fingers of the breeze crawled over the tousled hair of a man and toyed with the stray strands of hair that covered one of the woman's closed eyes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and nuzzled closer to her companion to shield herself but she was already being pulled from her sweet slumber and slowly her blue eyes opened to the morning.
Clarice shifted her position slightly wincing. She was as stiff as a board. Several livid bites and red nips peppered her skin and her still damp hair was uncomfortably cool on her shoulders. She turned to her companion. His darker hair also hung in damp tendrils from their shower. After they had both given up their virginity to each other they had somehow managed to reach the bathroom while staying very much entwined with each other. Neither wanted to loose the sensual mood that had set deep in both of the new lovers. She picked out the many bites on his own pale skin, one particularly dark one crowned his undamaged nipple. She knew there was a vicious bite on the back of his neck where she had held him up on all fours while her hands explored him until his arms shook.
She smiled lazily as she nuzzled lower into the plush goose feather pillows. She remembered how amazing she had found every inch of his body. The soft cleft behind his knees, the rough skin on the tip of his elbow, the delicate bones of his ankles and the sensual curve of his hips. She also remembered her surprise at how the very centre of his maleness had been so silken smooth and pale, yet could become so hot and hard for her. How his deathly pale body had darkened with passion, deep flushes on the smooth curve of his chest and cheekbones.
She realised that this man was no monster. He was the thorn of a rose. Beautiful and deadly. She was glad to love with the beautiful side of him.