Tonight, was different. Elliot always had the house lit like a Gods' damned Christmas tree after the sun sunk below the horizon but all I saw as I walked up the driveway alone, dragging my old farm tools in the mud was the moon reflecting against black window panes. I was perplexed as I opened the door and stepped into darkness.
A cold embrace. A loneliness I have not experienced in a quite a while. I always thought – a fraction of a thought – if Elliot had just disappeared for a while, I'd be okay. I always had been. It had been forever me, myself, and I in this old farmhouse cabin built by my grandfather's own two hands. I was a wild one. Green thumb. Could tame a wild horse. Preferred to use a hand tooled plow. Have no problem ripping the guts out of fresh lake-trout. You get the picture. I am a tomboy, a farmer. Independent.
So why was it when I walked into my empty house that only a year ago would be normal news, that it felt so…. alone?
Maybe the guilt caused this insecurity. I look around and see the remnants of the fight. Scattered notebooks and ripped pages of his newest writing project – a poetry anthology. I don't even remember what started the argued. I remember Elliot complaining about life on the farm being different than what he thought it would be. I remember yelling and crying and asking what else he thought it would be? A picture-perfect-farm-simulator like Harvest Moon?
Pah. Life ain't as smoothly easy as a videogame.
I called into the blackness for my husband, stepping over his thrown notebooks, abandoned in the throws of his fury. There was no response, only the old, familiar, creaks of the old wood sighing from a long day. I grabbed a small candle, lit it, and walked between each of the rooms, calling for Elliot.
With no success, I slumped into a chair at the dining room table and began to think and pout. Where would he have gone? Perhaps he went or a walk? He always loved the mountain path, but that was dangerous past sunset. I shook my head; no, he wouldn't be stupid enough to go there, no matter how frustrated he was… with me. With us. Maybe he went into town, possibly to go enjoy himself? Went down to the docks to see Willy? Over to the old guild for drinks and Poker?
I pondered all the places I thought my Elliot would go but realized all of them feel wrong. The rain began to pick up and spattered against the old wooden walls. I shake as I feel my damp clothes begin to soak into my skin, chilling me to the bone. My thoughts are as desperate and cold as the rain was, trying to find a place to leak through the rotten holes of my mind and home. Nightmarish visions crept into my mind.
I let my thoughts drip into the well of despair. What if he was missing for longer than an evening? What if he was forced to leave against his own free will? Even worse: what if he left because he wanted to?
Time crept. The candle's flame began to dim. My mood sank further. I look around the small room that I sat in and look through the doorframe into the small space Elliot made his study. I glare at the stacks of manuscripts and opened notebooks. What if he never came back? All because I told him I didn't fully understand what he called, pure poetry.
I began to do what I always did when I felt hopeless: I paced. From the front of the house, to the rear, and back again. Prattling along, picking up small abandoned pieces of dirt and mess that were on the floor, refolding towels in the bathroom, organizing pencils according to size, stacking books on top of the other to make towers, washing empty glasses…..I did small tasks to occupy my hands and my thoughts, hoping to take up too much time on chores that eventually Elliot will walk back though the front door. It was when the house was spotless, and I got bored of pacing, that I went into the bedroom and crashed onto the bed. However, I stopped myself from passing out when I hear the crunch of paper behind my head. I sat up and grab the object and discover what it is. I instantly recognized the ornate and delicate hand-writing. A note. My Elliot left me a note: "Meet me where it all began."
My coat was hallway on as I ran out the door. It was soaking rain, crashing down like gunfire. I didn't care. I only knew I wanted to get to him to make things right. To tell him I spent all day thinking about him. That I might not know what pure poetry was, but I could support him and learn to try and appreciate it. He needed to know his job was valued; I valued the things he loved. That no matter how much I want it, I must accept he will never be a farmer. He was an artist, a writer. I needed to be a wife that would nurture and respect that. I needed him to know that.
I ran to the beach, the place where everything began. I was covered head-to-toe in muck by the time I opened the unlocked door. Busting into the entrance I began to shout, "Elliot!" but my voice faded as the scent of lavender and sandalwood wafted through the warmly lit room. Candles were burning at all levels of intensity. Petals of white and blue roses had been flung throughout the old stomping grounds of Elliot's bachelor pad. I moved my eyes around the small studio room, studying the small one-man's kitchen in the left corner, moving to the beautifully and elegantly carved piano in the center, to the bed along the far north corner under the large bay window. Nothing had changed; it was like Elliot had never left. It even still had that same smell it always did when Elliot habited here. A smell of his cologne, mulled wine, and ocean.
Moonlight poured through the interior's only window that faced the ocean's waves above the small double-bed. It shone with a low blue luminescence that illuminated my husband's incredibly beautiful, and naked, body. Elliot sat cross-legged on the freshly-made bed. A book in on hand, a pen in the other. I couldn't help but smile.
He looked up. "I was writing poetry. Thinking of life," he started with his half-smile that made me melt. The pen clicked in his hand and he tossed it lightly behind his ear.
I arched an eyebrow as I tried to gently pry off the cold damp gloves off my fingers. With a light smack I waved my free hand around the room.
"Poetry about this place and the days before married life?" I asked.
Elliot's smile grew as his eyes sparkled with mischief. They were normally a dark sea blue but, in the moonlight, they practically glowed like the sunlit Caribbean Sea. "Poetry about us, my love. The past. The present. Our future. It all blends in through the fabric of time. Please, come sit closer. Let me serenade you with my words."
It was only one step that made me realize the mud that was still drooping onto the clean oak floors.
I shook my head. Elliot cocked his.
"I think I need to clean up before I get remotely close to your precious silken sheets," I teased, knowing all too well that although Elliot lived simply in his bachelorhood days in this old seaside cabin, the one thing he did splurge on were very nice sheets. "It' be such a shame to ruin such wonderful fabrics," I added.
I began to slowly strip out of my wet farm attire. It was not anything to behold as I unbuttoned my jacket and overall clips, but though the clothing fell, Elliot's gaze didn't. His eyes stared on me, never leaving their locked expression of awe, and wanting. I stopped when I got down to my simple silk pink camisole and leggings. I slowly began to run my hands of the sides of my body, taunting and tickling my skin. Elliot swallowed.
Leaving the heap of muddy mess behind me, my smile grew as I walked closer to the bed. I turned around, just out of his arm's reach and bent down low, sliding down my leggings in slow-motion. Once the fabric reached my ankles I twisted around and twerked my body up in one quick motion, my hair flipping out and covering my face. I turned my head to look at my husband. He sat frozen; the book was forgotten beside him. His hands dug into the sheets. I imagined them digging into my flesh and bit my lip in anticipation. Elliot swallowed again and his hands clenched harder. I stepped farther away from him, my feet sliding towards the bathroom.
"It's been a long day," I began, not realizing what was coming out of my mouth as the words poured out of me, "I need to clean myself up."
Slowly, without losing eye contact, I began to slide the door close only leaving just a sliver of it open to give a small, slight glimpse into what I was going to do. "Don't go anywhere," I whispered, "I'll be right back."
I heard a small escaped moan and I turned my full attention to the water tap in the shower and blasted it to full heat. There was a part of me that wanted to extend the invitation. To have him come to me, press his hard, eager body, against mine in the steam of the hot water where the heat of our passion, love making, and water temperature would become intertwined. Yet, I wanted him to wait. I enjoyed this small mix of dominance and power. I wanted him to lose control from anticipation. And deep down, I knew he wanted that too.
I took my time. I scrubbed everything, making my skin a blank smooth canvas ready for what would happen. When I stepped out of the shower, and dried off, I wrapped myself in a soft linen towel and opened the door. I was welcomed to the scent of his fragrance and the soft glow of candles and moonlight.
My husband was in the same position on the bed. He was deeply scratching his pen into the notebook on his lap. His beautiful hair, the color of autumn, fell past his shoulders. It took everything in me not to drop the towel and push myself into him.
He looked up and stared longingly, then smiled. "Good shower?" he asked.
"The best," I answered as I walked towards him. I slowly experimented with adjusting my towel into different positions, up in some places, down in others and watched the way his eyes lingered, his lips parted, his voice grumbled. My gut tingled. Heat exploded through my body. His eyes missed nothing, following my hands as I moved them along my thighs, my sides, and into my hair.
When he placed the book down beside him and began nibbling on his pen, I knew I had him. I walked closer, a meter apart from my target. Reaching down, I grabbed the pen and stuck the end of it in my mouth, sucking on it like a lollipop.
He shivered as I continued displaying what I silently demonstrated what I was capable of. I finished my performances and felt warm hands hugging my hips. The heat from them burned through the fabric. Elliot moved closer to the edge of the bed where I stood and pushed me back, standing up, bringing me into his embrace, into his arms. As he pulled my body closer to his I tried to ignore the tingling sensation between my legs and bit down on the pen, hard. A moan escaped my lips as his hands moved over the fabric.
"You're such a naughty distraction," he whispered into my ear as his right hand pushed back my hair. His fingertips felt electric, memorizing, and paralyzing with just the whisper of a touch. I moaned and shivered. He chuckled at my reaction. His fingers slid from my ears to the back of my neck and teased the base of my spine, pressing lightly.
I froze and the pen dropped to the floor. His lips eased towards me. I felt his warm breath, a phantom's kiss from linger at the lower lobe of my ear.
"How dare, you interrupt me," his voice purred.
His head moved up and down, his nose trailed lightly down my neck. My lips went dry. I sucked in a breath as his teeth light grazed the most sensitive spot behind my ear.
"You are so captivating, my darling," he whispered as he pulled my face to his and kissed me.
I remembered moaning into his lips on contact. I remembered breathing harder, feeling the silken texture of hair, the pleasure of running my fingers though it so easily. Our lips waltzed instinctively, perfectly. I remembered I opened my mouth to allow his tongue to dance faster with mind. I remembered my body suddenly feeling cooler as the towel disappeared in a flash. The soft chill quickly replaced by a radiator of heat as I jumped into his catching arms. My legs wrapped around his waist. His strong arms held me high, against his chest. I remembered him smelling like sweet grass, vanilla, and ink.
Elliot moved us forward and I felt my back push against a hard wall for support. His lips crashed into mine again and I opened my mouth wide to let his tongue have full access.
"I am going to devour you," Elliot breathed in between our gasps for air. His hands sunk into my ass, just like I watched them dive into the blankets, moments ago. He squeezed me. He pulled me closer to him, pushing me higher. His fingers explored and crawled to where I needed them to be but stopped inches away from the entrance of me. I whimpered in resignation and he softly laughed as he keeps his index finger so close, unmoving. I clamped my legs tighter, a silent plea for him to move, to do something.
"Passionately…." Elliot continued as his finger lingers in that one spot, mere inches from what I wanted.
"Please," I begged in a panted breath as my eyes roll to the back of my head. The pulsating intensified with his finger tapping in a steady beat. Over and over, in that same, damn spot. He tapped and breathed heavily against me.
"What is that, my love," Elliot taunted as he grabbed my attention back to his lips. His fingers inched closer and gently cover my entrance but paused again.
"Please…. Elliot," I begged again between kisses. Hells bells, he was not making this easy.
Elliot smiled and tapped his forehead against mine. His breathing became more ragged. His eyes were wide with a wild desire. There is little color that remained in them. His pupils large, his eyes dark from anticipation and lust.
"What do you want?" he asked me.
I sigh into his neck. Like he needs me to tell him. The warm wet dribble that had begun to pour down my thighs and onto his should tell him enough. I breathed faster, rubbing myself against him, desperately telling him the need I have. He chuckled and pulled me away from him slightly.
"What do you want, my love?" he asked again as his lips graze my ear again, "tell me what you want."
"Fuck, Elliot…." I sighed.
Elliot's chest heaved. He ripped me off the wall and with what felt like inhuman strength, ran back to the bed and threw me onto the mattress.
I giggled as I bounce against the soft bedding. I watched Elliot as glided towards me. He was splendid in the cool moonlight, with the faint glow of candlelight reflecting shadows against the tautness of his naked body. My eyes soaked him in, landing on his fully erect member, ready for action. His hand moved towards it and he held it gently as he walked to me silently. A promise to me that I would soon get what I wanted. What I needed.
I lifted myself on my elbows and spread my legs wide. My smile was feral as I watched him kneel on the bed and positioned himself over me.
Elliot looked down at me with a wicked, amused grin. His hair fell over his face.
"Tell me what you want, my love," Elliot purred.
I fell back to the bed, wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me.
"You," I whispered.
Elliot cocked his eyebrow. Damn I loved it when he did that. "What about me?" he teased.
"I want you. All of you," I whispered. "I want you mouth on me…." I pull him into a long, deep kiss and then pulled apart for air. "I want your body on top of mine…" I ran my hands down his neck and scaped my nails into his shoulder blades, pushing him against me. "I want your hands to touch every inch of me…." I grabbed his hands and placed them to cup my breasts. I moaned deeply as he squeezed them hard. I moved my fingers over his fingers and directed his hand over my erect nipples. "I want you to suck and bite me, hard. Right here. Right now." His mouth was instantly there. I moaned louder and my hands fall from away and clench the blankets.
Elliot's mouth continued to devour me, his attention divided between left and right, moving and sucking in repeated rotations. Eventually he removed his face from me and looked up to catch his breath. I returned to my task at hand, moving my hands down my sides, past my navel.
I swallowed. "I want you to lick your tongue down where me hands are…"
Though my voice cracked at the suggestion, Elliot needed no further instruction. I feel a hot, wet, sensation run down the space between my breasts, leaving a chilled, electric sensation in its wake. Hot to cool tantalized me. I closed my eyes in anticipation. I began to throb and feel the pulsating awaken between my legs again. As if Elliot sensed my desire, his tongue turned to kisses. He started at my bellybutton but moved in an unpredictable pattern. Right, left, up, down. He went everywhere except where I wanted. He went up one side of me, trailed along my collarbone, then went down the other side. His hands followed his lips. I began to pant harder. My body was too tight. Too hot. Too needy.
Eventually, I caught his wrist as his fingers trailed the back of my hand. I growled at him.
"Now," I gritted through my teeth.
His bright eyes sparkled as he shook his hand loose and moved it down to the thick erection between us and moved it in the correct position. I stared at that hand, at that beautiful hard shaft twitching in anticipation. Lord Almighty, I fucking loved that piece of human anatomy.
Elliot lowered himself closer. His body hovered over mine as he slowly placed himself against me like a puzzle piece settling in. His eyes move up the landscape of my body; my eyes move down the landscape of his.
"Tell me what you are thinking, my love," he whispered as he rubbed against the swollen lips of my sex.
"Do you truly love me?" I asked, fearful of the question. Scared that this might have ruined the moment.
Elliot's body froze. His hand moved to cup my cheek and he softly stroked it with this thumb.
"Why would I think any less of you?" he pondered as a piece of his long beautiful hair fell over his creased, worried brow.
I moved my hand over that loose strand, twirling my fingers around it.
"Our fight this morning-" I began, my lips quivered.
"-Was nothing more than a lover's spat, my love," he soothed. "I know you work hard. I know you care for me. It is just sometimes I get into my own selfish world when I stay indoors too long. I think I…"
I shook my head as my fingers move from his hair to his wonderful lips. The lips that spoke such beautiful, wonderful words and made such wonderful, beautiful sounds. The lips that caressed me and promised me I am everything. There was nothing more I want that this moment. There is nothing more I want to talk about right now. I press my finger against them harder and shook my head again. "We both can be selfish but let's not talk about this now. We are here. We are strong. I love you, that's all that matters. I needed to hear you say it. That's all I needed," I say.
His lips tremble against me. "I love you, forever and always."
Slowly, delicately, my finger pushed past the barrier of soft flesh and into the warm wetness of his mouth. With deliberation, I moved my finger over his tongue, swirling it around the smooth muscle. Elliot moaned softly and closes his eyes. I moved my other free hand to cup his chin. My legs moved up and I grinded against him, once more.
"I love the way your tongue feels on my fingers, Elliot," I muse.
"Want to know what else I can do with my tongue, dearest?" he teased.
I smiled against his lips as I pull him closer. "Later," I whispered and kissed him.
Our tongues plunge. His body collapses. With one powerful, eager thrust, I felt him enter me wholly and completely. I moaned in ecstasy. Yes. So much yes. I needed this. Lord Almighty, I needed this. I released a throaty groan to display my pleasure.
Elliot paused, only slightly to allow me to feel and adjust to his girth. It had been too long since we had been intimate together. I nod when ready and in a slow, tantalizing circular motion he pulled out. I hissed in release and scream as he plunges in deep, almost immediately.
Elliot has always been a wonderful lover but tonight it was different. His movements, his touch, his scent, his sounds were as magical as pure poetry.
