05. A PARTING KISS

SULPICIA CALI
A strangled whimper passes my lips, and I am suddenly frantic in my need. I have waited so long for this!

I turn to Didyme and capture her face between my hands. I want to do this slowly, but we have skirted around one another for centuries, and I cannot hold myself back. Neither can she, apparently, for we meet together with an audible crash, our lips pressing firmly and impatiently.

I slip my tongue into her mouth as her fingers pull my hair from its clasp. She tastes sweeter than blood to me, and I am frenzied as I lick and suck and push and pull. As I back away, I smile at her, and her replying smile sends me soaring. "I love you," I say without hesitation. Suddenly, out of so many moments in eternity, I am living in just this one.

Didyme's red eyes shine. "And I you."

We stand in the fountain and move closer to its softly raining flow. I tear her blue dress from her body, letting it fall and float in the water, and I marvel at the skin beneath it, even though I see it almost daily in the baths.

She has small, perky breasts that slope slightly outwards, and a long torso which is only interrupted by a shallow bellybutton that tells of a more human time. Midnight black hair curls between her legs, hiding a secret that my body and mind want and need to know. Aro turned her during her fifteenth year, and though her form might have changed further, given time, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, the only one I have ever wanted, the only one I shall ever want. "You are perfect," I tell her, and I hear the reverence in my voice. My infatuation, my lust, my love should be embarrassing, perhaps, but it is not. It is only frightfully wonderful.

"Let me see you," she says, and unlike my hands, hers are calm and gentle. She takes her time, slowly pulling down one shoulder strap and then another; it is the single most pleasurable and torturous feeling I have experienced. My breathing is erratic as I stare into her eyes. I feel as though I am looking into her soul, and it is so painfully beautiful, so perfect, that I wish I could cry, if only to show her how deeply I care. Somehow, Didyme understands this, for she understands me. Her hands leave my dress straps sagging loosely around my biceps, coming up instead to cradle my face. "Shh, shh, shh. I understand, mellita."

She leans into me and peppers loving kisses to each corner of my mouth before running her tongue along my bottom lip. "You taste like the North Sea," she says against my mouth, and her voice is as reverent as my own.

Her hands push my dress down until it hangs low on my hips. Our eyes are locked and heated, burning crimson. My fingers clutch at her breasts, and I feel her tiny, rosy peaks respond to my touch. She mimics my actions, taking a moment every now and again to almost roughly pinch one nipple. It is a delicious pain over which I moan in desperate, wanton approval. Wetness and heat gathers between my legs in dual excitement and nervousness. I have never been with a woman. The opportunity has presented itself numerous times over the centuries, but it has never felt right before now; it never felt right, because it was not Didyme.

I smell my own excitement, and it is joined by hers. The scent emboldens me further, and I slide one hand from the small curve of her breast, to trail it down her stomach, where I curl it around her hip and then slip between her legs. My fingers glide through the hair that marks her womanhood, and I travel lower, lower, lower still until I am met with sweet, wet venom.

"Yes," she hisses, her eyes suddenly black with want.

She wants me.

Pushing her backward gently, I lead her to rest her back against the base of a stone statue in the fountain. My body takes the brunt of the fountain's spray from this angle, but it is perfect, for now no water washes away her fragrance. I delight in the sweetness that is her.

We kiss as my fingers explore—sliding, pressing, entering, curving, thrusting. I hungrily swallow Didyme's sounds and press my body into hers; the only separation between us now is my arm, which is deliciously trapped between our bodies. "I wish you would never go," I tell her as my thumb circles a place I know will bring her pleasure.

She moans and lets her forehead fall to my shoulder. Her black hair is heavy and wet and sticks to my skin. "I wish Aro were not so ambitious," she whispers between whimpers. Her hips move back and forth, twist and undulate.

I curl my tongue around hers, kissing her deeply until I gently pull away. "Let me taste you," I beg.

She nods. "Yes," she says breathlessly, "but first remove your dress."

Standing back slightly, I slowly push my soaked dress down. Like Didyme's tattered clothes, I allow it to float away into the fountain, too preoccupied with the perfect woman before me. She watches me with hungry black cat eyes.

"Taste me," she says, one slender leg parting from the other, her hands bracing against the sculpture she leans upon.

I drop to my knees and lift her up until her thighs are resting on my shoulders. Her back arches, and I see her up close beneath the light of the sun, which is now fading in the west; she glows only faintly, but she is beautiful, pink and wet. For me, for us, for this singular moment together.

Eagerly, I bury my face against her, my tongue searching. Her venom tastes a little different here—stronger, headier—and I am drunk as I press my fingers against the knot of nerves inches above my mouth.

She gives and gives. I take and take.

Didyme's fingers tangle in my hair, and she bucks her hips in time with my strokes. She is loud—louder than I ever imagined she might be—and I wonder if we have gained an audience and how long we might have before we are caught and Aro separates us. It is a fleeting thought, as I suddenly feel Didyme tense against me.

Her thighs push in toward my head, covering my ears somewhat, blocking out the rushing sound of the fountain and her loud moans. The world is muffled by a heady blissfulness. I feel hummingbird thrumming around my tongue and smile against her.

She utters no word as she pulls my head away from her and slips off of my shoulders. She pulls me to my feet quickly and latches her mouth onto mine. We groan against each other and whisper our love. Her hands are roaming, grabbing, and my mind is all but gone in the pleasure, in the feeling of relief that comes with finally giving in to the most wonderful woman I shall ever meet, a woman whose mere presence gives me such hope and happiness that I hardly know how to contain my joy.

Didyme mimics my earlier actions, leading me where she wants me. When we reach the containing wall of the fountain, she stretches out along its lip, lying flat along the stone edge, one foot down in the water on one side, the second out on dry flat stone on the other side. "Come here," she commands gently.

Holding my hands, she has me stand over her and the lip of the fountain. It is an oddly pleasurable sensation—the water splashing along my left side, the cool, dry breeze flowing at my right. I lean down and kiss her—her mouth, her jaw, her neck and shoulders, and then down to her breasts. I flick my tongue along her nipples, first left, then right. She sighs in approval but quickly pushes me away from her chest. "It is your turn," she says, her eyes alight.

Pulling at my hips, she directs me until I am standing just above her face. I look down at her nervously, acutely aware of how well she can see me from this angle, how the afternoon light is still bright enough that I am clearly on display. Not even Aro has seen me up this close; he has never been willing. He is a stubborn man.

"You are perfect," she murmurs, and my dead heart swells in happiness. Her fingers brush over my curls. She laughs softly. "Light hair, even here."

I am so far gone with desire that the next moments are a blur of touches and kisses that even my advanced mind cannot keep up with. And then, just when I believe I cannot feel any higher, Didyme pulls my hips downward as her tongue pushes up.

I am lost in a sea of feeling, a sea where desire and love congregate.

With a cry, I lean over her, bracing my hands on the stones of the fountain lip above her head. "I have never felt this way," I whimper as her tongue flattens and licks outside, only to return and press in. My legs quiver.

She continues this elaborate and intimate dance until my hips are jerking and the familiar, tight heaviness in my lower stomach becomes nearly painful.

I fall into the sensation against her mouth, my whole body shaking in primal triumph.

"Please stay," I cry as she rocks me beneath the gentle waters of the fountain.

But I know she will leave. You cannot hold happiness captive.

The word "mellita" is Latin for "honey" or "sweet."