Author's note: Before reading the following addition to this story, please read this: This is slightly different from the past two. It's about 50% shorter than the past two. No names. Hardly any dialogue. This is descriptive. I wanted it to remain purely visual, well you'll know what I mean. Before you start to think that this is OOC, consider that anything we write is technically considered out of character, so just visualize this as it is. Part Three of Somebody Completely Different: Rachel's POV without it being too in her POV.
Grammatical errors aside, let me know what your thoughts are.
Fingertips.
Ridges of fingerprints dragging across my palm. The sensation is so sharp, yet so light, I can't help but gasp. I don't know where to put myself. My mind is so concentrated on the feel of her above me.
Her finger nails begin dragging across my skin. My chin lifts as if maybe I could see if I did so.
I can't.
Everything is dark.
Everything is black.
Everything is unseen except the explosions of colors behind my eyelids.
The blues and purples, yellows and reds, everything swirling but not mixing together.
People say when one sense is no longer in use, the rest amplify. Truer words have never been spoken.
I can hear everything.
I can feel everything.
Every sense is at its highest and it is absolutely overwhelming.
I don't know what to do. I cannot move on the outside but my insides are restless. My hands are tied and my eyes are blinded by scarves and my toes curl when her tongue knocks on my lips asking for invitation.
Reluctantly, my lips oblige and let her tongue barge into my mouth. I say reluctantly not because I don't want it, but because I am afraid of the roar my lower stomach will emit and erupt through my body until it falls so easily out my mouth in ripples.
There is something wonderful about losing complete control. There is something thrilling about not knowing. There is something beautiful about trust.
Do I trust?
I want to.
I can feel every single one of her tastebuds. I can taste the sweetness of her saliva. Her hot breath mixes with mine and even through air, I cannot tell where I end and she begins. So soft and wet and with intent, her tongue thrives to find the deepest and darkest places past my hungry lips.
The kiss is slow. The kiss is sensual. The kiss is selfish, but it is kind. Her lips befriend mine; they talk, they converse. They exchange numbers and they spend time together. Our lips live in harmony. They brush, against one another, they hug, they make love all on their own.
The kiss gets greedy, it gets angry. Her lips betray mine, they leave them wanting, longing. Her lips tease and ridicule mine. They are evil and they are ruthless. They tag team with her teeth. White jagged pearls sink and envelop my lips, pulling, tugging, scraping, and dragging.
I should be concerned. I should be, but I'm not. Any feeling caused by her is a good feeling no matter how painful it may be. In fact, I want more. I want all of it. I want marks, I want bruises; I want proof that it was real. That it is real. It has happened before, but every time feels like a dream.
She feels like a dream.
I try to remember how everything began... but then I feel a hot sensation on my neck and I feel myself pool between my thighs.
How did she get there?
Who cares.
Sharp strokes; vampire teeth; sink; chomp; suck.
I sigh. I think I sigh. Any sound escaping my mouth sounds foreign. I hear it far, far away.
Fingertips again.
Fingertips, oh, so lightly drifting over the ocean that is my skin, leaving waves of goosebumps behind them. From my wrists to my sides, the hairs wake up and stand erect, waiting.
Waiting for what, I do not know.
The weight on the bed shifts and I can feel her adjust as her mouth travels lower onto my clavicle.
So warm and inviting, yet mischievous and deceitful, she preys on my skin and bones. Shooting pains course my body landing between my legs and my mouth betrays me. Sounds float from my throat onto the air so sweetly as the rest of me frowns subconsciously.
Oh, no.
Fingertips again.
Ridges following the curvature of my breasts and hover over the valley in between.
My mind splits in two, three, or maybe four; every bit of me trying to figure out what is happening.
Blood rushes to my center and it feels heavy and sensitive. My fingernails dig into my palms as if that could somehow indicate her that I want to stop being teased. Her teeth, lips, and tongue composing symphonies onto my chest. Damn fingertips kneading, massaging, pinching, stroking my breasts; slowly killing me, really.
My head rolls as do my eyes when a pool of hot liquid spreads over my nipple, and as far as I gather, it disappears into the warm cave of her mouth.
My chest swells with oxygen and it is released with a whimper when she blows air delicately over my soaked nipple making my toes curl and a force come knocking between my thighs.
My other nipple is taken hostage between her index and thumb.
I give up and let go of any control I had, or thought I had, over myself and let my body move freely as it wished; or however much it possibly can given the circumstances.
She takes turns over my breasts, giving them as much attention as she needed to, even despite my pleading groans. Her tongue romancing my nipples, dancing circles around them, luring them into her cave and taking full advantage of them and her teeth showing absolutely no mercy.
I yank at the restraints unintentionally in a fit of pleasure and a foreign sound, in kin to a chuckle, reaches my ears; only to have me reply with a whine and digging of my heels into the mattress.
I guess I have forgotten about where her hands were in between my pleads but I am quickly reminded of just that when I feel a tingle crawl up my calves. Her fingers, soft at first, swiftly cross the sensitive skin behind my knee and I get wetter thinking of them getting closer and closer to where I want them most.
My back arches off the bed and I can feel her other hand slither between the mattress and my skin, outlining the valley straight down to my lower back. Her mouth was no longer at my breasts but moving slowly down my stomach.
I could cry.
My eyes well up with tears. I want to shout please just touch me, fuck me, SOMETHING; but there's something more satisfying about secretly wanting to be teased.
"Make me beg," I had said to her.
"Make me want it so bad that I can't even plead."
And I'm there. I'm at the point where even if I tried to open my mouth, not even a moan could try to escape.
Fingernails scrape my back.
God, please leave a mark.
Lips caress my stomach and my muscles tighten.
Fingertips swirl across my thighs and they part like the red sea.
Oh, I can hear her smirking. I can feel the heat of her hands hovering over my pelvis. If I could see her, if I knew just what she was doing, I'd say she was observing me. And while this should all be intimidating, given our past, it's not.
Why?
We're bathing in honesty. Our bodies are unclothed, our souls are uncovered. We are completely exposed. There is nowhere to hide. There are no flaws or imperfections, because we are both equals. All things stashed away are presented and all there is to do is observe, hear, taste, smell, feel.
She's just looking, wondering, touching, God, she's touching.
Fingertips.
Fingertips gingerly testing the waters of my center and I can finally exhale this breath I had been selfishly keeping in my lungs; only to be recaptured when her fingers leave me. My knee is brought close to her face and I feel her cheekbones brush against my hot flesh. Scorching breath, wet lip, slithering tongue, leaving tracks over my inner thigh.
I yank at the scarves unintentionally.
She doesn't care.
The ends of her hair act as feathers, tickling and caressing my thighs as she continues to dip closer and closer to where I want her. Her hands move to my outer thighs and I gasp at her fingernails digging harshly, dragging down to my ass.
And there it is.
The calm before the storm.
The swift wind you feel just before it rains.
The moment of eery silence before an earthquake.
Her mouth has reached just above my sex and I wait. My nails dig into my palms. My chest sinks. My eyes clench. My legs stiffen. I wait.
I wait.
I wait.
I w-
"Say it."
I sigh.
"…please."
I am falling. It's dark. It's been dark, but now it's pitch black. It's as if a mighty hand pulled a string holding me by ribs. My back floats off the mattress. My mouth hangs open. My hands yank, seize, and tug frantically.
Her tongue, a brave soldier traveling into the depths of me, exploring, wanting to know me, talk to me, feel me, be me.
In my mind she's a god. She is an entity. In my mind she has 4, 5, 6 arms, 30 fingers, seeking refuge on me, in me, powering me, filling me with light, energy, and life. I can feel her everywhere. I can feel her nails on my stomach, on my breasts, calves, thighs, sides. I can feel her tongue lather, lick, flick, caress…
I am losing myself. I am lost. I do not know who or what I am. For all I know, in this moment, we are one. Our spirits kindred, and tied together in this cloud of pleasure.
Fingers.
Fingers waltz into me, expected and awaiting embrace. My insides oblige. They cater to them. They cloak them. They squeeze them and they fill every crevice. They step in and out gently, then forcefully, fast, then slow.
My chest rises and falls in deep long breaths. I want this to last. I want it to stay. I want to feel her inside of me for the rest of my days.
Her teeth tug lightly at my clit, her tongue brushes it softly, and her fingers thrust one last time.
There is a rumble in my body. A shudder travels through my spine. That mighty hand pulls on that string once again and I turn to stone. My everything becomes rigid and I don't hear a sound.
Nothing.
Not a whisper.
Not a laugh, or a cry.
The walls release her, but not without one last embrace as she walks out of me, leaving me with a light kiss; a kiss that makes its way onto my stomach, stroking my flesh, melting away the iceberg my body had become.
Tears disappear from my eyes to the scarf. A spiral of emotions overcomes my body, a hurricane of too many feelings to name or pin point. Her face reaches mine and I can feel a hand on my cheek.
Fingertips.
Ridges caress my lips, which are still ajar. They sheath the tips of her fingers, each one, until her lips take their place.
The kiss is soft. The kiss is innocent. The kiss is just a kiss, but never just a kiss.
I feel her smile onto me and I chuckle.
"What?"
There's a silence, and that's when butterflies erupt in my stomach. And then I feel a release on my wrists. I lower my arms and wrap them around her naked body, not even thinking of taking off my blindfold.
I hold her tight until the next thing I know, there are sparkling hazel eyes staring back at me, and for a brief moment I take a second to thank god my fathers are out of town. Was she watching me sleep?
It's dark, but not as dark as the past few hours have been, has it been that long?
Her eyes smile, if that's even possible, but her mouth is still. I close my eyes once more, unintentionally, I'm very tired.
And then like feather in the wind, her voice drifts to my ears before my mind settles to sleep.
"You are so beautiful."