Passions Prologue

by Dana Keylits

Before there was Richard Castle, there was someone else, someone special, someone who'd taught Kate how to enjoy her life. Her name was Bette Porter, and in the fall of 1998, they'd spent 15 days together. This story is femSLASH, that means same-gender sexuality. If you are at all uncomfortable with this, please do not read. I do not want to have to wade through homophobic reviews.

18. Breathe

Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

Chapter Seventeen: Breathe

With smoldering obsidian eyes that danced against the half-light, sultry lips kissed by shades of pink, she sauntered towards me with catlike grace and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, the ripples of pleasure radiate from my center, and my heart beat against my ribcage like a bass drum. Only, I didn't feel it in my chest. I felt it there, between my legs, beneath my wetness, my wanting.

Thud, thud, thud.

I stopped, my wine glass nearly drained of its crimson liquid, perched by delicate fingers in mid-air, as though I couldn't decide whether to take a sip or set it down.

Her eyes dropped to my stocking-clad feet, impossibly long lashes hiding their intent, and then she slowly ascended my body, as though scanning me, observing me, and I could feel it as surely as if she were using her hands. When her gaze hovered at my mouth, my lips parted, my tongue involuntarily slipping out to moisten them, before I gently bit down on their lower rim.

She chuckled, her mouth bowing into a salacious grin, her laughter both wicked and aphrodisiacal, and again I felt it, thud, thud, thud, against the slickness of my sex.

My body was trapped beneath the layer of dark denim covering my legs, the soft sage-colored cotton of my sweater, and, as she drew closer to me, her intoxicating scent arriving ahead of her, I could feel the vibration of my body, as though the fabric coming between my nakedness and hers could no longer be abided.

I held my breath. Waiting. Wanting. Watching. I could both feel and hear my life's blood as it whooshed through my veins, and I feared I might collapse, right there, right then, on the ancient Turkish rug that softened the dim hardwood floor of our room, a pulsing mass of blood and bones and aching trembling flesh.

She reached out with lissome fingers, tracing my hand, the one that held the wine glass, and a score of butterflies took flight in my stomach. She took it from me, raising the goblet to her lips, draining its contents in one slow, refined, swallow, her eyes never leaving mine.

I was hypnotized.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My belly contracted.

She quietly placed the wine glass on the table beside her, and then took one last step, her agile body inching towards me as if in slow motion. And, with a sultry smile, a mischievous glint of hunger, of desire, in her eyes, my name rose from her throat in a rushed whispered promise, and she brushed her parted lips tenderly over mine.

Her breath was warm and alluring, her body invading me, pulling me into its carnal wake, like sand at high tide, and shards of pleasure raced down my spine, my flesh turning into a sea of troubled goose-bumps.

I wanted to fall into her, but I was immobile, paralyzed, breathless, and so I just stood there as dust particles danced in the fading light around me, her body gently pressed against mine, just barely touching. I could feel her hardened nipples beneath the pale blue shirt she was wearing as she pressed closer to me, our bodies molding and coiling around each other, her lips hot on my neck. I closed my eyes, my head inching backwards as she kissed my throat. I heard a buzzing in my ears, wondering what it was, before realizing it was me. I was practically purring.

And then, the air shifted, and the world around us grew silent, all the spaces filled with heady anticipation, and she slipped her hands around my waist, molding against my curves, her warm fingers snaking beneath my sweater to skitter against my pale skin, sending shock-waves throughout me and I whimpered, bringing my hands up to her shoulders, the back of her neck, tangling in her unruly midnight colored hair.

She mapped a path from my waistline to just beneath my breasts, my flesh quivering, my mind racing, my blood hot as it traveled the crisscrossing veins that traveled my body just beneath the porcelain surface of my skin. And, then she reached my breasts, her fingers skimming over my nipples, their rise and stiffening a reward of her teasing digits, and I thought I might lose my mind.

"Kate," she whispered, her lips coursing my jawline, her hands palming my breasts.

I opened one eye, looking at her through a fog of desire. "Hmmm?"

"Breathe!"