Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits
Chapter Twenty-Three: Hiding Behind Seduction
We crashed through the door, tripping over each other, all lips and hands, tongues, wandering lust-fueled fingers desperately trying to find their way beneath garments of silk and denim, cotton, fragile polyester layers covering our softest parts.
We stumbled naked to the bed, falling into it with an awkwardness that made us giggle, until our giggles turned into laughter, full-throated and unabashed, and we were clutching our sides, tears streaming down our faces because our amusement wouldn't abate.
Until it did, and then the air changed, we changed, and she climbed on top of me, rolling her body back and forth, grinding her pelvis into mine, her lips and hands wandering up and down my chest, teasing my breasts, circling my nipples with her tongue, gently biting as I writhed and moaned beneath her, gasping and groaning with pleasure.
She touched me in ways I hadn't known could elicit such ecstasy, ways that were equal parts gentle and rough, punishment and reward, like she knew my body now, knew it's desires, it's erogenous zones, knew how to make me gasp, to hold my breath, to scream, or curse, or pray. She knew how to make me come. Like we were ancient souls on a thousand year journey through multiple lives, each time winding up as lovers at the last.
And it didn't take long for our bodies to hum in unison, prickles of desire needling our sweaty joined flesh, and her scent mixed with mine, heady and pleasant, erotic. She slid her toes down the instep of my foot, over and over, and my belly contracted, my clit throbbed, as though there were a nerve that ran directly from the bottom of my foot straight to my clitoris. It made me crazy, wild, otherworldly, and I captured her mouth with my own, wrapping one leg around her, and then flipped us over in one fluid and surprisingly graceful movement.
We came up for air, as though just remembering that we needed it to live, and she looked at me with such surprise, like she'd just awoken from a dream. Her eyes got misty and a smile curled one corner of her mouth as she framed my face with her hands, tucking my hair behind my ears. Her hooded gaze darted from my eyes to my lips and then back to my eyes before she dipped her head and kissed me. Long, and gentle, her tongue roaming into my mouth, curious and powerful, joined by her moans and whimpers, I sipped them, and I thought for a moment that it would be impossible to remember all of this, although perhaps my body would remember.
I felt myself float away.
And then her hand tripped down my body, and she raised her left hip, guiding us apart so she could touch me, coax me, her fingers slipping between my inner folds, finding my clit, and then circling it. I was already so wet, so aroused, her touch was sharp, like an icicle on hot skin and I flinched, all of the air in my lungs escaping in one elongated breath.
She seemed pleased by my reaction, looking up at me with a satisfied expression on her face, her lips parted, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth, a wicked glint in her eye, and I couldn't help but smile back, I think I even laughed, a sound that floated up to my ears, sounding foreign and bewitched, seduced. Half-laugh, half siren's call.
I rose up on my knees, straddling her, grinding my pelvis against her hand, urging her to enter me, ease the ache that pounded there, and she willingly obliged. Her other hand mapped a path over the gentle slopes and lines of my body from my naval to my right breast where it paused, squeezing and kneading before she rolled my nipple between two fingers, causing it to stiffen and rise even longer, harder. They were so sensitive now, so responsive.
My hands traveled her bare flesh, my fingers tracing uneven lines at the dip of her waist, strumming her rib cage, cupping her breasts, outlining her clavicle, before she greedily grabbed my hand and guided my forefinger into her mouth. She closed her eyes and sucked, rolling it around her tongue, licking it up one side and then down the other, gently nibbling its tip. Then she led it to her nipple, silently instructing me to tease it, which I did, circling the chocolate drop wrinkle of sensitive skin until it was as hard as mine. I groaned, a lump forming in my throat, my vision becoming hazy and unfocused, and then I leaned forward and took that delicious nipple into my mouth and sucked.
Hard.
She tasted like cinnamon and smelled like coconut and I inhaled, savoring her, intoxicated by her scent, her flavor. She moaned and bucked against me, her fingers weaving through my hair, gathering it into her fist and pulling. My mouth wanted hers again, and we kissed, hard and wet, with longing, with desire, an insatiable hunger. My hips continued to roll against her hand, chasing relief for the throbbing between my legs, her nimble fingers exploring me, delving into me deeply, her thumb against my clit, and it felt beyond unbelievable. It was raw, and carnal, primal, like witchcraft.
It was relief. Sweet, pure, exhilarating relief.
Without warning, without announcement or prelude or pretense, a violent shudder rolled quickly through my entire body, rippling outward from the epicenter of my clitoris. I cried out against her mouth, a string of incoherent words ascending my throat and echoing off the walls around us; and, I felt myself shatter into a million sharp, jagged pieces. Clutching the mattress on either side of her, I forced my hips against her hand as the orgasm continued to crash its way through me, surprising me. There was no quiet buildup this time, no need to stop and rest, allow the blood to pool and gather, the orgasm to build and grow before its final sweet release. This was huge, and fast, and just, boom!
When the waves of pleasure receded, I collapsed on top of her, panting, sweaty, nearly delirious, my body swelling with the aftershocks of the orgasm, and I know that words trickled from my mouth, breathless, primal, probably dirty, but I don't know what I said.
Bette peppered me with kisses, her hands roaming my sensitive flesh, coaxing me down, soothing and gentle, like a cooling balm, until my heart was no longer thundering in my chest, my breathing finally returning to an even cadence. She brushed the hair from my face, caressing my cheek and I could feel her satisfied smile.
"Kate," she purred. She always purred, her voice was smooth like velvet.
I opened my eyes, realizing they were wet with tears, even though I wasn't crying, I wasn't sad, but maybe, perhaps, I was overwhelmed. "Hmmm?"
She traced my lips with the pad of her thumb. "You're amazing."
I rose up onto my elbows, dipped my head to take one mocha nipple into my mouth, circling it gently with my tongue before releasing it with an audible pop. "I'm pretty sure you're the amazing one, Bette." I scooted up to kiss her. "I didn't know my body could even do that," I whispered, my voice low, husky, almost unrecognizable.
She giggled, "Oh, Kate. There is so much your body can do. And, so much your body can do to me," she stated.
I coiled around her, kissing her again. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
My tongue danced with hers, like a well-rehearsed ballet, warm and perfect, arousing. Then our mouths parted and I laved her bottom lip before tracing a wet path down the column of her throat, pressing my lips against the pulse point in her neck. I licked her tepid flesh, savoring her flavor, relishing her scent, hints of salty and sweet coursing my tongue, and I liked it; I wanted more. I paused, looking up at her through hooded eyes.
"Teach me," I commanded.
Bette
Kate was unlike any other lover I'd ever had. Willing and open, as though we'd known each other for years, as though our bodies had known each other for a millennia. I was falling, falling for her, craving her, wanting to be with her every waking minute of every day.
But, it wasn't supposed to have been this way, it was supposed to have been a fun, flirty dalliance; an exploration, an adventure, a fling. it wasn't supposed to be this. It wasn't supposed to be more.
But it was. It was more.
And, it scared me.
It made me want to run, fast and far, hide from the inevitability of a horrible end. Because, isn't that how every relationship I'd ever had has ended? With hateful, bitter feelings? Suicidal thoughts? I didn't want that for us, for her.
And, as she lay sleeping beside me, her body still warm and pulsing, sensitive, flushed from our carnal exercise, her chest gently rising and falling as she traveled through what I hoped were the sweetest and most comforting dreams, I had to fight the urge to get up and run.
But I knew I couldn't hide from it forever, knew I had to decide between love or lust, knew that hiding behind the seduction would serve us for only so long.
And, then I'd have to decide.
Risk it?
Or, run?
A/N: Thank you to KB (no, not *that* KB) for the title suggestions. As you can see, my friend, I used them all! ;-)