Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Last Dance
Bette
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this. But it had to. It had to end. As sad as that made me, as hard as it would be, I wouldn't allow myself to go down that road. Not again. Not after…
It had to end.
I knew we'd have fun, knew we'd have adventure, but I'd never expected to fall in love.
But you were charming, seductive, enchanting, and I'd felt that familiar pull, pleasant and terrifying, though more terrifying than pleasant, and so I had to end it with you, Kate. I had to.
For both of us.
But it would wait until morning, because as you lay in my bed, looking positively like a Greek goddess, I couldn't keep myself from you. And, we would be together. One last time, one incredible, mind blowing, last time.
And, I would remember it for the rest of my life.
Day Fourteen
After being apart all day, she was working - I was studying, being in her bed felt like being home. Warm, comfortable, fun. While my heart still thundered at the sight of her - naked, crawling towards me, a devilish smile on her face, it also felt safe; I felt sheltered, and adored, cherished.
She looked particularly beautiful tonight, her unruly black hair falling around her shoulders, her mocha skin shining against the soft light of the bedside lamp, but something about her was slightly different, she seemed content, yet distracted, resigned, but uncertain, but I was learning quickly that Bette was complicated, very complicated. I'd given up trying to figure out what was going on behind those obsidian eyes of hers. I just needed to let go, have faith, trust that our relationship would unfold as it was meant to.
And, on this night, it was unfolding in a most carnal and delicious way.
We'd gotten naked as soon as I'd crossed the threshold of her apartment door, tossing our clothing in a frantic, furious race to the bed, not knowing where things landed, not caring.
She'd made me come right away, within minutes of landing on the billowy comforter that adorned her bed, and I was now stretched out on my stomach, my arms beneath my head, my eyes closed, my body warm, buzzing with sexual energy, the afterglow of the almost manic orgasm she gave to me.
"Roll over," she gently ordered, tickling her fingers along my bare backside, giving it a playful slap before I squealed, yes squealed, and did as I was told.
I looked up at her as she looked down at me, her eyes magical and enchanting, bewitching. "Bette," I whispered.
She ran her hand along my body, caressed the slope of my belly, strummed the delicate expanse of my ribcage, tickled the underside of my breast before teasing my nipple with her thumb and forefinger. She smiled at me, flashing a row of brilliantly white teeth as I arched my back, pressing my breast into her palm, my breathing growing shallow and tortured, pleasure needling my skin like a shower of pins, and I offered her a kittenish grin.
I reached up with one hand and placed it at the back of her neck, pulling her towards me. She came willingly, that erotic smile never leaving her lips as they met mine in a languid, open, sultry kiss. My tongue roamed the inside of her mouth, teasing, flirting, dancing with hers, relishing her sweet flavor.
Until, we parted.
But, only because we needed air.
She climbed on top of me, straddled me, then reached for something on the bedside table. She held it up, raising one eyebrow, seeking permission, which, as I realized what was about to happen, I happily gave with a wiggle of my hips, my finger involuntarily finding itself captured between my teeth as I hummed in anticipation.
She held the tip of the bottle inches from my body and then squeezed.
And a line of sticky, sweet, delicious chocolate syrup poured out.