Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

Chapter Twenty-Nine: All Good Things.

She held the bottle inches from my body, and I watched with unfocused eyes as a sticky, sweet, chocolaty stream of syrup drizzled out. She circled my nipples, poured the sweet chocolate in slapdash patterns all over my upper body before hovering over my lips. I opened my mouth and savored the sweet chocolate as it drizzled onto my tongue and slid down my throat.

She capped the bottle and tossed it aside, leaning into me to lick the remnants of syrup from my lips. I arched towards her, feeling dizzy and disoriented, eager to feel her mouth travel my body along the haphazard path she'd outlined in chocolate.

She didn't make me wait for long.

She paid special attention to my nipples, and as my fingers got tangled in her unruly black hair, she took one, and then the other, into her mouth, sucking and nibbling, flicking them with her tongue, and my life's breath hitched in my throat.

I was feeling so many conflicting sensations; aroused, intoxicated, liberated, tethered, frightened and safe all at the same time. And without forethought, I seized her, my fingers digging into her shoulders.

I pulled her on top of me, my hands framing her face, my tongue diving into her mouth in search of sweet, succulent satisfaction. Our bodies mashed together, the syrup spreading across her abdomen, and I curled one leg around her, flipping her so that now I was straddling her, our lips never parting.

Her breathing changed and I could tell she was surprised by my brazenness. After all, this had started out as her dance, she had been the choreographer, and now I was taking control.

And, I liked it!

I think she did too, because she was whispering my name, her hands tracing circles on my back as my lips tripped down the column of her throat.

"Kate, oh, Kate," she purred. "What are you doing to me?"

She sounded almost sad.

I traveled her body, taking my time to lick the syrup from her, peppering her mocha skin with kisses as I descended the ladder of her ribcage, the soft dip at her belly button, reaching the apex of her thighs, where I paused and glanced back up at her. My breath stalled when I saw how she was looking at me, her eyes glistening in the half-light.

"Kate," she whispered. Was it permission? A plea? I couldn't tell, but the rising of her pelvis towards me was the rejoinder I sought, and I dipped my head between her legs and parted her outer lips with my tongue.

She arched towards me, her knees rising, her legs parting, as a slow tortured moan escaped her lips. I teased and coaxed, cajoled her smooth pearl and I could feel it change, harden, could taste the change as she spiraled towards climax, and the heady taste of her sex on my tongue forced shards of pleasure to shoot from my middle, cascading deliciously throughout my body.

I reached up and covered one breast with my hand, squeezing, teasing the nipple in metronomic cadence with the course of my tongue against her. I could feel her building, could sense her nearness. And I instinctively flattened my tongue against her, increasing my movements as her breathing increased. And then she held her breath, her body arced, her limbs growing rigid, and I replaced my tongue with my hand and watched her as she writhed and bucked, her body literally sparkling with sweat, the glow of sex, the satisfaction of release.

She exploded around me, over and over, her spasms continuing for an impossible amount of time, before finally she was still, calm, quiet. I crawled on my hands and knees up the mattress until I collapsed beside her, cradling my head against her shoulder.

She cuddled against me, closed her eyes, and I savored the feel of her in my arms, the beating of her heart that slowed and calmed the longer we lay together. But before long, she wiggled her hips against me, snaking one misbehaving hand between my legs, slipping her fingers between my wet folds.

"Oh, how wet you are, Kate," she whispered, with that velvety voice of hers.

I felt alive, on fire, my body ready and wanting, wet. I bucked against her, my mouth open, my eyes closed. She planted her lips on mine as her fingers continued to flex against me, slipping inside of me.

I was so ready, already so close, it didn't take long before my breathing changed and I would soon be overcome with wave after wave of an intense, unreal, immensely satisfying, crashing orgasm.

I tilted my pelvis, pushing myself against her hand so that her fingers slid into me completely. I threw my head back against the pillow and a strangled cry of pure ecstasy ascended my throat, spilling past my lips, filling up the spaces around us.

And, then I was coming, my elastic inner muscles contracting around her fingers, her hand, and I was shattered by the waves of pleasure that crash against me. While I was still writhing against her, she leaned over and licked up the remnants of the sticky chocolate that was still smeared all over my abdomen.

And when we were done, and I was nuzzled against her, warm and humming, I was surprised by the gentle sobs that wracked her body, completely misinterpreting them as the tears that sometimes come after fantastic lovemaking.

I really had no idea what was coming next.

The light filtered in through the soft white curtains that framed her window, and I blinked my eyes open. It took a minute for the world around me to come into focus, but I knew immediately that something had shifted. Something had changed.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her robe draped loosely around her shoulders. I could tell by her posture that something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, and I sat up, clutching the sheet to my bare breasts. I noticed for the first time that some of the chocolate from our escapades last night had spilled onto the crisp white linen, a jarring juxtaposition of dark and light, perfection marred by disorder.

"Bette," I whispered, ignoring the chocolate stain for now. "What is it?"

She turned to look at me, her eyes glassy, her forehead wrinkled with lines of worry. She opened her mouth and then closed it, looked down at her hands before finally speaking.

"We need to talk, Kate," she choked, her voice even but tortured. She turned to look at me. "I have something I need to tell you."