In the dying light of the storm that has finally expended its passion he lies and watches the woman who has in a few hours completed and sated him as no other ever has. His body thrums with the remembrance of their lovemaking. Before this night he had only ever fucked, expended his need into the bodies of the willing many, and over the years there have been many. Women had always seemed eager to offer their bodies for his release and he had made good use of them, though never unkindly.
Suddenly, his mind flicks guiltily to Brona and their time, but he pushes it away – something else to add to the long list memories not to be faced. He had loved her in some way but her vision fades into oblivion as his eyes are filled with only this woman. Her eyes, the most peaceful he has ever seen them, glow like the opals his mother used to favor and he smiles to link the only other woman he truly loved with her.
Her hair surrounds them like a dark halo, a raven pool framing, when in repose as now, her Madonna like face. Under his thumbs her skin feels like the finest silk, paper thin, and he slams down on the thought of the damage his claws could ravish on her flesh. The wild tang of her scent hangs in the air underlain by his musk, an intoxicating fragrance that he draws deep into his lungs; the need to consume her body and soul is almost overwhelming. As his breathing returns to a semblance of normality he suddenly realises that he is still laying on her, his bulk pressing her into the bed and he struggles to roll off her small frame. But her body tenses, her hands grasp desperately it seems into his shoulders, pressing him back into her flesh, which is still joined intimately together.
"No, stay."
Her voice throbs with need and seems to meld down into the very marrow of his bones.
He falls into the eternal blue of her eyes, his calloused thumb sweeping over her swollen mouth.
"I will, but I'm crushing you darlin'. Let me make us comfortable."
Finally, she relaxes under him and he carefully eases off and out of her, part of him grieving for the loss of the soft sheath of her flesh. He rolls onto his back his skin welcoming the smooth touch of the sheets. Although their flesh is still burning he pulls one of the tumbled sheets over their nakedness and reaches for her slight form pulling her down onto his chest tucking the crown of her head like a precious jewel under his chin. Her revels in the feel of her. She seems to fit to his body as if she were made for him and deep down in his fractured soul he recognises this truth. She is; they are the two halves of a whole that was once torn apart to exist for an eternity as an unholy trinity.
He winds his hands into the satin tresses of her hand and feels her hands come to rest over his heart. Her breath is soft against his skin and although exhausted he knows that it would only take moments for him to be ready to take her again. He is intoxicated by her, an addict to the narcotic of her body. He is at peace.
Suddenly there is a soft but insistent knock at the door. Her body stiffens in response, her head popping up to lock her eyes with his. Her mouth opens and he presses his fingers against it to stifle her gasp. He relaxes though as his acutely sensitive ears hear soft footsteps moving away from the door, and his nose senses a familiar odour. She also seems to realise there is no danger of disclosure that is not already known and under his fingers her mouth stretches into a smile.
He quickly presses a kiss to her lips but before she can capture it in deeper pressure he slips from beneath the sheets and naked, walks towards the door. He hears her intake of breath and feels the pride of a man, a man wanted by his woman. He turns his head to look back at her, her tumbling midnight hair, the pale cream of her skin, the sheet pooling around her waist, her nipples still peaked from his touch.
Christ, it takes every ounce of his self-control not to do what he'd previously promised, to stalk back, push her down onto the bed, plunge into her welcoming flesh and fuck her.
But that could wait; another gift lay outside the door one that he knew would only add to their newly found time together.
He opened it without embarrassment and in the shaded gloom of the hall located the source of the scent. A tray lay in offering on the floor, her scented tea, a glass of bourbon, a piece of butter cream torte and the silver box from her room containing the trappings to make her cigarettes. With a thought of silent thanks to Sembene he retrieves the tray, shuts the door and returns to her, as he always will.
"Sembene. He's showing us he approves."
He places the tray carefully on the table nearest her and gazes back smiling his agreement. He settles himself on the bed by her side facing her in the dying light of the fire. Shadows have settled into the hollows where the bones of her body and face stand just a little too close to the surface and a rush of need to nourish her stirs over him. He picks up the plate but ignores the dainty fork. Instead he tears a morsel off the delicate sugar sponge and lays it against her lips. Her eyes, which have up to now followed him with the merest hint of amusement, seem for a moment to harden but he will brook no refusal.
"Eat for me Van. Let me feed you."
Her lips open and he transfers the bite into her mouth, on to her tongue. He keeps his fingers against her lips as the cake dissolves in the heat of her mouth. She swallows and then her lips open again pulling his fingers over the plumpness of her lower lip, her tongue cleaning the traces of crumbs away from his fingertips, which tingle. He offers her another piece keeping his eyes fixed on hers and again her wet tongue licks over his digits. As he feeds her he sees a flush rising up her neck to colour her cheeks. He can't believe how the simple act of feeding her could be so erotic, the play of emotions over her face as she enjoys the delicious desert and his attention.
Too soon there is only the merest morsel left but when he picks it up she shakes her head and he slips it into his own mouth making sure to smear some of the icing over his lips. Her smile is salacious as she reaches her hands up to pull his head down to her mouth. The flick of her tongue against his lips causes his manhood to shudder in response and his own hand catches the back of her head forcing the teasing touch into a deep kiss melding them mouth to mouth.
He reluctantly breaks from the nectar of her lips slightly shaken by the emotions she stirs in him. His hand reaches for the heavy crystal glass and he tosses down the amber liquid inside. Its sharp mellowness burns a trail of pleasure down into his stomach but if is a candle compared to the inferno that rages inside him for her.
She slides over in the bed and he immediately returns to her side lifting the sheet back over both of them. Leaning over him her naked breasts graze his chest as she reaches for her silver box and he is suddenly struck by the ease of their intimacy. There is none of the stumbling, careful choreography so normal in the bodies of new lovers. Their dance is unrehearsed and yet in perfect concord.
His eyes close; the flare of the match bathing them with gold as she touches it to the paper and that rich, spicy perfume which is so much part of her drifts up. His arm snakes round her shoulders and he holds her against him ghosting his fingers up and down the skin of her arm enjoying the sensation as they pass the cigarette between them in perfect companionship.
"And where exactly did a lady of your breeding darlin' ever pick up such a habit."
Her laugh is deep and throaty and she buries her face into his collarbone the vibrations racing pleasurably downwards.
"Now that is a long story for a storm ridden night."
"I've got all night."
She turns towards him pulling the smoking brand from his lips and inhales for a last time laying the now almost extinguished filter onto the empty plate. He watches as her eyes darken, her lips part, the tip of her tongue brushes their surface, which still look bruised from previous kisses. He feels her hand brush down his chest in a line of fire and ice, down until her palm and fingers possessively grasp his shaft. He hardens immediately as his brown eyes lock with those of his past, present and future. The knowledge that tonight is forever is the truest thing he has every known, he finally has purpose.
"But not for talking darling."
Thank you for reading and the lovely reviews. I have so enjoyed writing for the first time and hope to add more stories about these characters whose lives seem to have become part of mine. Any suggestions for ideas I would gladly try to take on and do justice to.