The gentle breeze lifted the sheer curtains through the open window. Outside, the denizens of the night chirped a gleeful chorus. Bright moonlight lit the room vaguely. Here, a smattering of color marking the ever-watchful icon of society. There, a glow reflected off the cheval mirror. The huge bed took up most of one wall – good thing the room was so long. Black netting swayed softly, whispering its’ lullaby to the night.
In the bed, black curls upon the stark white pillowcase. Porcelain skin, encased in luscious red, a silent scream against the silky black sheets. Small hands, fisted at her sides. Lips, slightly parted, dart of a tongue – hint of a smile. Covers kicked back to reveal slim ankles, long legs, slightly flared hips, flat stomach.
Into the room, a mist. Blur one moment, man the next. Tall and lean, yet muscular. Hair so dark it was almost blue. Violent black eyes that calmed at the sight of her. Naked, yes – gloriously naked. Long tapered fingers, at the end of powerful arms, extended toward the bed; a silent plea. Dark hair spattered across deeply tanned skin, tapering down toward his groin, proving he was all man. Lust burned in his eyes, reflected in the heat shimmering from his body.
The silence was deafening, the passion thick, sounds of the night had slowly faded, trapping them in a seeming vacuum. Somewhere, in the deep recess of his mind, he realized that he could hear a loud drum beating. With a start, he recognized it as his heart, in tempo with the song of her blood.
Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, signaling her wakening. Awareness came in the form of a small gasp, her soft lips forming a neat ‘O’. Yellow eyes widened in surprise. Surprise which quickly turned as her body temperature changed to match his. Arousal quickened her breath ’til it threatened to choke her.
Slowly, seductively, he stalked across the plus black carpet to the bed. Sitting up now, she reached out to him with fragile arms. Upon reaching the bed, he suddenly stopped. The barest hint of fangs behind partially open lips. A smirk perhaps? From nowhere, wrist cuffs and a blindfold; both leather, both supple with age. Willingly, almost subserviantly, she held out small wrists , skin glistening invitingly.
Tied now, heart racing, hair tumbling wildly, she could feel the heat spread between her legs. Breath quickening once more, she tugged, testing her restraints. Ah, but he was good. There was room to maneuver so she wouldn’t chaff her perfect skin, but they weren’t coming off until he said so. The sensation of the loss of sight and movement added to the seduction.
He pressed his lips to hers, a sweet kiss from her lover. He tasted of claret, with just a hint of cigar. He smelled of the woods from whence he came – pine and cedar mixing enticingly. His hand pressed against her full breast, teasing her nipples through red silk. Callused fingers sent shivers down her spine as he traced the veins along her arms. Slowly, he pulled down her negligée, touching, caressing, kissing every bit of skin he lay bare.
One hand slipped down to caress the flesh of her abdomen. Even in the darkness created by the netting, he could see the pattern of ink tattooed across pale flesh. Work roughened hands outlined the scorpion reverently, worshipping her with every touch.
After what seemed an eternity, his mouth left its exploration of her breasts, moving down. By now, the nightgown is but a memory; pooled on the floor at the foot of the bed. The night air is chill against flesh seared by his tongue.
An audible gasp as his finger reaches the center of her being. Soft tugs interspersed with a gentle circling motion – her nub hardened, engorged. Another finger probed the dampness slightly lower. Back arched, head back, stars in her eyes, she moaned; moving against his roving hand.
Knowing she was ready, he thrust inside her. Snug fit as his largeness reached further inside than any before. Hips arched to meet his every push. Low, guttural screams as she reached heaven again.
Twice, that was good. He had her where he wanted her. The pace slowed then. He switched tactics. With one final thrust, leaving her on the edge – whimpering, begging. Slick traces down as his tongue moved to the place he’d just left. Flicking and lapping, tasting the honey of her juices. Right on the verge himself, he reared back and entered her one last time as they were swept away.
After, she dozed in his arms, barely aware when he got up and padded to the open patio door. With catlike grace he traversed the dark floor; the moon had passed behind dark clouds now. There was the mist again – and he was no more.
© Mikyla Abigor, 2001