Thursday, February 3, 2011
7 ghosts I
(Nine Inch Nails - Ghosts... maybe give this track a listen, on repeat, while reading... :)
for blackbird <3
I exhaled, feeling the skin on my face and neck and chest all overheat as I leaned back into my chair, crossing my legs underneath myself.
The little gift box remained out of my hands, across from me. On my desk it sat. Unopened. Almost completely untouched.
It was marked discretely white. It taunted me.
But every time I went to lift it’s lid, I hesitated; and was pulled back toward my chair by the feeling of the paper between my fingers.
This tonight. And only, this.
Wait patiently, and keep your beautiful hands away from what is only mine.
It was thin parchment - a corner torn from one of the pages of my notebook that sat open on my desk.
I exhaled again, fanning my face with the torn corner.
Anything could be in that box.
And I’d wear - use, attach, ingest, gladly take - anything for him.
It was this thought that gave me courage, and I leaned forward to the edge of my seat once more.
I traced the parameters of the small parcel, all the lines that made up the outline of the little white box. Curling my fingertips under the lid’s ridge, I pulled upward slowly.
Inside, wrapped in layers of light pink tissue paper was a teeny,
Sliding my hand underneath it, I searched the tissue paper with my other. But there was nothing else in the box.
A curl of excitement ribboned my lips up into my cheeks, a spiral of anticipation thrilling me from head to toe, as I lifted the skirt with both hands then.
I loosened my grip, holding the soft piece of lace and satin and thin, dainty chiffon, so carefully in my hands. I was so afraid of tearing or fraying any bit of it, of ruining it in any way.
Under the black satin that made up the surface of the skirt, was layer after articulately stitched, delicately patterned, pastelpink lace so thin, so fine that the slightest pressure of a too-careless finger would shred it.
I couldn’t begin to image what he’d paid for it, the miles he’d traveled to find it and pick it. His intentions, his dedication and determination - the possibilities made my head spindizzy.
The hours after that were all waiting - all nervous tugging at my long sleeves and jacket seams. Fraying the ends of my scarf. Closing and opening my hands, stretching my fingers.
I booked it home from work and tried to take my time in the shower.
I knew he wouldn’t arrive until tonight, and that I should have busied myself - that I should probably lay in the bath and relax and make the wait at least feel like it wasn’t taking so long.
But I couldn’t.
I ached inside and out with want.
And I couldn't wait to feel that lace on my bare skin, smooth and softened by warm water.
That was what took the most of my waiting time - putting the skirt on.
I sat in my towel, on the edge of my bed, just eying it for the longest time. I was so nervous about pulling it up my legs and around my hips. I did not, did not want to rip any little bit of it. He would notice, and I wanted it to be perfect for him.
Ever so carefully, I lifted one bare foot from my carpet, then the other, and started to work the chiffon up my legs. I took minutes inching it over my calves, the fronts and backs of my knees, and so cautiously up my thighs. I stood finally, and brought it as high as it would go, to rest dangerously low on my hips.
I returned the towel back to the bathroom rack and returned to my room to stand topless in front of my mirror.
Realizing as I turned ‘round and ‘round that I couldn’t sit in the teeny skirt without creasing or crinkling it, I glanced over at my desk clock to see how much time I had left.
The sun had set, but there was probably at least another hour before he’d show.
I felt my heartbeat in the ache between my legs and I pressed my thighs together tightly as my want for his kisses, his words, his touch, intensified.
Edward was so good to me, always so good to me. And sometimes, when I was an especially good girl, he took extra special care to make my heart beat faster.
It was this thought and this hope that I concentrated hardest on as I opened my window and moved back to my bed. Unable to sit, I knelt in the center of it. I faced the window and rested my hands; one over the other, in my lap.
Trying not to look at the clock or not to count the seconds that ticked by in my own head, night finally settled around me.
I looked down at my hands. I opened them and inspected my palms and didn’t even hear him scale the side of the house.
My eyes shot up as he placed his hands on my windowsill and pulled himself up and inside.
His lips twitched like he wanted to grin, but he kept his face stern.
I’d been aching to devour her since I left her office.
And the sight of her knelt on her bed, in nothing but my gift, hands in her lap, waiting, so obedient to her need and my will - it was almost too much.
She flinched toward me, but caught herself and remained still.
“Good girl,” I breathed, letting a halfsmile take it’s shape on my lips. I stepped to her bed and extended my hand to hers.
She took it for balance, and stood before me. I wrapped both of my arms around her bare middle and traced her sides with my hands as she folded forward and hugged me tightly.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered, kissing the crown of her head.
“Thank you,” she replied, shivering against me as I traced my fingertips from the small of her back, up her backbone, to the back of her neck. I slid the fingers of my right hand into her hair and closed my left around her hip.
Nudging her back, I tilted my head and hovered my mouth over hers, breathing just over her slightly parted lips. I watched as the quiver started in them, and loved it. I worked harder than she knew to resist the urge to press forward and feel it give between my teeth.
I pulled back, denying her and I both the pleasure.
Sliding my other hand through her hair and down her arm, I clasped her smaller hand in my own and raised it above her head, signaling her to turn ‘round for me.
She flushed a the most delicious hues of pink and twirled on her tiptoes in slow motion, all the way around before facing me again.
I hummed in approval, taking in the sight of her and placing my hands on each of her hips. I lifted her easily, nuzzling the crook of her neck as she draped her arms around mine. I could feel her relief was over her as she lulled forward into my chest. It was followed by another shiver, like when I’d traced her spine just moments ago.
“My Lamb,” I said against her skin, letting my lips and tongue tease her pulse as it began to pick up.
Cradling her head with one hand, I laid her back onto her bed and knelt over her, resting one of my knees between each of hers.
Her eyes were wide despite her heavy lids threatening to fall closed over them.
I leaned down closer, placing my left hand on the pillow next to her face. She inhaled deeply, and shyly brushed her cheek against my wrist.
I brought my other hand to her forehead, stroking the strands of black back from her forehead and feathering just the tips of my fingers down her cheek.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her mouth opened a little wider. Her whole body rolled like a softwave, up ward, against my stomach and hips.
“You’ve waited so patiently for me,” I continued, barely tip-tapping the line of her jaw, from her cheek to her chin. She panted quietly, a faint whimper shadowing the undertones of her breaths.
I slid my the tips of my pointer and middle fingers from the underside of her chin, down the curve of her throat.
She tilted her head back, arching her neck for me. I purred approval deep in my chest, and let my fingers slide gently sideways, along her collarbone.
She cooed softly, and let her head fall to the side as I continued to run the fronts and backs of my fingertips over her trembling throat.
“I trust,” I whispered, dropping my voice an octave as I dropped my face closer to her skin. “That you didn’t just open your gift...”
Her head was tilted back too far for me to see her eyes, but I heard them blinking swiftly. I dropped my fingers lower and traced the outlines of the flower on the side of her chest, the front of her shoulder, jealous of the ink that was always inside her.
“But that you read the note as well...”
She rolled upward again, her fingers grasping fistfuls of sheets at her sides as blew cool air across her chest and neck. I trailed my fingers lower, down the middle of her chest, the soft curves of her breasts while her entire torso rose and fell with each breath she panted in and out.
She started nodding her head as my fingers swirled lower, around her bellybutton, along the seam of her skirt. She was beautiful in her desperation, laid out and begging for me.
It was her birthday, but she was my gift.
I was going to open her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes, I did. I’ve been good for you. Please...”
“Please what, Lamb?”
She arched her back as i dropped my hand to the outside of her thigh and began drawing it slowly back up.
“Please,” she begged again. “Please give to me.”
I gently kissed the bend of her jaw, down the side of her neck, the brightly coloured tips of the petals on her flower. Taking care to keep my lips as soft as I could, I slid my hand higher and brushed her bare skin.
She had read her note. She was so good for me.
And I would give to her.
That special gift that I only gave to her on our most sacred nights together.
In a quick instant, I moved down her bed and positioned myself between her legs, parting her thighs with each of my hands.
She bucked and writhed, not to get away, but to get more contact.
“Look at me, little Lamb,” I gently ordered.
She raised her head slowly.
I stared hard at her and slid my grip higher, my hands taking over her inner thighs and squeezing slightly.
I stroked my right thumb over the artery that was just under, and thrumming loudly with her redlife.
“Keep your eyes on mine, understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed out, shaking her head and leaning up onto her elbows.
I grinned wide at her surrender, and gave her right leg a nudge out of the way, so that I could lean down closer to her left, the one I was still stroking with my thumb.
Still watching her eyes, I lowered my lips to her skin and pressed my open mouth to the symphony of skin and blood just under it. It beat to my song, in rhythm with my need for her. It called out and begged for me.
Pressing my tongue flat against that precious curve, where inner thigh met perfect sweetness, I sucked gently at her skin, just for a moment, just long enough for her to lose her breath.
She slid her hand through my hair as I did so, and that was all it took.
I opened my mouth wider and cut my teeth into her warm skin, the rush of her blood so loud in my ears I barely even heard it as she cried out. Half pained, half pleasured, all enamored ecstasy.
I sucked, hard at first, heavy pulls from the inside of her leg. And she jerked and thrashed under me, still crying out, her face perfectly twisted up in lust. But she kept her eyes open and on mine, and after the first few swallows I went softer on her.
Pulling my mouth back, I lapped at the tiny cuts with my tongue, alternating between soft licks and easy, suckling kisses.
I ran my tongue, red with her blood, along my top lip before returning it to the curve of her thigh and she clenched her eyes shut.
“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop...”
I growled as I pushed my mouth back to her leg, and cut into her again, less than an inch above the first crescent shape I made another, overlapping it.
The rush of blood was louder this time, and so was her cry. She arched her back up off her bed and I moved my hand under her, steadying her via the small of her back. With my other, I gathered a handful of black satin and pink lace, and tore, bringing her closer to me, pressing her harder to my mouth.
I knew I’d have to stop soon and I sucked harder, taking as much of her as I dared allow. Tearing more of her skirt, sliding my hand under it and against her slick skin, I pushed my middle finger inside of her.
My name rang out, over and over and over as she rocked against my hands and lips, and tongue and teeth.
“Thank you,” she was panting, barely able to breath at all, her voice all but gone.
“Thank you,” she was saying, her fingers stroking through my hair so softly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you...”
When I took from her like this, she called it giving. When she wanted me to take from her, she always asked so sweetly, for me to please give to her.
When she shined like this, I understood why.
Lapping carefully at the cuts, smoothing them safely over, I licked at my lips and crawled up her shaking body.
She curled on her side and I held her close, made warm enough by the gift she gave me, that I could actually warm her when we embraced.
“Thank you,” I whispered back, holding one arm around her tightly and tracing the hand of my other down her back to rifle through the tattered bits of her skirt.
I grinned as I kissed her forehead and she drifted toward sleep.
“Thank you, little Lamb.”
Posted by sarah at 2:42 PM
On Top of the Covers
(with love, on your birthday)
never in the sheets, she likes it on top of the covers...
-Girl Talk: Play Your Part
One year ago today, I was carrying her from the forest floor - passed out, freezing cold. Her red-from-the-wind cheeks had matched her red-from-crying eyes.
Not her birthday, but two days after it. That day we don’t talk about...
She spent her birthday this year in Florida with her mother, and two days later now, she was due at the airport any minute.
I shifted my weight from my left foot to my right where I stood next to Charlie, awaiting her arrival. We made eye contact in our peripherals, each of us semi-smiling.
Awkward. Standing next to him was beyond awkward.
Last year we were friends - or the closest thing Charlie had to friends for as much time as he liked to spend alone. He’d fallen all over himself thanking me for weeks for returning his daughter to him safe and sound.
The last few months had been a slightly different story though.
In truth and fairness, that was both our faults. While Charlie didn’t “know” anything for a fact, the way she looked at me was obvious to anyone who could see it, and I hadn’t kept her very honest when I was helping her sneak out her window every other night.
I couldn’t help it. She hadn’t given it up yet, but fuck if I didn’t want to spend every hour I could with my body up against hers.
Over our clothes usually. Mouths open, taking and giving kisses in turn. Hands coming to know the feel of one another's hardest and softest places. On top of the blankets in my bed, we’d turn and tangle for hours, until she was this blushing, begging little thing, whimpering and grinding and all Please, Sam... Please.
When I lit her up just right - teased her relentlessly and drew her pleasure out with soft touches, kissing and sucking and nipping with my teeth at the bottom of her tummy where she’d let me push her shirt up... When I held her release from her and made her me ask for it, she’d shake from her head to her curling little toes when she came, bucking her hips against my hand through her jeans. Then she’d erupt into this adorable fit of almost completely breathless giggles.
I loved that sound, loved seeing that smile on her face. All pleased and grateful, not a worry or care or pain in her whole world. I wanted to make her that happy all the time.
I licked my lips and dropped my eyes to my shoes, trying to hide the grin the following thought brought to my face.
I could just tie her to my bed and keep her there. Feed her by hand. Tease and worship her body with mine, constantly - the way it deserves to be. The way she deserves to be.
I dragged my hand down my face, pushing the thought from my mind. The last thing I needed while I was standing next to her Dad was a hard-on.
I scanned the crowds of people for her face, looking for her in an effort to clear my mind. It was really no use though. I hadn’t seen her in days, and every part of me was acutely and achingly aware of it: Her absence, my missing her. Her pending arrival, all the things I wanted to do to show her how much I’d missed her...
The night before she’d left, she’d surprised me in the best way.
The blankets on my bed were a mess from the hour or so we’d spent twisting and rocking against one another. I’d break from her lips to kiss her neck, the top of her chest, her stomach where she’d let me push her camisole up but not all the way off. But I couldn’t stay away for long, I’d return my lips to hers after just minutes. She had the sweetest mouth - all those soft sounds she made, the taste and feel of her tongue, the way her jaw would fall slack and her mouth would just hang open, gasping in shallow breaths right before she broke apart...
Her departure the next morning made me hungry for every kiss I could take before she left. And she was not without want of her own.
“Relax, baby,” I shushed her gently, my lips near her ear. She ground her hips against mine, desperate and frantic for friction, pressure, release. She was working too hard. She was going to lose it...
She groaned into the bend of my neck and I pressed my hand firmly between her legs, over her jeans.
“Bella, baby, relax. I’ve got you.”
I could feel her through the denim, feel how much she wanted me. I pressed harder against her, rubbing my fingers in a demanding pattern that exerted authority and made her coo as she gave in.
Without warning, she dragged her hand from where she was squeezing my shoulder down to her jeans. Her other arm tightened around my neck, holding tightly to me as she undid the copper button and fly, and reached to tug my hand inside.
“I need you, please, Sam. Touch - Ohhhhhh -”
Both of us lost our words as my hand slid against her. She arched her back and bent her knees, and spread her legs farther apart for me, searching for a better angle, for more contact.
I squeezed the back of her neck with my other hand, holding her in place and trying so hard to maintain control. She whimpered louder, writhing upward against my body and I held her tighter still, closing my eyes, feeling her all hot against my hand.
My fingers slid up and down, spreading her open with each pass - she was soft, all soft and smooth and bare and so wet. I held tight to her neck to keep from standing from the bed and turning on the light, tearing her jeans and panties from her because now that I’d felt her, I wanted so much to see her, naked and spread for me. I held tight to her to keep from dropping down between her legs, and taking into my mouth, onto my tongue all the sweetness I felt all over my fingers.
Again and again she came, shaking hard, tears of too-much, too-good welling up in her eyes. I was careful with her, staying mostly outside, rubbing tight little circles over and around her clit. She was beyond words, but I listened carefully to the pitch of her cries and gave to her everything she needed.
I dragged the last one out for so long she was almost completely incoherent, her head turned left into the pillows, her face twisted with need and pleading. For long, slow minutes, I swirled my fingers between her clit and her opening, dipping inside and drawing more of her wetness out, rubbing it gently into the little nub, making her arms and legs and stomach all quiver.
She was mumbling, begging these high-pitched, breathy sounds. I gave in slowly. Just the tip of my finger at first, then back out, then in again, a little deeper.
Then out again.
Then in again, a little deeper still.
She lifted her hips from the bed, arching her back higher, desperate. I pressed the heel of my hand against her, pushing her back down into my bed.
Her pleasure echoed in my ears and I slid my finger deeper, curling it gently inside her, coaxing her need out and making it mine.
She bloomed hotter against my hand, her whole body trembling as she crested. Her cries gave way to airy laughter almost right away, and her arms wrapped tight around my neck, clinging to me, thanking me with the softest, most innocent and most exhausted little kisses.
I rolled my eyes, willing my cock to stand down, turning my body momentarily to adjust it and keep it secret.
The time and effort I spent willing it down was all for nothing though. Bella arrived just minutes later, smiling bright.
Standing next to Charlie hadn’t been awkward at all; it was nothing compared to the ride back home.
The way she looked at me was obvious to everyone that could see it, and I was counting the hours until I could help her sneak out her window and get her on top of the covers, in my bed.
Posted by sarah at 2:38 PM
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
And there's no way to talk to you. This conversation's been dead - on - arrival. A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you... - fall out boy
“What did you do?” she spoke loudly as she opened her front door, louder than she’d ever raised her voice to me.
“Don’t,” I warned. I walked past her and craned my neck around the corner of her hallway. Behind me, I heard her close and lock the door.
“No one’s here. Edward, what did you do? Did you find him?”
She knew what I’d done, just like I knew her family was out of the house. My looking around the corner was just me buying time, and her asking questions she already knew the answer to was more of the same.
I knew she knew. I’d heard the anger and honesty in her voice when he recalled it in his last moments. When he remembered her, when I had my hands tight around his neck, ready to pull, snap, bend and break.
I saw the memory, saw her through his eyes as he watched her hold together the torn shoulder of her shirt. Her lips were swollen and red from where he’d forced his own, and they shook with hatred when she raised her eyes and spoke.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
He swallowed, not answering. He was afraid even then, he knew the consequences.
“Do you have a death wish? Really?”
“All I need is the end of the night,” he tried. “I can make it out of the state by tonight. I’ll disappear. He won’t find me.”
She scoffed, shaking her head.
“So that’s it? You tried to take something that doesn’t belong to you and now you think you can just go away? Like it never happened, just ‘disappear’? You don’t have a chance.”
“Yes. I do.”
The sound of ignorance and desperate hope was thick in his voice.
“No,” she shook her head again, and stood up straight and tall on her uneasy legs to look him right in his eyes.
“You think you’ll see the end of tonight? Jake, you’re not even going to last the hour.”
He turned after that, and ran fast. He phased. He ran faster.
I was onto him once he was a few miles away from her house - when the blankness lifted from Alice’s mind and she saw Isabella nursing bruises on her forearms. Her thoughts were mine, and I was moving faster than I ever had.
I turned and looked at Isabella, her question about if I’d found him or not still hanging between us. Stepping forward once, then twice, she took one back, then another, bumping her back against her front door. Her pupils dilated darker, wider with each step I took until their brown was almost completely blacked out.
“Edward... what happened? Did you-”
I took the only step that was left and she pressed her hands into my chest, as if to keep me back. I pushed against them, exerting my authority over her.
“This conversation is over,” I said lowly.
She closed her lips in turn, and swallowed, the muscles in her throat twitching as she did so, teasing me.
I brought my hands up and slid them between hers and my shirt. Her eyes darted down and she inhaled sharply.
Glancing down to see why, I saw the blood under my fingernails, around my cuticles.
I leaned back a few inches and she brought my jeans into focus, the halfdry reddish stains from where I’d wiped my hands when I was through with him.
I wasn’t a messy eater. I never ruined clothes when I fed. But dealing punishment was another story.
I severed his arms from their sockets, shredding muscles and tendons - all in a matter of immortal seconds before grasping his jaw and the base of his throat and pulling. Twisting. Tearing.
My palms and fingers were only as clean as they were because I’d wiped them on my jeans without even really thinking twice.
“Edward,” she whispered, pulling me from my thoughts.
I swallowed hard. The natural scent of her life was ripened by the fear swelling up inside her and the power of it pushed me forward so that our bodies touched.
Her heart raced at the contact, beating rampantly against the inside of her own chest and the outside of mine. I moved quickly, ridding her of her shirt and myself of my own, needing to feel our skin together. Needing to feel as close to that stubborn little muscle in her ribcage as I could possibly get.
She struggled as I tugged at our shirts away, pushing at me, reaching for my hands.
“Stop it,” I ordered, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. I squared my jaw and narrowed my eyes on hers.
"You know better than this."
“Wait,” she pleaded back, turning her head to where my right hand captured her left.
I looked again to where she was focused on my fingers, then back to her face. She raised her brows, pleading with her frightened eyes and I loosed my right hand from her wrist.
My patience was wearing thin like old thread. And she smelled so good...
She turned my hand over in her own, stroking the palm of my hand with the pad of her thumb.
The hand that had caught Jacob by his hair. The hand I’d closed into a fist and crushed his cheekbone with. The hand that was covered in his blood just minutes ago.
I pressed more firmly against her, the top of my aching stomach against her naked breasts, my belt buckle digging against the bottom of the butterflies in her abdomen. She raised our connected hands as I did so, and I closed my other tighter around her little wrist.
She opened her lips to speak, but refrained. Instead, she brought my hand to her mouth and kissed my palm, the insides of my fingers. Soft and small, chastely sweet little kisses.
The honest innocence of it was too much, the relief and gratitude coming off her too overwhelming. I tilted my head down, capturing her wrist once more into my hand and her lips with my own.
She was flawless, delicious and delicate in her surrendering. She was pink-lipped and her mouth was so full of loving cries and her heart was beating, bursting, brandishing love. She was beautiful when she fell apart. She was immaculate.
And he would never know it.
Posted by sarah at 5:28 PM
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Her laughter was becoming more breathless each time my hand landed on her.
It bubbled up all sunshinelight past her smile.
"Stop! Stop it!" she demanded, still giggling, kicking her legs in an effort to free herself.
"What?" I feigned innocence, holding her in place, grinning. "I can't help it, I lost count..."
"You've lost count *four* times already, Edward!"
I held her steady and still on my lap so that I could lean my face down to the side of hers. The apple of her cheek was tickled gala-pink and I pressed my lips to it softly.
With another giggle, she took advantage and tried to squirm away once more.
"I'm only on nine, Isabella. How old are you today?"
"Let me up!" she ordered "Do you have any idea how old I was the last time I was spanked on my birthday?"
I brought my palm down onto her once more. Not anywhere near enough to hurt. I was intimately attuned to all of her thresholds, and even if I wasn't - even if I didn't know *just* where, and when, and how to touch her - the giggles that were shaking her whole frame were assurance enough.
"How many is that?" I teased, gently rubbing my fingers where my hand had just swatted her. "Is that ten? Or was that only nine?"
I sat her up quickly, letting the two of her legs drape over my left as our eyes met.
"Birthday girl," I greeted, smiling wide.
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to mine, letting our lips almost touch as she spoke.
"Birthday spankings, really?"
I laughed, stealing a kiss.
"Really," I assured her.
"For the rest of eternity."
"Alice says I'll be stronger than you, y'know..."
It was her then, who stole a kiss. But really, you can't steal from the philanthropic. She could never steal a kiss from me. All of my kisses were hers. Are hers.
"Only for a little while," I smiled knowingly, and pulled her closer, brushing my hands up her sides. She shivered, and giggled, like I knew she would and I curled my fingers into her ribs. Thick laughter rippled up from her chest again as she doubled over in an attempt to shield herself.
"Okay... Okay!" she was bursting out. I laughed harder, feeling the muscles in my cheeks tighten from smiling so wide, from so deeply inside. I tickled my way over her stomach, between where her hands were trying to defend herself, and found my way to her legs.
"NO!" she bellowed, still in hysterics. "NO! DON'T YOU DARE! EDWARD!"
The insides of her thighs were so ticklish it should have been a crime.
Not to tickle them.
I curled my fingertips against her legs and stroked the skin there teasingly. Watching her cheeks pinken a shade darker, as they scrunched up with deeper laughter. Listening to that sound; that perfect, cherubic music coming up from her and filling the living room around us. Feeling her arms and legs wriggle to get free, wiggling her featherweight against me so sweetly. Loving her happiness, and her carefree freedom in this moment. Loving her.
I chuckled, and pulled my fingers back slowly, righting us both. She was panting as she settled her forehead to mine once more,
"Give me. My presents. You big bully," she spoke between deep breaths, still smiling.
I set her on her feet and stood up next to her, taking her hand in mine and leading her to the dining room. The gasp of air she inhaled was almost as deep as the breaths she'd been taking just moments ago, over my knee.
She took a few steps ahead of me, and stood in front of the table piled high with gift bags and boxes. I moved behind her slowly, nuzzling my nose in the crook of her neck as she looked slowly from left to right. "This is... too..."
"Happy birthday," I interrupted, gently as I could, kissing just under her ear.
"Thank you," she whispered, reaching her hand back to take mine in hers again.
I took a step forward to stand next to her and reached down amidst all the ornately wrapped and decorated turquoise and aquamarine coloured packages. I pulled forward a small cake, hand iced, piped, and petal-ed to perfection. She was watching silently; I felt her eyes as I lifted the fork from the porcelain plate and cut a small bite. Almond amaretto and raspberries filled the air, swirling the scent between us as I brought the bite up and to her smile.
She parted her lips just enough for me to move the bite of cake past them, her eyes only closing just then, the moment it hit her tongue. I set the fork back down with quietclink, watching her cheeks and her throat move as she chewed slowly, and finally swallowed. She blinked her eyes open slowly, darting her tongue out along her bottom lip, loosing that sound I was waiting for. The sound I thought about, worked so carefully for while I was simmering the raspberries to just the right heat. The sound I hoped so hard for while I was scraping all the tiny seeds from the vanilla bean. The sound of her, elated.
Without thinking; before the thought even occurred to me, I reached for her and pulled her close, moving my lips over the small bit of off-white cream on her top lip.
Had I taken it from the spoon I'd mixed it with, I'd have tasted nothing.
But from her lip, on her skin, it was divine.
She parted her lips wider and I deepened the kiss, tasting the faintest hint of vanilla and sugar, warm on her tongue. Her knees wobbled under her, weakened by the flourish of desire.
"Steady yourself, love," I whispered, holding her arms with my hands in an effort to help her stand.
Her lips curled in recognition.
"Steady yourself, for victory is near...?" she whispered back, raising her voice slightly at the end.
I slid my hands from her arms to her back, to cradle her closer to myself.
"Shut out the world, with it's tyranny of noise..."
"None of this matters now," she stole the next line, brushing her nose to my nose.
"Draw strength from the vision," I continued.
"That the deepest folds of your soul so long for..."
"For it is a song we all sing. Steady yourself, love, upon my gaze in this corridor,"
"And waver not in the face of the battle cry."
"We will not be beaten," I whispered, brushing my lips over hers.
"Lose not your faith now, for I need it -" she brushed back.
"To strengthen my own,"
"And should your steps falter, mine would grow lonely in this world of coal," she barely breathed, curling her arms around me. Desperate almost, like she was afraid I was going somewhere. Like there was anywhere in all of the world I'd rather be.
I curled my arm more firmly around her waist, securing her to me, telling her with my embrace what no words could seek to explain. I kissed her softly, chaste and sweet on her budding-pink lips, breathing the last two words of the poem right into her mouth like hope, and love.
Posted by sarah at 11:18 AM
“Oh my my my my my my -”
“Too many! One too many!” Jane corrected for the second time. “Five ‘my’s, then ‘mo’.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sing it with me Rosie-Posie, I’m sure,” Jane offered with a wink.
Rosalie puffed her cheeks chipmunk-full of breath and blew slowly, sending what was left of the summer-whitened dandelion to float on the August breeze.
Jane tapped her palm flat on her leg. One. Two. Three...
“Oh my my my my my mo my mother! I would love to love you, lover. City’s restless, it’s ready to pounce. Go, here in your bed, from... ounce to ounce. Sayin’ oh my my my my my mo my mother...”
They’d spent the day in and on the grass, close to the mountains, under the sunshine that lit the smalty-blue Georges Seraut skyline. When Jane had arrived, just weeks ago - a cross country drive out West, sleeping in parking lots and selling the clothes out of her duffle just for gas money - she’d fallen in love.
With a place.
She'd fallen in love in her heart. In her mind. In the valleys. In the viva-voce of the tides. She was lit alive again.
“Kay, let’s do the beginning,” she interrupted their slightly raspythroated softsinging, for what might have been the billionth time.
“Ahhhhh, again? What is it with you and beginnings?” Rosalie feigned impatience. But her smile gave her away.
Jane righted her spine, sitting up straight to pull a huskier voice from her dainty diaphragm.
“Day... after day...”
Rosalie mimicked Jane's pristine posture and picked up the next line.
“I will work... and I will play...”
“But the day... after today...”
“I will stop... and I will start...”
Jane snuck a peek from the corner of her eye, from where they sat, side-to-side, she smiled wide. And she raised her arms high, her hands in loosefixed fists, to move herself to the quick-pick-up of their lyrical pace.
“Why can’t I get, just one kiss?! “
“Why can’t I get, just one kiss?!?!”
Rosalie raised her arms too. Each still planted on the grass, they were dancers from the waist up, rocking twenty bare toes back and forth between them.
“Believe me, some things I wouldn’t miss -”
The taller blonde dropped her voice even deeper then, turning to the shorter one. Her voice was a lowlush hush in Jane's left ear:
“But I look at your pants and... I need a kiss!”
Jane tried to keep singing through her laughter, but Rosalie was tickling her then, braiding bellylaughs and babbledlyrics together in the afternoon air.
“Why can’t I get, just one screw? Why can’t I get... just one screw?!”
“Believe me... I’d know what to do...”
The taller of the two had the shorter one pinned then, and the shorter one knew that look. She stole the next line before Rosalie could go in for the kiss.
Jane shimmied her shoulders back against the grass and pursed her lips into a snooty pout -
“But something won’t let me make, love to you!”
They tangled then, plucky and playful. One was on top. Then the other. Then the other again. Underneath. Inbetween. All around the other. It was more a horizontal frolic than a fight, flirtation all freewheeling and frenzied, voices fluctuating from bass to tenor so fluidly.
“Why can’t I get just one fuck?”
“Why can’t I get... just one fuck?!”
“I guess it’s something to do with luck, but I’ve waited my whole life for just one...”
They were up and onto their barefeet before long, blonde chasing blonde. Swirling and spinning their soiree between the sequoias.
“Don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me...”
“Day... after day...”
“Don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me...”
“I get angry... and I will say...”
“You know you got my sympathy...”
“But don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me...”
The shorter one snuck up behind the taller, covering her eyes with her ten fearless fingers.
“Oh my my my-”
“My my mo my other-”
“I would love to love you lover...”
Rosalie tugged her ‘round then, freckling kisses up her arm and across her nose and cheeks, kissing her all the same precious places that the sunshine had.
Jane folded forward like a flower to morninglight, and snuck just the tips of her fingers under the babybluebonnet coloured headband around Rosalie’s creamgolden crown.
“I’ve given you a decision to make,” she spun the song almost lip-to-lip.
“Things to lose, things to take,” her love whispered back, eyes closed, seeking speechless softsweetness, tongue-to-tongue.
And as she’s about ready to cut it up, she says “Wait a minute honey, I’m gonna add it up.”
Add it up! Add it up! Add it up! Add it up!
I hope your day is wonderifical sweetsweetgirl - sending love and hugs and westcoastwishes,
Posted by sarah at 10:22 AM