Marianna
Blake’s tongue parts my folds before his mouth closes around me, sucking deep, and thousands of prickles of heat erupt through me, sweeping me into a kind of semi-consciousness that makes the room blur. My mind goes blissfully blank. It’s just me and him, nothing else. His groan of pleasure coils through my body, tightening every muscle. I tremble as he releases me, going back to gentle, exploratory licks, little nibbles, and by the time he presses two fingers inside of me, I’m drowning in him.
I lift my hips from the bed, my knees spread wide, and cry out his name while my fingers tangle in his luscious dark hair. I come undone at the seams within seconds, and it’s so strong, so completely overpowering, that for a moment, I’m breathless, shaking and moaning without restraint. His lips press against the inside of my thigh. I feel his smile, feel his breathy exhale as he comes up for air, and… then he’s here, on top of me, his hands drifting under my shirt, his mouth sucking on my neck.
I’m reminded that the first, and last, time we were together like this was in the back of his car. We were squished together, fumbling, unsure what to do with our bodies. It was a first for both of us–something sacred we were able to share together. We’d chased feelings and instincts that night while rain pounded the roof of his car, and the windows fogged.
This is different on so many levels. We’re older, wiser, I think, maybe not, but still. He moves like he’s more experienced, like he knows his way around my body even after so many years apart. He sits me upright and helps me pull off my shirt, then my bra. My legs are draped over his while he keeps a hand on my lower back to keep me steady as I toss what’s left of my clothes over the side of the bed. Chest to chest like this, I have a view of his face, the starlight dancing in his eyes, the universe at his fingertips, and it’s beautiful.
He slides his hand up the back of my neck and into my hair. Our noses brush, and moonlight dances over our bodies. I slowly, carefully, unbutton the rest of his shirt and slide it off him.
We stay like this for what feels like several minutes–just breathing each other in–light touches, the occasional kiss. He presses his lips to my cheekbone, and a tear slides down my face against my will. For years I’ve wanted this. I’ve prayed for this. I wish I could go back and change everything.
I look into his eyes as we balance on a precipice of no return. This will change everything. We had a contract. We had everything planned out. We have Skye to think about.
But right now… I’m just thinking about me. Him. Us.
“I want you to play for me soon,” he whispers against my skin, pressing his mouth just below my collarbone. His hair smells like his cologne–something deeply spiced and woodsy, a sharp contrast to his usual scent.
“My violin?”
“Yes, I’ve missed it. I’ve been listening to the solo you played at your last concert in Crescent Falls for days now, over and over again. I want to hear your songs, though. The ones you wrote when we were younger.”
I close my eyes as his kisses deepen, and he lowers his head to my breasts. He leans back onto the bed with me in his arms, covering me with his body again, and his tongues… Gods.
He draws a line with it over my left breast before sucking again, then dips lower, taking my nipple into his eager mouth.
I sharply cry out, winding my legs around his waist, and arch to meet him, heat coursing through my veins and settling in my core again. He nibbles, biting softly, groaning while I writhe and whimper beneath him.
His touch is on the verge of being too much, too intense, when he abruptly pulls away and pulls his belt free of its loops. I sit up again, out of breath as I hastily unbutton his pants and frantically help him out of his clothes. The second his pants hit the ground, we collide in the sheets, wordlessly touching, exploring, almost frantic in our desire to just feel each other.
He nudges my legs apart, his mouth pressed to mine, and grips my hips before plunging his hard cock inside of me in a swift, violent thrust.
“Blake!” I cry out, arching my neck back as the stretch hits me, setting my entire body on fire. Pleasure like I’ve never known curls through my system, drowning me, as he thrusts in slowly, dragging out his own pleasure, his neck bent as he braces his hands on either side of my shoulders.
“Fuck,” he rasps, gritting his teeth. He curses something unintelligible under his breath before lowering his body to mine, settling deep between my hips. I gasp at the depth he reaches. I’m full of him. He’s buried to the hilt and refuses to move for several seconds.
“Are you okay?” I pant, caressing his face.
“I don’t know,” he admits breathlessly, his nose brushing mine as he rolls and grinds his hips against mine, making me moan. His eyes are heavy and dark with need, and his skin is hot–almost fevered–as he watches me, watches as I gasp and whisper his name. “I’m just… you’re beautiful.”
He thrusts in again, hard this time, hard enough my toes curl, and I let go of any reservations I had left. He kisses me deeply, whispering praise against my lips, and curls his body into mine. Every touch is electric. Every movement of his body is honed to mine. We meet like a key to a lock—a perfect fit. It’s like he was built for me. Selfishly, I want that. I want him to myself for the rest of my life–even if I only have minutes, hours, days.
He presses me into the mattress as my inner walls tighten. The tension between us coils in my lower belly, tight as a violin string. I’m so close. I feel the orgasm racing toward fruition at a blinding rate of speed when he rises over me, thrusts hard, and holds himself still while I come undone, my vision blurred by stars and my body quivering.
He curses again, my name the last word on his tongue, before pressing his cock as deep as he can go and spilling himself inside of me while my walls clutch and spasm around him, milking him dry.
Blake trembles, lowering himself onto me again, rolling us onto our sides facing each other. He’s still inside me, our legs still tangled, and I’m warm. Blissfully, completely heated to the bone.
I fall asleep within seconds. The room blurs with moonlight, and the last thing I feel is Blake pulling the covers over us, turning me around, and cuddling me close. His warmth penetrates my body, making my muscles melt, and I don’t fight the rush of darkness that sweeps me into a dream world, into another memory.
The thing is… It’s not mine.
I’m watching memories play out from Blake’s perspective. Memories of me tangled with his thoughts. Me, sitting on the couch, pulling a pretend bow across an imaginary violin while classical music plays from an ancient stereo across the room. I tuck my toes under his thigh, and he feels… amazing. Blake isn’t sure whether it’s the sweater he’s wearing or my touch that’s making him overheat, but he can’t take his eyes off of me, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and just… touch me.
Me, jumping up and down in the rain during the ill-fated concert that changed our lives forever. I’m sopping wet, glowing in the haze of flashing rave lights, while he stands two feet away, holding the stick that once contained a cloud of cotton candy I begged for until he relented, which immediately melted in the rain, but he’s still holding it, unable to move as he watches me… smile.
It rewires his brain.
I rewire his brain.
Another memory zips past. Him watching my mom place Skye in my arms moments after she was born. He’s out of breath, in awe, looking at the two of us like it’s the start of a life he didn’t have the nerve to even wish for.
Him, years later, drained of all emotion and a bottomless void of who he used to be. He opens his laptop to an email from our mediator, who tells him I’ve remarried. He sits there for an hour just staring at the email, what’s left of his heart shattering like glass.
Him, standing in the hallway in the basement of the performing arts center, seeing me for the first time in seven years–pulled there by the voices in his head, by a force even he, so powerful, couldn’t fight.
Then the dream, his memories, fades into… sheer panic. I feel nothing but pain as a room made of stone fills my vision. I’m trapped, weighed down. Soren suddenly appears looking beaten and terrified as Blake’s voice fills the dream, begging Soren to let him die, to find me and Skye and save us from whoever… did this to him.
I wake up with a start and a gargled scream, unable to catch my breath. Blake jolts back to awareness and flies out of bed. His powers light the room as he storms into the depths of the penthouse, and a few moments later, returns, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He rubs his eyes, heavy with sleep, then looks at me. “Are you okay?”
“I was dreaming. I didn’t mean to startle you.” I swallow hard, struggling as my words tremble. “Actually, this is your fault.”
“My fault?” he asks.
“I was in your head!”
He scratches his temple, his eyes hooded and dark with fatigue, like that… hour or so had been the first time he’d slept in days before I so rudely tore him from his slumber. “What did you see?”
“Soren tortured you?”
“Oh, no,” he say, glancing around the bedroom once more before sliding back into bed. “No, but Soren was there. He… he got me out of that mess. I’ll be more careful with my shields going forward. I didn’t realize I’d let them down.”
He looks stiff, uncomfortable, but I shimmy closer to him and nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. He draws lazy circles over my naked hip, and silence settles for several minutes before my eyelids start to droop, but I will myself back into existence to ask, “Can you see my dreams?”
“I’m sure they’ll mingle tonight. I used to purposefully give my brother and our cousins nightmares if they pissed me off.”
“That’s awful!” I laugh, lifting my head, but he’s… smiling. A soft, lazy kind of smile I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear.
“Liam used to be terrified of this book that had a rabbit in it.”
“A rabbit?”
“It was a vampire rabbit, in his defense. I might have forced a few dreams about it. We shared a room for a while growing up, and I wanted my own space. He slept in our parents’ bed until he was like, twelve years old.”
“You’re kind of a menace.”
“I’m an enterprising man. There’s a difference.”
My answering laugh is soft–sleepy. I drift off in his arms feeling weightless and warm, having long forgotten about the curse ravaging my body.
The wound on my neck aches, but sleep washes over me, carrying me back into a land of dreams, and this time, it’s all music.
A little gift from him, I think.