rivers_bend

This woke me up this morning and made me late for work. Triple drabble, not G rated.



Alabaster column The cliché nearly slides off my tongue before I replace the whisper with your taste. Salt, something clean, and deeper, heat, pulsing not stone against my lips. I feel your want pressing back, responding to my mouth as your body quivers with stillness, awaiting permission to move.

Using my teeth, I draw your heat to the surface, denying any comparison of your skin to mineral. Cabbage roses bloom under my attentions, hot house flowers with throats open, a living tapestry, art from desire.

You neither lean nor sway towards me, yet I feel you reaching out, meeting my touch, drawing me in. Behind your back your arms sketch a graceful oval. I trace with a finger tip the line where cuffs would rest if either of us had less faith in your abilities. That curve where wrist becomes thumb, and bone pads out to muscle. Your ribs jump, catching on jagged breath, and I see your fingers stiffen, but you don’t so much as clutch more tightly where they intertwine.

I kneel and you gasp. Ignoring you, I allow my tongue to follow the line drawn by my finger. To trace it further and dip into the V between your knuckles. It’s barely there, but I feel your finger brush against my cheek. “Don’t move,” I whisper into your cupped palm as I pull away. You grow rigid with strain as I push you beyond want into need.

I stand before you, watching. Your eyes are steady on mine as they plead for more. My own need catches in my throat, boils up, weakens me. I give you what you need because I need it more, my mouth demanding on yours, demanding into yours, “touch me.” Words, muffled but understood, release you to claim me as your reward.