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Rating: NC-17 The moon’s light cast an ethereal glow over her refection in the glass doors and dull eyes greeted her, framed in a face devoid of hope. She was wretched and alone. Violent rain crashed against the shaking panes, accompanied by a sudden crack of thunder, making her jerk, sloshing the wine she tightly cradled. It was bitter and unpleasant, punishing her taste buds until they grew accustomed. She was thirsty, her mouth tangy and dry from the mixture of alcohol and tears. She poured another glass and shook her head; it felt thick and alien. Swollen red eyes barely focused and blurry images swam before her, making her frown in concentration. Trembling lips gulped for oxygen and she panicked, a heated sickness flooding her chest. Outside, the harsh wind whipped against the sodden robe as she stood on the stone balcony. Her view of the city was hazy, masked by tumbling red strands billowing across her face, sticking to damp cheeks. High up, aloof and alone, staring down at something she failed to achieve. Inside the stereo whirled, once again repeating the song that filled the apartment with husky raw emotion. Over and over it played, like a tale of her life, while she gulped at the Chardonnay in her hand. She cried silently, her tears joining with the rain to fall into the crystal goblet. It was cold, but she didn’t notice. The song continued, reaching its crescendo and she matched it, howling into the night, releasing her pain for the briefest of moments. No one heard. The sacrifices had been made, was the cost too high? A lifetime of loneliness, entwined with the sure knowledge of her failure. Too many times she had pushed him away, denied him her love and refused his. And now it was her turn to hurt. Her teeth chattered. She could have told him how she felt, whispered the words he had waited so long to hear. Many nights she had lain awake and re-lived these fantasises. How would it have been? Would he have smiled that devastating smile and crushed her body to his? Would he have loved her through the night, claiming her body and soul? It was always his to take. If only he had realised. At night she ached for him. The glass was almost empty, but she raised it, toasting him and his new life. She mocked herself with the action. Tomorrow, if she survived, she would hide beneath her mask and watch the man she loved marry. The delicate crystal shattered in her fierce grip, lacerating her palm. Transfixed, she watched the blood run, seeping over her white skin, running and flowing, diluted by the rain. Across town, in a similarly bare apartment, a man watched the storm, and a woman watched him. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice low and determined. “I do not understand.” “It isn’t right … I have to leave.” “To go to her? You are mine; I am yours. She did not want you.” “No … but she needs me.” “She will adapt.” He turned around. “I can’t let her go … in here” he touched his chest. “I … need her,” he realised. “What about my needs?” Her hand continued to bleed. It was proof of her life. She bled. She hurt. She felt. It was metallic and hot, and the coppery taste made her retch as she sucked it. It wouldn’t stop. She cried, broken. The figure moved through the darkness, his approach masked by the loud music. He hesitated for a moment, watching her drenched body shaking violently. Moving behind, he grabbed her shoulders, swinging her to face him. Her eyes regarded him; her reactions were slow, hampered by the cheap acidic wine. Her mouth opened, lips moving sluggishly, unintelligent sounds whimpering into the cold air. “I … cut … my hand … cut…” His mouth covered hers, hard and bruising, tongue and teeth working together to penetrate her slack lips. Their first kiss lacked romance, lacked love, and lacked finesse. He plundered her, crushing her against his chest, cupping and kneading her buttocks as he stole her breath and tasted her alcoholic desperation. Hungrily, she fought to return his passion, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pressing herself into his warmth. The kiss continued, harsh and demanding, and a large hand pushed between them, roughly grabbing her breast. She was small in his palm and his caress was painful, fingers digging into the soft tissue as they squeezed and grasped. She would have whimpered her protest, but his repeatedly jabbing tongue refused to let her. She felt; pain, arousal, longing, anger. She felt alive in his arms. The rain poured over her naked shoulders as he tore away her robe, baring her to his eyes and the city below. He left her mouth to devour her breast, sucking so fiercely she thought the skin would tear. His cheeks hollowed with the effort and she bent backwards, clawing his shoulders wanting him to lessen his assault. Yet wanting more. With one hand, he supported her, with the other, he fondled her, groping and pinching her flesh, roaming her body freely, and taking what was his. She squealed as his teeth chewed upon her nipple, his sharp incisors undoubtedly leaving their impression on the tawny, puckered bud. Frantically she tore at his clothing, scratching at his solid bronzed muscles with her nails, gorging his back and shoulders; more so, when he palmed her heated sex, chafing her with thick fingers. Another keening cry tore from her dry throat as two insistent fingers pushed up inside her, pressing and searching, thrusting aggressively against her swelling G-spot. Her body jerked with his every stroke, arms flapping wildly, legs opening instinctively, swallowing his assault and hungrily begging for more. His breath was hot on her skin as he suckled and licked at her breasts, lapping at her nipples as his mouth worked lower, tonguing the rivers of rain as they flowed over her body. The sensations were deliciously erotic, a bizarre mixture of hot and cold, the wet evening cooling her heated skin. She lent against the balcony, arms outstretched, gripping the railing. She was panting and moaning naked and drenched, watching the dark head moving down over her stomach, his sodden hair tickling her navel. He knelt before her, beautifully bare, skin taut and golden, his clothing torn and strewn over the floor. Her head tilted, desperate to see more of the well-sculptured Adonis kneeling between her thighs, her eyes following the line of his shoulders as it curved towards his rear. Suddenly she had the impulse to tongue her way down his back, tickling and probing his anus until he splattered her pumping hand and collapsed by her side. Suddenly he lifted her legs away, draping them over his broad shoulders, supporting her weight fully, while her hands gripped the railings to hold herself upright. Without looking up, his lips suckled along her moist sex, licking her juices from his pistoning fingers and burying his face into her intoxicating scent. She arched and squealed, grazing her delicate skin on the harsh concrete wall. He continued, swirling and lapping in a rhythm she could not match. She was helpless, her body at his mercy, her sex grinding on his mouth. Her head leant backwards, hair tumbling, and she saw the city, upside down. Somewhere at the back of her mind she wondered if people were watching her, naked and moaning, getting fucked by two, no, make that three, thick fingers and one very talented tongue. Another finger probed and pressed and she grunted in pain. “No …” Harder and more determined it gained access to her tight anus, ignoring her contracting sphincter and wriggling deeper. He flexed his buried fingers and she groaned. “Please …” With her hips unable to move, her orgasm hovered just out of reach, leaving her gasping and pleading in frustrated agony. His tongue flicked quickly over her swollen clit making her breath catch and her internal muscles spasm. Her weakened legs were repositioned around his waist as he stood up and rammed his thickened shaft inside her with one long stroke. It hurt, stung terribly, but it didn’t matter. He was with her, inside her, moving so hard and fast she thought she would be thrown off the balcony. Her back was grazed and sore from the wall, but the pain was drowned out by the pleasure that spread outwards from her belly and left her screaming his name. Limply, she clung to him, exhausted and sated, as her over-sensitive tissue continued to be plundered. She knew from past experience that she would not climax again and concentrated instead on trying to tighten and flex around his considerably large penis. He had other ideas. He turned, still sheathed in her wet heat, and walked over to the patio table. A whimper left her lips at the friction his movement caused, another whimper sounded as he placed her buttocks on the table. She shivered, she was getting cold and the puddle he had sat her in hadn’t helped. His arms wrapped around her and his mouth began kissing her, mimicking the rhythm between her open legs. A faint stirring began deep inside her and she offered no resistance when he pushed her backwards, laying her out for him to look at and touch. Jet-black orbs watched her swallowing his lengthy erection, watched her coat him with slick transparent fluids as he pumped into her. Large hands stroked along her hips, gliding along her drenched body towards the stiff jutting nipples. They were hard and dark, the skin taut and puckered. He pinched at them, making her jerk and grunt. Her eyes rolled closed and her hands clenched above her head, where he had placed them. He wanted her to surrender. Savagely he fucked her, punishing her, ramming the head of his cock against her tender cervix, rubbing her raw with every powerful thrust. One hand gripped her hip, using it as leverage, while the other squeezed her breast roughly, his nails marking her white skin. His eyes were dark, twin pools of anger and desire. Harsh, coarse words emanated from his throat, some erotic, some frightening. She watched him. With previous lovers she had liked to be the one in control, now she had no control. He was using her like a rag doll and she was letting him, laying before him, vulnerable in her nudity, legs open wide, bedraggled and dripping. His thrusts gained tempo and she knew he was close. She observed him as he grunted heavily, his face twisted in pleasurable agony, concentration marking his brow with fine creases. The sound shocked her, such a primal, animalistic roar. It echoed in the silence of the night, penetrating her neighbours’ apartments, leaving them in no doubt as to what she had been doing. The balcony was spinning and she fought the nauseous bile rising in her throat. “I’ve got to get up …” she croaked, pushing at his panting form and fleeing inside. “Shit!” she cursed, hovering over the toilet and emptying the meagre contents of her stomach. “Bastard!” She cradled her aching tummy and tried to stem their congealing fluids as they seeped from her, trickling down her thighs. In her opinion, he’d fucked her and left her to throw her guts up alone. “Bastard!” she repeated between heaves. Eventually, she returned from the bathroom, wearing a dry robe and looking ill. She fetched herself a glass of water and sipped gingerly from it. He was still outside and still naked. She admired his glistening body without any pangs of guilt or remorse. “Don’t you think you’d better come in before you catch your death?” she called. Silently he turned, not bothering to hide his flaccid penis from her gaze, and unashamed of his nudity. He seemed disorientated, lost. Getting up she moved to fetch him an old tartan robe, which had once belonged to her father. Over the years it had moved houses with her, comforted her when she felt lonely, snuggled her through illness and depression. Now it covered him. He raked his fingers through his hair, combing it back from his face, accentuating his strong jaw and nose. He shivered. “If you want tea, you can make it yourself,” she told him. “I’ll have coffee … strong … black.” He grunted a reply then moved into her small galley kitchen. In his absence she sat thinking. This was so wrong. What the hell had just happened? Oh, she didn’t need diagrams, the sore sticky mess coating her upper legs told the lurid truth. The smell of coffee wafted under her nose and she took the cup gratefully. “What’s this,” she gestured, “a last minute fling?” He sighed heavily. “No.” She waited. “I’m not getting married … I told her earlier.” “Why?” He met her inquisitive gaze. “I don’t love her.” Her breath caught. “Why not?” “Because you’re all I think about.” “I see.” “Look … I never planned to come over here and …” “Screw me senseless on my balcony in the rain, while I was drunk?” “Damn you!” he hollered, jumping up from his seat and dragging her into his arms. “I want you … tonight, tomorrow, next week, ten years down the line … Its up to you! What do you want? A quick fuck, or …” “You … I want you,” she hissed, tugging his head to hers and kissing him hard. He responded immediately, crushing her to his chest, spreading his hands over her back and thrusting his tongue out to urgently greet hers. Together they moaned and rocked, hips undulating, passion flaring, stumbling towards the couch, knocking the table in the process and spilling their drinks as the cups rolled to the floor. The lamp crashed, bending the shade and smashing the pottery base as it too made way for their heaving bodies. They toppled onto the couch, and she straddled him, rubbing herself against him. He groaned. “Now its my turn,” she told him passionately. “I’m going to screw you.” She kissed him, hard and furious, her wet hair dripping onto his muscular neck, setting a trail that her lips and teeth followed. He winced as she bit into his shoulder, marking him as surely as his tattoo, branding him hers. Her fevered moans filled her room, competing with the creaking springs and the rustle of silk and tartan cotton. Nails dug into his ears and neck as she ravaged him, while his hands grasped and squeezed her buttocks, grinding her harder against his solid erection. Her tongue lapped at a brown nipple, drawing it out so that she could twist it with her teeth. He groaned under her. “This is what you did to me … bit at me … treated my breasts like pieces of meat … chewed my nipples …” she told him, copying his earlier mauling. “I know …” he arched. White fingers yanked away his robe and she sat back to look at him. His right nipple was angry looking, faint pinpricks of blood seeping into scarce wiry hair. She smirked and pinched at it, encouraging the red fluid to flow, licking it away while he stiffened and growled. Her tongue moved lower, licking and swirling over his heated flesh. He lay back, exposed to her licentious scrutiny, his neck pierced and dark, body aching and pained under her constant scratching. Savage welts accompanied her explorations and she adjusted her position, straddling his lower legs and freeing his groin. He hissed as her fingers wrapped tightly around his throbbing shaft. “Too much?” she asked. He nodded, teeth gritted. She pumped him, her free hand squeezing his sacs. “You used me, out there … fingered me, fucked me, rammed this thing inside of me till I felt raw … now I’m going to teach you all about tough love!” And with that she took him completely in her mouth and sucked a little too vigorously, making him yell. “That’s a good boy, scream baby,” she instructed. “I’m sorry …” “For what,” she mumbled, suckling on the bulbous tip. “Everything … out there, taking you … in anger!” he grunted, bucking his hips and partially thrusting his erection deeper into her mouth. She jerked back and bit none too lightly on his smooth skin. “I’m in control here,” she warned. His response was low and unintelligible. “You remember when you fingered my ass?” He nodded, pupils dilated as he realised her intentions. “Yes? Well … I’m going to return the favour,” she whispered, pushing his leg outwards, and probing his anus. His arms grabbed for her, but she was quicker, inserting her finger deep inside of him. He grimaced. “What’s the matter? Don’t you enjoy this? Funny, I rather gathered you did,” her finger pushed further. “Please …” “What?” He throbbed in her palm, wet and glistening. “What do you want? You want me to suck you off? You want to ejaculate in my mouth, or over my breasts maybe? Or maybe you want me to engulf your cock in my wet body?” “Yes …” he grunted. Once more she shifted her weight and tongued her way down his impressive shaft. “Would you like to know what I thought about earlier? While you were licking me out?” Uncertainly he nodded. “I wanted to tongue my way over your back … until …” her mouth was moving constantly, assaulting his every sense. “Until I could …” Suddenly her wet tongue was flicking over the spot behind his sacs, flicking and pressing before moving to tickle inside his reddened anus. He jerked with a force that almost threw her off. “What?!” Quick little jabs moved within him, while her hands continued to toy with his rigid length. Desperately he reached for her, “No … wait … I’ll never last …” She sat up and opened her robe, baring herself to his lustful gaze. “Do you want me?” she asked. “Yes …” he stammered. She moved, hovering over his groin, rubbing the head of his length along her wetness, stimulating herself as it nudged against her swollen clitoris. “Please,” he begged, making her smirk. She was wet and ready, her fluids trickling, pooling onto his dense black pubic hair. Slowly she eased him inside her, wincing slightly, “God, I feel as though I’ve been fucked by an donkey,” she groaned. His hands steadied her hips. “I hurt you didn’t I?” Her movements stopped and she sat, impaled on his thickness, her muscles going into spasms around him. “Yes, you did … but not as much as I’ve hurt myself.” Tenderly he reached out to stroke her face. “I never meant to …” “I know.” With some shifting, he sat up, wrapping his arms around her tiny back and holding her close to his chest, rocking slightly. He gazed into her eyes, lips moving slowly towards hers and then he kissed her, softly, gently, a kiss full of love. Eagerly she kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his, learning his taste. All their pain, years of hurt and denial, their savage lovemaking faded, drowned out by the sweetness of their kiss. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. And the dam burst, wracking her body with broken sobs. “Oh God I love you too,” she, cried, showering kisses over his chin, nose, eyelids, jaw. “Don’t leave me.” “Never,” he kissed back, their kisses gaining passion. “Make love to me … take me to bed and make love to me,” she breathed. Cupping her buttocks, he stood up, once more walking effortlessly with his manhood sheathed in her welcoming heat. “Where is the bedroom?” He growled. “Over there,” she pointed, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing his bitten neck. Inside her room he lowered them both onto the large bed, accidentally slipping out of her. “Please,” she whimpered, spreading herself out, inviting him to nestle in the warmth of her embrace. Carefully he positioned himself over her, his twitching member burrowing deeper inside her body. “I love you,” he repeated. “I know darling,” she caressed. “I’m sorry about …” “Don’t, please don’t,” tearfully she looked away. He stroked her face, brushing back the damp red strands and forcing her to meet his eye. “I know we’ve got issues to work through, but I need you … marry me.” She gasped, “Marry you?” Anxiously he watched her. “Yes.” Her expression altered. “I’d love to marry you.” He let out the breath his was holding and lowered his head to steal a kiss from her swollen mouth. As their tongues lazily duelled, his hips began rotating and thrusting, slow and shallow. She matched him, raising herself to meet each languid plunge, panting sweetly as his lips roamed along her jaw and neck. “Oh yesss, love me!” she moaned. “I do … I do …I do,” he rasped, nibbling at her pale exposed skin. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect.” She would have laughed at him had she not been so aroused. She was not the kind of woman men adored, or lusted after. She was ordinary looking at best and right now she knew she looked a fright with no make up and limp hair that hung in rat’s tails. She snorted derisively and he looked up from his task on her neck. “I wouldn’t lie to you, you’re the most beautiful, sexy, frustrating, wonderful, intoxicating woman I’ve ever known … and I’m completely in love with you, always have been.” The truth of his words shone out from his dark eyes, making her want to weep. “Oh God I love you,” she cried, kissing him desperately and arching her body into his. The fingers of one hand eased between their slick bodies and captured a waiting breast, tweaking the nipple and making her gasp into his mouth. “I adore these,” he whispered. A quick retort hovered, but was lost as his pelvis rubbed against her, demanding her full attention. “Faster,” she whimpered, pulling him deeper into her body as she wrapped her legs around his rear. He grunted, his face glistening as he stroked in and out, hips driving powerfully into the cradle of hers. Her moans urged him on and her nails dug into his firm back. “Oh yesss … mmm,” she bit down on her lip, head tossing from side to side. He raised himself up, leaning on his elbow, watching her face as his hand moved from her breast and tangled in her auburn curls, swirling and pressing, making her cry out and buck violently. “Oh God!” His rhythm faltered becoming slamming jerks as he approached his own release, plunging deeply as he emptied his seed into her, before panting into her shoulder. He was heavy, but not unpleasantly so. She could feel him softening, and was reluctant for him leave her. “Don’t go, not yet,” she whispered. “I’ll crush you.” “I’m not that frail!” He allowed her to pull him closer. “No, I guess not. You’re crying.” She sniffed. “It seems to be my forte lately.” “Do you regret…?” “No! No,” she quickly reassured him. “Do you?” “Only that we never did this earlier.” “I guess that was my fault,” she mumbled, allowing a few more tears to roll over her cheeks. He thumbed under her eyes, “You’re beautiful when you cry.” “Mmm, red eyes are very becoming!” she replied with a hint of sarcasm. He stared at her then moved away, rolling onto his back, muttering about her spoiling the mood. “I’m sorry … sorry!” she sobbed, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her nakedness. “Don’t turn your back on me … please!” He turned again and took her in his arms. “I’m not turning away from you,” he reassured. “Why do you always have to get so defensive?” She sniffed loudly. “I’m not going anywhere and I’ll never leave you. I love you and I want to marry you, nothing else matters,” he vowed. She stared up at him. “Then you really meant it? About wanting me, about marriage?” “You thought it was some kind of line?” he asked in astonishment. “I wasn’t sure,” she admitted. “Are you sure about the answer you gave me?” He was concerned and it showed. “I’m not certain I could walk away, not now.” “You don’t have to,” she whispered, kissing him as the lightening lit up the bedroom. Outside the rain continued, harsh and unforgiving, cold and miserable. They didn’t notice. The End Feedback? 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