Monthly Archives: January 2014

Window

window

 

She was beautiful even in the darkness. Her skin was café au lait, with the emphasis on the lait, and soft, silky like a whisper of snow on the wind. There was nothing cold about her, though. She was hot, completely hot. Breasts high and firm, large dark nipples that peaked when he darted the tip of his tongue between his lips.

She was different from his others. She was worth the risk of being found out. How could she not be? She’d never offered anything she wasn’t willing to give, never given anything and then expected to be paid for it later. She captivated him, from the first moment, and now, many many moments later, she still caged him, though the key to that cage was in his own pocket and had been from the start. She laid no claim on him. It was one of the things that bound him to her so tightly, knowing he could walk away at any moment and she wouldn’t play games to hold him.

That made it easier. And harder. He was certainly hard, harder than he’d ever been, standing there in the dark, taking her against the window, her breath — or perhaps his own — fogging the glass as they groaned and grunted their way to the end. He wanted it to last, willed it to last, fought the finish his whole body screamed for, though he knew it was a battle lost from the start, and worth losing. He was losing it even now. God, yes, there, there!

As he emptied into her she moaned, delighting in his release, even as the tremors from her own still rocked her. When they came gasping down from the high, he nuzzled her neck and whispered, “You’ll always be the best.” He shifted his weight, slid his hands up to the small of her back and shoved. “Always,” he called after her and stepped back inside to report the accident.

Centum

And when in broken pieces lay

The strings of fellowship

And when at break of sodden day

The sound of cracking whips,

Do all the wise words steal away

And stumbling fools do slip

Into the realm of come what may

And wish they’d had a grip

On what is real, on what to say

And when, just when to seal a lip

For nothing’s soft and gentle sway

Finds answers mid the clamoring yip

And feet of shattering crumbling clay

Falter when they mean to skip

“Sticks and stones,” the children play

But words? Words a soul will rip.