Missed Your Lips

Disclaimer: I do not currently, nor will I ever, own the copyrights to Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese" or any of the works therein.

Chapter 5 – Discussion


“We need to talk.”

Yeah, that’s what he said. When I returned from the bathroom, I found a full coffee pot and only one mug on the counter. I assumed that he was waiting in the mini-library, but no. In fact, he was nowhere to be found. That was two days ago.

So here I sit, comfortable on his futon, in his boxers. I’m on my third cup of coffee for the day, well on my way to the largest caffeine buzz in modern history. And it’s not like I needed the extra stimulation because there was no way for me to burn off the excess energy. The loft was void of any exercise equipment or anything else that required a physical effort for that matter. So my day was spent on the couch, packing on the empty calories.

Well, that’s not totally accurate. The last two days were spent either on the couch or in the bathtub. I found myself tidying around the loft on the first day, my body full of nervous energy. I desperately wanted to know what had happened during the night. To say that our waking position was unexpected was definitely an understatement, and I can’t imagine what I was dreaming about that caused him to end up in the bed with me. If I did indeed have a dream, why didn’t I remember it? Then again, there’s a very good chance that I haven’t remembered every dream that I’ve had in recent weeks.

Rather than stretch my brain beyond its current capacity for rational thought, I decided that I had worked up enough sweat to earn a bath. And not just any bath would suffice. It needed to be the kind with scalding hot water that lasts until every inch of submerged skin is red and pruned. Since I didn’t want to be alone in my own head, I decided I needed some reading material for my extended bathing session.

I perused the books while the water filled the tub, and found some very odd entries. Amongst the historical recreations of foreign wars and modern weaponry, I found Homer, Poe, Dante, Hemingway, and Thoreau, as well as several volumes of poetry and haikus. Apparently my captor (mind you, former merc) had a very complex, yet soft, side to him. I grabbed an old edition of Browning’s “Sonnets from the Portuguese” for my reading pleasure.

It eased my mind to focus on something I couldn’t comprehend. I was moved to read page after page of sonnets, each delving deeper into her experiences with love at the hands of her husband. Love was only a word to me, and I had no real basis for understanding its meaning. And even though it had been over two hundred years since the book was published, it still managed to have its desired effect.

“Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Would’st thou miss any life in losing mine?”

Halfway through my reading, I found myself shedding a tear, but I couldn’t grasp why. I just chalked it up to the irrationality that Vince says plagues women. Anyway, the bath worked its wonders on me. I was so mentally exhausted from the book, and physically drained from the hot water, that I went straight back to bed.

I remember waking up cold and alone. At some point I had kicked away the covers, leaving myself exposed. I knew I could just turn off my temperature sensors, but that just seemed inhuman to me. I always wanted to be normal like everyone else, regardless of my abilities.

It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. Carefully putting a toe to the floor, and I found the sensors off, so no fried flesh for me. Even though the security system was off, I found the lighting system still followed me around the loft. I made a silent trek to the futon, and found a large hump of fully clothed flesh with white-blond hair attached, snoring peacefully.

My journey to the kitchen area proved just as fruitful. On the table I found a large leather bag filled with my more sensible clothing. In the side pocket, I discovered a baggy with my necklace inside. I had forgotten to retrieve it after my botched performance on stage.

After fetching a bottle of water, I decided the library was a suitable place to finish the dark hours of morning. There was a couch and chair facing the shelves, with an end table separating the two. The overhead lights turned off as my feet met the carpet, and turned on the small lamp on the table instead. I glanced through a different shelf this time, finding classics from the turn of the 20th century. I settled for a jaunt into the supernatural with a shabby copy of “Dracula”. Curling up under a throw blanket (another feminine touch out of its environment), I quickly found myself back in the arms of slumber before I finished the fourth chapter.

The sun was high in the sky before I awoke again. I found a pillow from the bed under my head, and a real blanket thrown over my body. After yelling Blitz’s name a couple of times, I determined that I was alone in the loft again.

Though I had my own belongings, they didn’t provide any comfort to me. So I spent the second day exactly as the first. I was asleep before Blitz returned, and he was gone before I woke up. The only way I knew he had been there was the empty coffee mug in the sink.

I found myself in the library for a third time, this time browsing through some rather scandalous paperbacks. The more I searched, the more information I gathered about my captor and his possible love life. These were definitely not the type of books that any man would read. I found an unharmed vampire book that dramatically boasted a storyline involving a “love that spans the centuries”. From the look of the binding, the book had never been read, regardless of the dry and aged pages.

Even though three cups of java flooded my veins, I still managed to fall asleep on the futon, my face buried in a pillow drenched with Blitz’s scent. It turns out that his scent mixed with the visual imagery of the book made for a very volatile dream combination.

I was on a kitchen floor, with the smell of popcorn in the air, and a very large man sucking on the crook of my neck. He was rocking against me in time with my pulsing heartbeat. He pressed me to the floor under his weight, yet I felt no fear. Instinctively I placed a hand on the back of his neck, trying to keep him attached to me. My whole body was tingling as he drank from my flesh, awakening some rather neglected areas down below.

Opening my eyes, I could see long blonde hair draped over my naked torso. In one swift motion, he pulled his head away, flinging drops of blood along my body as he licked the excess from his teeth. The beads ran off the sides of my body, the red trails catching his eye. I moaned as he bent down and meticulously cleaned away my blood from my skin, making sure each droplet received equal attention. I watched as he licked a trail up my stomach, between my breasts, before he stopped and looked me dead in the eyes and said,

“Remember me, Synna.”

I sat straight up on the futon, causing the book to fall to the floor. I reached up to hold my neck as a wave of lust ran under my skin. I felt my face flare up like I had a fever, but I knew I could not be sick. So, this is what horny felt like. My whole body was still shivering from the new sensations as I pondered the man in my dream.

Blitz…why would I dream of him?

~*~*~

I was wound so tight; the only thing I could think to do to take the edge off was to take another bath. I got smart this time and left the dirty book by the futon. The last thing I needed was more stimulation.

The warm water didn’t help. Actually, I think it made things worse. My body ached for a release that I didn’t know how to provide. I repeatedly massaged my hands over my skin, trying to determine the exterior cause for my inflamed body. Instead, I was finding that some parts were more sensitive than others. The ultimate shock came when I rubbed between my legs. Oh my Goddess, how the sensations grew stronger, especially around one small spot. I discovered that teasing it with my fingers just made me ache more, in spite of how it relaxed me. I stroked myself harder, feeling something building in the pit of my stomach…

…when the curtains parted, and Blitz stood beside me, panting as if he were running to my rescue. He watched me thrashing in the water, trying to end my pleasurable pain. I simply looked at him, thinking his audience should embarrass me. Yet, I could only mouth the words, “Help me!”

After regaining his composure, he approached the tub, and crouched next to me. As he rolled up his sleeves, he said, “You’re in heat, Synna. I’ll try to end this for you quickly.”

I was too far-gone for his words to register, so I just nodded as he dipped his left hand into the hot water and stroked my hair with his right. I kept his eyes on me as he brushed my hand away, and began to toy with my sweet spot. But his touch was different. Where my fingertips were smooth, his were rough, and the additional textures sent another wave of pleasure up my spine.

I closed my eyes, trying to ride the waves of my pleasure when he stopped. I opened my eyes to protest when he thrust a finger inside me. I grabbed the edges of the tub as he pumped one finger, then two, into my core. My feet slid on the bottom of the tub, not allowing me to get the traction I needed to meet his thrusts with my own. My body rose from the water with the force of my orgasm, the sheer power behind it bowing my back. He did not stop pumping until he had juiced my body dry.

Feeling relieved and a bit empty, I relaxed back into the water as Blitz reached for the soap. Breathing hard within my now heavy chest, I watched as he meticulously washed his hands, going so far as to dig under his fingernails. I wasn’t sure if that was really necessary, or if I should just feel insulted by his actions. He didn’t have to act so detached from he’d done for me.

As he left my side to dry his hands, he said, “I’m sorry, Synna, but now, we really need to talk.”