Patience and Time
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
730
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
730
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Patience and Time
The rhythmic pounding of the window screen wipers struggled against the relentless snow. The inside of his chest felt like a bird flapping at the bars of it's cage. It didn't hurt, but he was aware of it none the less. He was also aware that the bird beating relentlessly was him.
Soon he knew he would be inside her, desperately, urgently trying to get further and further inside her. It was the only way he felt anything. When he was lonely, she made him feel nice. But in the meantime, the conditions meant that he needed concentration, one thing he was in short supply of at the moment.
He mind kept drifting off, like an untethered boat. Her scent, the way her skin felt against his lips, the way she arched her back as his tongue swept over that special, sweet spot between her legs. Concentrate. With patience and with time he would be beside her.
He tried to recall the sound of her voice saying his name. He loved the way it felt, like some long lost familiar thing. It made him think of something he once knew but had since forgotten. He felt powerful. When she cried it over and over again as she came, he felt love burn inside him. He felt like anything was possible. And when he came inside her, he felt vulnerable, but unafraid, he was safe.
He tried to count the number of times they had made love, each time better than the last, but the the occasions seemed as numerous as the snowflakes sliding across his window screen.
He savoured the tension on the drive, his eagerness pitted against time and distance, nothing he could do about it, just be patient. But still, the desire ate at him, faster he urged himself, faster. He imagined her at her dressing table waiting for him. Maybe her hands would be running through her long, soft dark hair. Maybe she would be wearing a little perfume. The taste of it on her skin flashed through his mind, not unpleasant, but a swift interrupter of the flow. He always had preferred her natural scent. Sweet but dark.
The rhythmic pounding of the window screen wipers once more brought him back to reality. Faster he thought, faster.
Soon he knew he would be inside her, desperately, urgently trying to get further and further inside her. It was the only way he felt anything. When he was lonely, she made him feel nice. But in the meantime, the conditions meant that he needed concentration, one thing he was in short supply of at the moment.
He mind kept drifting off, like an untethered boat. Her scent, the way her skin felt against his lips, the way she arched her back as his tongue swept over that special, sweet spot between her legs. Concentrate. With patience and with time he would be beside her.
He tried to recall the sound of her voice saying his name. He loved the way it felt, like some long lost familiar thing. It made him think of something he once knew but had since forgotten. He felt powerful. When she cried it over and over again as she came, he felt love burn inside him. He felt like anything was possible. And when he came inside her, he felt vulnerable, but unafraid, he was safe.
He tried to count the number of times they had made love, each time better than the last, but the the occasions seemed as numerous as the snowflakes sliding across his window screen.
He savoured the tension on the drive, his eagerness pitted against time and distance, nothing he could do about it, just be patient. But still, the desire ate at him, faster he urged himself, faster. He imagined her at her dressing table waiting for him. Maybe her hands would be running through her long, soft dark hair. Maybe she would be wearing a little perfume. The taste of it on her skin flashed through his mind, not unpleasant, but a swift interrupter of the flow. He always had preferred her natural scent. Sweet but dark.
The rhythmic pounding of the window screen wipers once more brought him back to reality. Faster he thought, faster.