J'ai Un Amour

J'ai un amour

I have a lover who exists wholly in my dreams. They are always constant and never inconsistent. I spend most of my time asleep these days.

Consent

He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a move both overly familiar and nearly paternal. For a moment his fingers hovered just over the fine hairs on her ear and she ducked her chin, moving her hand to her ear and the errant stand, cheeks pinking. He leaned back in his chair and resumed talking but she missed what he said, confused and flushed for a moment.

"I'm sorry?" She asked. "I missed that." The pen descended to the paper again.

"You asked about my relationship with Lydia." He smirked lazily. "And I was telling you. We were lovers. She was so crass and rude." He leaned forward again, long fingers reaching for her wrist, dropping his voice. "Nothing like you, I'm sure." He canted his head, studying her startled face, her eyes locked on his, pulled from her reverie while documenting their interview. He closed in a little more, the corners of his mouth slowly twisting into what was becoming a familiar smirk. "No. I can see. Timid. Never asking for what you want." His other hand moved to her knee as he leaned closer, invading her space. She inched back, transfixed as he came ever closer. Closing the space, he brought his mouth to the ear he'd caressed and murmured, voice thick and slow, sounding the way honey felt as it melted over the tongue. "Trapped in tradition and propriety. I bet your skin feels like fire right now." The hand on her knee was tracing letters she couldn't register. Her mouth was dry and slightly slack, face crimson, and her most intimate parts ached in an unfamiliar way. She gulped, making a soft squeaking sound.

He pulled away, returning her space to her. His peridot eyes scanned her and she thought she saw him hesitate, the domineering facade slipping. It returned just as it left, the wry twist back on his lips. "I'm so sorry. Talking about her...I miss her." His hand rifled through his long silver hair, his smirk turning rueful.

"Oh. Of course." She responded, confused at her feelings. She should have been relieved he pulled away and resumed the interview but she felt disappointed. Her smile was faltering. "She must have been wonderful. I think I have everything I need. Was there anything else?" She began to rise and he stood with her.

"Unless you have more questions. I'd be happy to discuss this further with you."

"Yes...if I have any more questions, I'll be in touch."

His hand hovered at her elbow as he escorted her to the door. She had begun to relax when she turned and looked up at him. His expression changed from congenial to that primal, dominating look he'd had before while he was turning to say his goodbyes.

His movements were languid, one hand beside her head, then the other. She held her breath as he crowded near her. Gooseflesh covered her back as she pressed to the wall, which was chill to the touch, and she trembled. One of his hands left the wall as he pressed even closer, knuckles delicately running along her jaw as he appraised her, then he leaned into her opposite ear and murmured, "I won't go any further until you tell me what you want."

As suddenly as he was in her space, he was gone, leaving a fiery heat between them while he reached for the door. She was speechless, waking automatically through the door and down the steps, before turning to look at him.

He leaned in the doorframe, hands in his pockets, smiling kindly. She blinked in confusion, then turned and practically scurried out the gate and down the street.

---

She had stood in the snow on his stoop for a half hour, simultaneously trying to talk herself into and out of what she was about to do. Finally she pushed the buzzer.

She was just about to turn and run when the door opened. He arched a brow, concerned.

"Look. I don't know what I want but I can't stop thinking about… that…"

"Come in from the cold, Marie." He gestured to the hall and she stepped in, suddenly feeling uncertain. She turned and he was on her heels, moving swiftly. Tottering, she felt her balance shift, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her up and then firmly against him, one hand splayed against the small of her back.

He pulled her wrist up, shoving her sleeve down, then snaked his tongue along the translucent flesh there, his eyes never leaving hers. She watched, lips parting slowly to breathe as his mouth on her skin sent electricity from her wrist to her center.

"That?" He asked, bringing her upright.

She paused, her tongue darting over her parched lips, then nodded imperceptibly.

He smiled warmly, then ran the hand on her back upwards into her chocolate curls, fingers grasping a fistful of hair at her crown, carefully pulling her head back. She gasped, eyes widening, when he leaned in, running his nose along the outside of her ear, growling softly. "I said you had to tell me, didn't I?"

"Yes?" She squeaked.

He released her gently, then helped peel off her coat, hanging it on the stand. She was still somewhat dazed as he led her to the parlor where they'd met before. A fire was burning fully on the hearth. He motioned to one of the two richly upholstered wing back chairs, and sat himself in the one next to a small table holding a lowball of amber liquid. The bottle rested there as well: Whisky.

She sat slowly, watching him as he took the glass in hand and raised it to his lips, drinking deeply with a satisfied sigh. Motioning wordlessly, he offered her a glass of her own and she shook her head. One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug and he poured himself another.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, when she abruptly rose from her chair. "I… can't." She gulped, then turned to flee.

He caught her wrist again, dragging her into his lap. She gasped a half-hearted protest, but he held her firm.

"You can't?" He breathed, eyes reflecting dancing firelight, glowing nearly silver with reflection.

She squirmed, then mumbled. "I've never done anything like this. I don't know what to say."

Smiling indulgently with a soft chuckle, he murmured, "None of the boys at that newspaper ever trapped you behind the press?"

Her face heated and she gulped. "Yes. But not… not in a way I wanted...or...liked."

"And you're here because you think you'd like what I'd do?"

She didn't answer, staring at her lap.

Reaching up, he took her chin, raising an eyebrow as he turned her face to his. His voice dropped, and he spoke in earnest softness. "I don't go further until you ask."

She squeezed her eyes closed then looked up as if entreating her maker. Without looking back down, her words tumbled out at just above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking… imagining… you."

"Oh?" The smirk returned. "And what am I doing?" A finger danced idly over one of her knees.

"Everything?"

He leaned up, slowly nuzzling into her neck. "Everything?"

She was flustered, the sensation at her throat and over her knee distracting. "Please." She whispered. "I don't know what I'm asking for. I don't know the words."

His breath was warm against her neck, and she trembled, thrusting her clasped hands between her knees while dropping her chin. He moved the hand doodling over her knee to give her space, and pulled his hair out of his eyes as he looked up at her.

"Then...I suppose I can make an exception." His gaze washed over her features, studying her intently. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, slowly finding her voice. "What… what did you have in mind?"

The hand that rifled though his hair settled over her hands clasped tightly between her knees. "I'll ask questions and you can answer… and I'll try to refrain from teasing too much." Her eyes shifted to him. "/Try/. Watching you blush is… exciting." She thought she felt him shiver with delight as he said the last word, and her cheeks warmed again. He exhaled shallowly, desire clouding his eyes, before he shook his head, and replaced the slack jaw with a grin.

She felt the stirrings of her own wicked little thoughts in the back of her mind, pleased that he made that look, pleased that she /caused/ him to make that look. That rapt, hungry look… and the knowledge that she held him with her assent.

This won’t make your blog look ugly. How could you not reblog this? REBLOGGING THIS COULD SAVE A LIFE!!!

calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion.

Re: my last post. What some "lovers" have said to me.

tfw you finally figure out your kinks and have a whole new language in which to express yourself and you can't shut up about it.