a glimpse of something else. Something sublime. A vortex that could swallow me completely into a forever of pure happiness.
“This is going to sting, okay?” Before the end of his words, he firmly thrusts inside me, and I feel a sharp pang of pain. He stills.
His eyes are locked on mine. Our stare communicates words we have yet to speak. It exchanges more than other couples have shared in a lifetime together. Getting acquainted and intimate in a way we have yet to be, given the little time we’ve known each other.
And I know that our circumstances are a suspension of reality and that I might be a fool to think this way. But when I look into his eyes I see a part of me that has been roaming the Earth, finally ready to return to its home.
Then, he moves. Buried deep inside me, he moves. I discard all the racing thoughts, all the feeble attempts of reason and comprehension and all common sense. I focus on this monumental event. The sacredness and perfection of the act eclipses the crazy way I got here, under Seth.
“You okay?” Seth asks in a whisper.
I nod.
He gyrates his hips and thrusts deeper inside me, hitting every nerve ending that is begging for relief.
“Seth . . .” My voice is breathy and needy, pleading and imploring, husky and taut.
“You are beautiful,” he says reverently, his hips keeping a tantalizing tempo that has me writhing. And I fear that I’ll split in half. The overload of feelings and sensations are almost too much, and I’m at a loss of how to go on, what to do.
“Seth . . .”
“Let it go, baby, I’ll catch you,” he says and pounds hard and fast inside me.
I gasp, not in surprise over his change of pace. But in surprise that it’s exactly what my body was begging for. That this man—stranger, who now is my husband—knew what my body needed when I didn’t.
But thoughts evade me. The feeble grasp I have on reality dissolves. The energy in my body simmers down to a low heat, as the peaceful and gray brewing of a summer storm.
Seth increases his pace yet another notch. “Come for me, baby,” he growls between his teeth.
He clasps under my knees, raises my legs, and pounds into me.
And I fall.
And he catches me.
And he falls.
And I catch him.
And we spiral downward in a kaleidoscope of tangled bodies, intertwined souls, screams of release and the rapture of pleasure.
The gray clouds and the storm lift. Everything is still. And blue, so blue and so peaceful.
Seth’s body goes slack on top of mine. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “This is what utopia fucking tastes like,” he murmurs.
He props up on his elbow and his eyes pierce through mine. “You okay?” His voice is so tender and at odds with the feral tone during our lovemaking or the seductive tenor of the foreplay. It undoes me.
My eyes glimmer as tears threaten to come out.
His face scrunches up. “What?” He brushes a strand of hair glued to my sweaty face. His vulnerability is so breathtakingly in contrast to the gorgeous, confident man I met at the club.
“Seth, this was . . . it, uh, God, it was incredible.”
A multitude of emotions crosses his face, but pure male satisfaction prevails as he replies. “Glad to be of service.” He smiles and withdraws from inside me.
I grimace at the pain and discomfort.
“Be right back,” he says and disappears into the bathroom.
When he returns, I’m still in the same position. I’m too sated to move. I wonder when I’ll regain full command of my body. If ever.
“Here, let me clean you.” He rubs a warm and soft washcloth inside my thighs and my most intimate place. He is kneeling in between my legs. From my vantage point, I see a full erection going. It renews my desire. I want him again.
He looks at me with clouded eyes. His gaze is full of hunger and desire for more. It’s parallel to my own desire to have him again.
My lips turn up slow, in a quiet invitation. However, he shakes his head, and vehemently says, “No, you’re
“This is going to sting, okay?” Before the end of his words, he firmly thrusts inside me, and I feel a sharp pang of pain. He stills.
His eyes are locked on mine. Our stare communicates words we have yet to speak. It exchanges more than other couples have shared in a lifetime together. Getting acquainted and intimate in a way we have yet to be, given the little time we’ve known each other.
And I know that our circumstances are a suspension of reality and that I might be a fool to think this way. But when I look into his eyes I see a part of me that has been roaming the Earth, finally ready to return to its home.
Then, he moves. Buried deep inside me, he moves. I discard all the racing thoughts, all the feeble attempts of reason and comprehension and all common sense. I focus on this monumental event. The sacredness and perfection of the act eclipses the crazy way I got here, under Seth.
“You okay?” Seth asks in a whisper.
I nod.
He gyrates his hips and thrusts deeper inside me, hitting every nerve ending that is begging for relief.
“Seth . . .” My voice is breathy and needy, pleading and imploring, husky and taut.
“You are beautiful,” he says reverently, his hips keeping a tantalizing tempo that has me writhing. And I fear that I’ll split in half. The overload of feelings and sensations are almost too much, and I’m at a loss of how to go on, what to do.
“Seth . . .”
“Let it go, baby, I’ll catch you,” he says and pounds hard and fast inside me.
I gasp, not in surprise over his change of pace. But in surprise that it’s exactly what my body was begging for. That this man—stranger, who now is my husband—knew what my body needed when I didn’t.
But thoughts evade me. The feeble grasp I have on reality dissolves. The energy in my body simmers down to a low heat, as the peaceful and gray brewing of a summer storm.
Seth increases his pace yet another notch. “Come for me, baby,” he growls between his teeth.
He clasps under my knees, raises my legs, and pounds into me.
And I fall.
And he catches me.
And he falls.
And I catch him.
And we spiral downward in a kaleidoscope of tangled bodies, intertwined souls, screams of release and the rapture of pleasure.
The gray clouds and the storm lift. Everything is still. And blue, so blue and so peaceful.
Seth’s body goes slack on top of mine. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “This is what utopia fucking tastes like,” he murmurs.
He props up on his elbow and his eyes pierce through mine. “You okay?” His voice is so tender and at odds with the feral tone during our lovemaking or the seductive tenor of the foreplay. It undoes me.
My eyes glimmer as tears threaten to come out.
His face scrunches up. “What?” He brushes a strand of hair glued to my sweaty face. His vulnerability is so breathtakingly in contrast to the gorgeous, confident man I met at the club.
“Seth, this was . . . it, uh, God, it was incredible.”
A multitude of emotions crosses his face, but pure male satisfaction prevails as he replies. “Glad to be of service.” He smiles and withdraws from inside me.
I grimace at the pain and discomfort.
“Be right back,” he says and disappears into the bathroom.
When he returns, I’m still in the same position. I’m too sated to move. I wonder when I’ll regain full command of my body. If ever.
“Here, let me clean you.” He rubs a warm and soft washcloth inside my thighs and my most intimate place. He is kneeling in between my legs. From my vantage point, I see a full erection going. It renews my desire. I want him again.
He looks at me with clouded eyes. His gaze is full of hunger and desire for more. It’s parallel to my own desire to have him again.
My lips turn up slow, in a quiet invitation. However, he shakes his head, and vehemently says, “No, you’re
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