Read Online Contours of Darkness by Marco Vassi - Free Book Online Page A

me.'
    'Sure/ he shot back. 'It's part of the same thing.' His eyes burned into hers, and for the first time since he had met her, he let the full blaze of his desire be visible. He had confessed and she had heard, and now they were ready for the act for which all the palaver concerning the state of the species had been a necessary foreplay. In an age when fucking grew boring either through fidelity or unbridled promiscuity, he had learned to infuse his lust with a sense of context and purpose, guarding against the horror of the aimless orgasm. In the same way that certain esoteric eastern sects laced their sex with the spice of mysticism, Conrad had come to surround his erection with the garland of social significance. When Cynthia finally did spread her legs for him to enter, she would be taking in not only a man, but the vanguard of the entire liberation front. The uncomic purity of his motivation and the actual deadly seriousness of the world condition saved him from ludicrousness. She hadn't had another man in over three years, and she yearned to define herself in some other way than was possible within the parameters permitted by Aaron's body. She was not unfulfilled in the areas in which she and Aaron romped together, but she had become aware that was only one small section of the universe of her sexual potential. Without saying it to herself in so many words, she wanted to find out what lay beyond her role as a complement to a single man. She had the smallest intimation that to give in to Conrad's request was only the introduction to a path whose development she could not foresee. But already the walls of her secure self-definition were crumbling.
    The sonorous lines of the music swelled throughout the house as she rose from the table and walked deliberately to the window, turning her back on Conrad, and stood looking out into the night. Her head was swimming and her knees were weak. She knew that she had taken the first step, and wondered whether he would understand her silence and stance as an invitation.
    She waited a long time, unknowing of what went on behind her, feeling the backs of her bare legs tingling, her arse trembling, her spine poised in a delicate curve beneath the thin fabric. She strained without movement, attempting to sense the presence behind her, and just at the moment when she was sure she had misread the mood, his hands rested on her hips, paused, and then slid surely and softly around front, over her belly, and up to her breasts. She sighed, closed her eyes, and collapsed against him.
    All softness and shaking, she melted into the hard flat chest, the muscled thighs, the half-erect cock. And like a skilled danseur he spun her around, catching her about the waist, and gently crushed her to him. She wobbled slightly, at once afraid and committed, and then flew against his body, her arms circling his neck, the length of her clinging like wet cloth around his frame.
    All considerations, all questions of age and loyalty, all problems of time and place, disappeared, and they became male and female simply, exulting in the shared beauty of their union. Conrad nuzzled her throat, worked his mouth under her chin, and onto her lips, where they were swept up into the unique rapture of the first kiss, the first meeting of breath and tongues.
    For its duration, they were eternal. The long months of preparation for the massive turmoil of energy, built by disciplined denial and released by the mutual permission to ecstasy, found their culmination in the embrace. They dived into the tingling awareness of their deed.
    Like a wave that has been called from the deep ocean by the far-ranging attraction of the moon, swelling into fuller and more perfect form until it sweeps majestically in upon a rocky shore and there breaks with a roar of triumphant power into a turbulent splatter of shimmering white foam and disappears as though it had never been, so their kiss rose to its cataclysmic climax as their stretched lips