I hope you enjoy it. Will see you sometime next week! (Vignette is R rated)
More Than Words
The sweet, earthy smell of burning wood and a delicious dash of smoke was the first thing that roused me from a deep, reviving sleep. Having grown accustomed to waking without an alarm, I was also aware the sun had risen. The past four weeks had been an extended break of sorts, time to mend, recoup, and recover. Unfortunately, that break would end in a week. It was time to figure out what I wanted to do, to make some big decisions, which brought me to the second reason I’d woken from a beautiful dream that included my own personal Adonis, a sandy beach, and a sunset to die for.
Disco’s body was wrapped around me, bare skin against bare skin, our heartbeats in perfect harmony. His chest was flush against my back, wider hips snug against my ass, cradling mine. Although he didn’t produce body heat, I was more than capable of warming him up. Right now, he was as balmy as a summer day, toasty warm and comforting.
For several minutes, I remained quiet and content in his arms, listening to the crackle of the wood as it split and withered. It was impossible not to feel the rightness of the moment, of the two of us together. In the past few weeks, the feeling permeating my chest was becoming more and more apparent. This wasn’t just a man I shared my bed with. He was a man that, whether I intended to or not, held my heart in his hands.
What was worse was that he knew it. Living in his home except for the rare occasion when I ventured out to meet Goose, visit the doctor, or go to physical therapy meant we were always with each other. For the most part, my appointments were later in the afternoon, when he could accompany me. However, when the rare occasion arose and I was forced to venture into the sun, he’d watch me go from the shadowed doorway, his displeasure notably apparent. It felt as if I was leaving a piece of myself behind as I crossed the threshold and entered the light he could never safely feel on his skin.
His cool breath caressed my nape, pulling me out of my thoughts, and his arm tightened around me as he whispered huskily, “Good morning, love.”
My heart stuttered at the endearment, just as it had the first time he said it. Love was such a relative term, wasn’t it? On one hand, hearing it could make someone the happiest person in the world. On the other, hearing it might scare the piss out of you. The people I loved always went away, even if they didn’t want to. That made accepting and reciprocating the sentiment far more difficult. Wasn’t it enough that I felt it? Or did I have to pony up, grow a pair, and find some way to force the one, tiny syllable from my mouth.
“Good morning,” I wimped out and whispered, feeling like a god damned pussy.
“Did you sleep well?” He nuzzled my neck and brushed his lips across my throat, intentionally lingering over my mark.
I groaned when his hand flattened over my belly, bringing me back against him. There was no need to answer the question; he was well aware of the answer. The hard ridge that prodded between my thighs and ass told me he’d slept well too. Since he was a constant visitor in my dreams, we found all sorts of creative ways to pass the time. Last night, he’d given me glimpses of the things he wanted to do to me as soon as I opened my eyes and greeted a new day.
“I don’t have the teddy on,” I groaned when his teeth nipped at my shoulder.
“To hell with the teddy,” he growled and rolled his hips, bathing my throat with his tongue.
His hand drifted down and I parted my thighs. His fingers slid over the mound below before they drifted to the folds beneath. I was already excited, my sex both wet and swollen. No matter how often I made love to Disco, I always wanted more -- I always wanted him.
“I love it when you’re like this, Rhiannon. It tells me what you’re afraid to.”
Before I could argue or protest, he had me flat on my back, settling between my legs. Duel, multicolored irises gazed down at me, the shimmering pools of blue so vast and breathtaking I could stare in them endlessly. His expression was one of desire and determination, something I was witnessing more and more of lately. I placed my hands on his chest, fingers lax on his skin.
Slowly, his face descended, until his lips brushed mine and the rest of the world faded away. His taste was a mixture of cinnamon and cloves, addictive and tantalizing. As his tongue slipped past my parted lips, I groaned into his mouth and mirrored the movements. He led the dance and I followed -- rolling, dipping, sucking, and teasing.
Taking my right arm from his chest, I slid it down his body, along the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. He shifted his pelvis upward as he got hip to where I was going, allowing me to caress the flaxen hair along the way until I took his erection in hand. He was hard yet velvety, a mixture of strength and vulnerability. He was fully engorged, the head of his cock larger and wider than the root below. I stroked him carefully, keeping my grip soft and my movements intentional, and was rewarded with a muffled curse and a throaty groan as he broke our kiss and pulled away.
“You have the softest touch,” he said as he peered down into my face, allowing me to see the pleasure I gave him. The trust that involved -- allowing me truly see him in all ways -- was something I was only becoming accustomed to. Sex was sex, until you added what we had into the mix. Disco left me no place to hide when I wanted to escape the world and forget. With him, I had to remain in the open, fighting my demons where he could watch and, in most circumstances, intervene.
Bowing his back, he dipped his head and took my right nipple into his mouth. I cried out, wrapped my free hand around his blond head, and continued to stroke him. He teased the skin, pebbling the flesh, before he went to work on the other side. Back and forth, he nipped, suckled, and licked, his attentions effectively coating the area between my legs in a scorching wetness.
“Gabriel,” I moaned despite myself, falling into the habit I’d recently acquired. Disco didn’t like his nickname, although he didn’t argue when I used it. During moments like these, however, he had a definite preference.
“Not yet,” he murmured against my skin. “I want to go down on you first.”
He moved down my body, leaving wet kisses along the way, pausing as he nuzzled the area over my left breast that was marred by a lighter area of skin, the scar tissue almost gone but evident if you were looking. He bathed my navel, the scars along my abdomen, and finally stopped in front of the smooth skin below.
“I still can’t believe you did this for me.” His tenor changed, hoarse and deep as he stared at the now hairless valley of skin nestled between my parted legs. I was about to remind him that technically, I was the one gaining the reward after suffering the misery of a Brazilian, when he gave a firm lick from my sex to my clit that made it impossible to think.
He moved his tongue in perfect harmony with his fingers and lips, stroking, petting, and driving me out of my mind. He teased and tormented, knowing it was the trigger that never failed to send me soaring, only to pull away when I neared climax. Eager to experience heaven, I writhed beneath him, eliciting a chuckle as he pressed one hand against my belly to keep me still.
“Please,” I begged, uncaring that I was giving him the power to control my responses and reactions.
The result was exactly what I knew it would be. He took that pearled bundle of nerves and sensation into his mouth and sucked gently, flicking his tongue back and forth as he did, and my body detonated like a fourth of July bottle rocket. My cries echoed off the walls, carrying to the ceiling. Each wave of heat that spread from my stomach to my muscles was too much but not enough. I rode the feeling of bliss until my limbs were quivering and I was limp on the mattress, my forehead sweaty and chest heaving.
Disco blanketed me until we were chest to chest, hip to hip, and entered my body in one expert thrust. I arched my back to take more of him, gloried in the way he felt inside me. Like this, we were not two people. We were whole, unified as one.
He studied me as he began moving, nice and slow. He feathered kisses along my jaw, my chin, my nose and mouth. I wrapped my arms around his waist and drove my nails into his skin. Although my right knee was still awkward to maneuver, the left continued to function just fine and I used it to meet each roll of his hips.
“Christ,” he groaned and I knew he was close.
Doubling my efforts, I ground against him until I found the spot that would send me over for a second time. It didn’t take much to reach the pinnacle, to know that one more solid touch would get the job done. As he slid home -- once, twice -- I quickened and tumbled over, quaking as my body gripped him tightly, tempting him to join me as I spasmed around him.
His thrusts became harder, the hands that were at my sides now used to hold my hips in place. He rose onto his knees, lifting me as he did, and plunged faster and faster. As he came, he threw his head back and shouted to the rafters. The muscles in his abdomen and chest corded, the twin lines running from his pelvis to his groin far more pronounced. Cool wetness jetted into me, tempering the heat where we were connected in the most profound way possible.
Disco released my hips and placed his arms on either side of my head, keeping his semi-hard length in my body. His expression was one that exhilarated and frightened me, so intense it was impossible to turn away. After a moment, he did what I thought he might and buried his face into my neck. He was aware of my hang ups, but after witnessing my shock, and consequent fear, upon hearing his declaration the first time, I knew he wasn’t up for a repeat.
“I love you,” he said, words soft.
The same words surfaced on my lips, hanging on the tip of my tongue. Yet each time I opened my mouth, they refused to formulate. It was as if I was on mute, unable to express verbally what I felt physically and emotionally. Like a fish out of water, I opened my mouth and closed it several times. He must have felt it, because he lifted away and smiled down at me.
“It’s all right.” He kissed me tenderly before pulling away. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d said or done something that made me feel absolutely worthless and undeserving of him, but it was the first time I felt guilty about it. Disco was everything a woman could possibly want. He was gorgeous, he was powerful, and he was the most generous soul I’d ever met. He never expected more than a person was willing to give, not even when he loved them. It said a lot about his character, why I was so torn, and why my feelings had changed so drastically regarding him in the past month.
So why couldn’t I get over my mental shit and tell him? Why couldn’t I bestow the three tiny little words he wanted to hear?
God help me, I had no fucking clue.
“Do you still want to go to your apartment?” he asked, breaching the quiet. “Or can I tempt you to stay and put it off for another day?”
“As much as I’d love to stay in bed, I have to go. There is no food in the apartment, I need more of my clothes, and I have to check my messages. I have to decide what I’m going to do about work.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you moved your things here,” he reminded me, his eyes intent, intentionally forgoing the usual conversation about my ancient electronic devices that didn’t allow someone to call and check for messages at another location. “And I thought you said you’d decided to stop working at the club.”
“No, I said I was leaning toward that, not that I had decided.” I started moving from the bed, uncomfortable with where the discussion was going. “One thing at a time, remember?”
“How could I forget?” he growled and moved so quickly I couldn’t see, sweeping me off my feet.
Within seconds, I was in the bathroom and the nozzles inside the shower were turned at full blast. Waking up was a routine -- we made love, we showered, and the rest was open to discussion. Most of the time, Disco could conduct business from his office. Since my near death experience, he sent Paine to take care of the things that required a formal meeting. The significance of that wasn’t lost on me, which was another reason I was determined to put my life back in order. Disco was an important vampire in the area, and his lack of prominence was sure to be noticed. Considering how blood thirsty their kind could be, he couldn’t afford to look weak or disillusioned.
When the water was hot, he opened the door and led me inside. The crystalline beads adorning his skin were too much to resist and before I knew it, I was licking them away, until I went down on my knees before him. His heady groan told me that while it didn’t go as far as the words he wanted to hear, it was more than enough to satisfy him until I was ready.
Rhiannon’s Law #82: Fuck romantics who swear by the power of the “big three.” Sometimes, if you want them to, actions do speak louder than words.
© J.A. Saare 2010