Her legs opened freely. They wouldn’t close. Her entire body blossomed longingly, only wanting one thing; him. Him within her. Him part of her. Her body shook with the relentless current, twitching her fingers to and fro in an attempt to discharge the current from her naked form. Dainty fingers traced the shape of his lips, as he bit them slowly, his eyes lingering over her small, ivory breasts.
She led his fingers down the nape of her bruised neck, tracing down her slim stomach, down to the wetness below. He complied and she was melting into him, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as never before heard noises escaped her scarlet lips. He kissed her forehead tenderly, whispering how he loved her, he loved her so very much. He loved her so much and she could feel it, it made her heart want to burst. She reached out her arm for him, guiding him inside her.
They came together perfectly. She whispered back to him sweet nothings, euphoric melodies of how much he meant to her. The paper-thin walls and unlocked door meant nothing, they were in a desolate void, together and therefore ignorantly unafraid of anything else. They made sweet music, slowly, relentlessly, reaching the crescendo, their all-obliterating moans drowning out everything else.
Exhausted, broken, he collapsed beside her. They both attempted to control their heavy breaths, and she swiped a solitary tear away from her left eye. It was always the left one that betrayed her. It had been so long since she had felt this way, so long since she had let herself open up willingly for a man. The past years of unwanted hands, repugnant fingers probing her, left her feeling sick and dirty. The endless tirade, the choking breaths and hidden tears she kept to herself, curled up in the bathroom, hunched over the pungent toilet, taking deep breaths and whispering to herself in shaky murmurs to calm down. Quietly, oh so quietly, she would piece herself back together, take those fractured remains and tape them up again and again, once every three days like clockwork.
No, she thought, looking to the man who now rested his head on her shoulder, caressing her head, this is what it’s meant to feel like. And it felt good.
Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Sherratt
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