Sunday, October 21, 2012

"turning the kiss into something more than chaste..." [Blisse Kiss After Dark]



As part of the phenomenal Miss Blisse's Blisse Kiss After Dark, I'm posting a favorite snippet from my beloved Wanderlust. Yes, I love it. So much so it is beloved. Don't laugh at me.

And bonus! Come October 26th, I'll pick a Blisse Kiss winner from comments for a $10 Sock Dreams gift card. I hope that made sense, I am currently flu-ish, but couldn't miss a chance to post some Johnny and Really. Fever be damned!

XOXO
Sommer

From Wanderlust by Sommer Marsden
I’d never seen such a big man cry before. He didn’t do it the way one would suspect, an angry crying, begrudging his own body its grief. It was more of a folding in on himself. He somehow appeared smaller and more vulnerable to me, and I didn’t argue the point. We could work out semantics later. I simply dropped back onto the mattress, holding onto him tight so he had no option but to fall with me.

He crashed into me, containing his strength, I could tell. But the pain in him was too big to be muffled. For the first time since we met, the kinetic sexual energy between us abated, and all I wanted to do for Johnny Rose was hold him.

So I did.

I held his head to my chest and somewhere in that tangle I wrapped my leg around his leg. We fell asleep that way, the rain’s pounding echoing the turmoil inside the small cabin. I let my fingers play over his scalp as I drifted off.

Boys in boxes, dead mothers, broken bones and pain, I dreamed of it all. All the toxic soup of the past few days swirled together in my sleeping brain and I bobbed along on a river of very unpleasant dreams.

At some point my mother said to me, “I had it coming” and I screamed at her which made my gut ache and my heart break.

I dreamed of small boys in brightly colored sneakers locked in dark places and I dreamed of broken hearted men waiting for me to return to a place I was pretty sure I never wanted to see again.

And when some faceless voice said “It’s all your fault, you know, Aurelia. You simply never managed to be anything of worth” a great unstoppable sob ripped out of me. So loud and so real it woke me up.

I was soaked and Johnny was hushing me. Stroking hair off my forehead with gentle fingers. Something cool kissed my forehead and I felt the bristle of a cheap washcloth over my skin. “Hush, Snowflake. It’s okay. You’ve just been dreaming a little.”

“You’re drunk,” I blurted.

“Not anymore,” he chuckled. “But thanks for reminding me. Sit up, now.”

I did as told and he gently pulled the wet tee over my head. I instantly started to shiver from the difference in temperature. My body, slickered in cold sweat, exposed to the rain-chilled cabin. The fire down below had gone out long ago and not even a demonic glow lit the cabin. Just the ghostly green glow of the alarm clock and a bit of ambient light from the moon outside.

“It stopped raining.”

“It did.” He used the washcloth and the dry side of my tee to wipe my body dry. Cold sweat is a fucker and it always leaves me feeling sick and exhausted. That was how I felt. Sick and exhausted and embarrassed to boot.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His lips found my shoulder, kissed it. “For what?”

“For this? For…”

“Weakness?”

I felt that punched feeling in my gut and nodded. “Yes.”

“Weren’t you just telling me that it was just being human.”

“But—“

“That’s just what you tell others, not yourself?”

“Is this therapy?” I snorted, trying to put him off topic.

“Isn’t fucking always therapy?”

That shut me up. I put my arms up when he told me to and he slid a new soft tee down over my head. He pressed something into my hand and I realized it was a hair elastic. I quickly braided my hair into one big sloppy braid and tied it off.

“Come on, Aurelia. It’s my turn to hold you.”

I curled in and let him hold me, pressing my ear to the pounding signal of his heart. He was alive. I was alive. We were on the road. My old life, the stifling life, was behind me for the moment and if I ever chose to return to it—if—I could change the way it played out.

The thought was both energizing and terrifying. For a second, I could not draw a breath but his hand settled possessively on my hip and I found the air.

I fitted the length of myself to him and when he kissed my head, I turned my face, turning the kiss into something more than chaste.

“You don’t have to fuck me to make me feel better.”

“You don’t have to fuck me to make me feel better,” I countered.

And then he was removing the shirt he had just slipped over my head. I pushed him back. “I’m fucking you, remember?”

He laughed, it touched something in me, making me wetter than I was. Making me want him that much more. I straddled his lean hips, feeling—more than seeing—him under my legs, under my hands. I ran my fingers along the taut terrain of his chest, squeezed his biceps, felt the hardening length of his cock between my legs.

When I leaned over him to kiss him, he grasped my braid in his hand, holding me tight so he could assault my mouth with his. I sighed against his neck, moved my body so my pussy ground against him. This was all so languid and intimate and slow. It was like fucking underwater and I smiled in the dark.

I parted myself and slid the head of his cock along my slick opening without pushing down enough to let him in. I heard his breathing amp up, felt the ragged gallop of his heartbeat under my palm where I braced myself.

“Put me in you, Really,” he said.

“No,” I said, testing him.

I rocked my hips from side to side, adding friction and kissing him harder. I pressed my breasts to his chest and felt the heat that baked off of him in waves. I had been so cold and damp just moments before and now I felt feverish.

“Put me in you, Really,” he said again, his voice darker. His mood had sharp angles and edges that I could sense.

“No,” I said, pressing my lips against his ear. Licking the curved edge of his lobe, I rolled my hips so my pussy pressed to his cock and my body pinned him to the bed. I sat up just a bit, but he still held my hair. He was trapped under me, held down by my weight and my want.

Johnny tugged my braid and I gasped. He used it like a leash to reel me in so that I was right up close to him again. “Put me in, Really. Please,” he said. This time he was pressing his lips to my ear. He was whispering his words right into my mind.

It was the please I had been trying for. He thought he’d shown me trust before, and in a way he had. But asking me for something. Asking me with kind words and a soft voice. That was real trust to Johnny, I thought. And now that he’d given it to me, I could move forward.

I pushed the tip of him to me again—wet, I was so fucking wet—and lowered myself onto him. Those big hands of his claiming my hips as he filled me. His body pressing every secret buried spot I needed. I heard him say my name in a way I’d never heard before as I started to move.


6 comments:

  1. Thanks for the awesome excerpt! That is a great way to start my morning. Hope you are feeling better soon.
    Mel
    bournmelissa at hotmail dot com

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  2. Oh Johnny Rose.... Just. Stop being so damn perfect.

    I hope you'll feel better soon, Sommer love. So you can sparkle like the star you are.

    jboydwrites at gmail dot com

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  3. Hot. Natural. Smart. A little sad. Freeing. Sexy. Thanks for sharing and get better soon. ps-Steamed milk spiked with vanilla vodka works wonders ;)

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  4. Oh Johnny & Aurelia. My favourite non-reality couple. Thanks for reminding me why I love this book - not like I needed it, but it's always nice.

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  5. Very bittersweet and sensual...just lovely! Feel better soon...if you're somewhere where Gelateria Naia single-malt Scotch gelato bars are available, those are very soothing. Or you could try the Influenza Sorbet from the Jeni's ice cream book (orange juice, honey, pectin, and a shot of whiskey).

    vitajex(at)aol(dot)com

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  6. Sounds awesome! Thanks for sharing! Have a fantastic weekend!
    shadowluvs2read(at)gmail(dot)com

    ReplyDelete

What sayest thou?