Title: Dying From Bliss
Theme(s): #25. To touch the Devil is to die (~dying from bliss)
Disclaimer: Belongs to Spelling Entertainment and all other associated people. I do however claim half of Bianca since they never fully developed her.
Word Count: 483
Written For: 30_angsts
A hand courses down my bare back. A hand I have not felt in so long. Contact I have craved but never received for quite some time. I shiver in anticipation. I cannot explain the mere thrill of this, the excitement to be in the company of someone so powerful, so dangerous, so… volatile. I do not know what to expect. Every time it’s always different. Every time he wants a little more. And I oh so willingly give, I give all I can, I give until I can give no more and exhaustion overtakes me. This doesn’t just stand for our intimacy, but our whole relationship. Something that lasted for so long. I could not deny it, no, the very obsession that delivers me into the arms of this man. He knows my mind, he knows my body, he knows my soul. He has been in me and with me for as long as I care to remember. And now he seeks that opportunity once again, the merging of soul and body into one.
I lay back on the bed and feel as if a piece of soft silk blowing in the wind, uncurling in a naturally flowing manner, my hair draped delicately about my face as I call to him with wanton eyes. Gladly he follows. He wants to receive as much as I want to give. It was always difficult for him to turn me down. But always, always, he remains in control.
I cup my hands about his face, our lips meeting, remembering, seeking what we’d lost so very long ago. That spark ignites once again, it drives the passion onwards, inwards, our tongues battling as we do every day. Some moments I feel as if he could swallow me whole. But today, this night, all he wants to do is melt with me. The summer heat, the body heat, brings about the perspiration before we even begin. I nudge aside his long hair to lap at the line of sweat beginning to pool at the point of his collarbone. My lips move their way up his neck as his hands find all kinds of secret points on my body that will no doubt make me moan.
It is when he finally enters me and I hold him close that I begin to realize what I’m doing. Though I have done this before, though it is familiar to me, there is a pang of guilt that enters my heart. For what I’m doing could be seen as betrayal. But is it betrayal when you seek something that has suddenly gone, vanished, died? To condone to this is to return to the devil, and surely I will be punished. For right now, as I go over the edge of inevitable pleasure, I am really dying from bliss. I am dying because it isn’t how it should be. It isn’t you.