His name was Vertigo.
Her name was Dare.
“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal.” ― Paulo Coelho
The Dark Haired Man places hands roughened by hard work, upon The Blonde Woman’s thighs. Her delicate hands strokes a cheek covered by five o’clock shadow. Leaning into the softness of it, a tiny sigh escapes his slightly parted lips. She drinks in his eyes the color of polished sapphires and slides her fingers into the V of an unbuttoned dress shirt. Her warm palm settles on the soft down of his chest hair. His heartbeat quickens and rouges his cheeks with desire. The blush transcends from his body and travels up her arm. He stares intently at her, watching the crimson appear on her cheeks. The Blonde Haired Woman feels her body awaken with a longing only he can evoke.
Closing the distance between them, he murmurs, “Half your problems would disappear if you were with me.”
Promises, lies, truths, endings and beginnings roar in their first kiss. Their hands grapple for purchase as they succumb to the dizzying dare they have chosen to act upon. The Dark Haired Man slides his hands up The Blonde Woman’s ebony skirt. Her body pitches backward, and she places her hands behind her on the velvet cushion. His tongue travels down her neck into the supple skin between her breasts. Kissing gently, he catches her left nipple that has carelessly slipped from the nest of her bodice. He cups the orb in his right hand and continues to suck.
The Blonde Haired Woman turns to look at their shadows projected on the empty wall. Their want has created a painting only they can see. A masterpiece. The Dark Haired Man sensing her hesitation, looks up.
Pointing to their shadows, she breathes, “My Darling, look at what we’ve painted.”
Smiling mischeviously, The Dark Haired Man lowers his mouth back to her chest. She sighs as he gives her a light kiss and continues his exploration. The Blonde Haired Woman lies flat on the velvet bench, wanting so badly to be selfish. To feel his seduction, while she does nothing but take pleasure in it. Her need for him wills her hands forward and she places them in his hair. Leaving it in disarray, but neither of them care. His mouth wanders to her waist as he pushes the raised skirt even higher. Opening his eyes wide, he sees her mound. The pink flesh made ripe with the influx of fresh blood.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to taste what you do to me.”
His mouth possesses her sex, and their coupling becomes a religious experience. He drinks her like holy water, and she prays to gods not even born yet. All the while watching their shadows on a blank wall displaying their story. Their art. The sounds she makes while cumming are hymns that only he understands. Her body undulates and he holds her. With his mouth, tongue and arms. Even in his grip, she has never felt so free. So alive. The Blonde Haired Woman never wants The Dark Haired Man to stop, tasting or loving her.
She believes that he wants to consume her fire. He does everything possible to prove it. Exhausted, he finally draws away from the jewels between her thighs. As the last ripple of her orgasm subsides, he slides his body up the length of hers. They share space on the velvet cushion. He kisses her mouth and she smells her desire on his upper lip. She loves what he’s done to her. What he will continue to do. The Dark Haired Man catches The Blonde Haired Woman’s bottom lip playfully between his teeth, brushing tendrils of her hair away from corn flower blue eyes.
Teasingly she repeats his initial sentiment, “Half your problems would disappear if you were with me.”
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