from dreamwalk blue, chapter five - mood indigo
“I’m sorry,” she began. “I know you must be angry with me.”
“And why should I be angry?” Tom asked, a tiny part of him gratified to see her shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He stepped closer, invading her space, trapping her with his body, his presence. “Well? Tell me, lover. Did you enjoy his kiss? Is that why I should be angry? Would you rather I sent you back to him?”
“Tom, no. I didn’t mean-“
“Well, then. I’ve no reason to be angry, do I?” He reached up to touch her hair. It was pinned up in thick, ebony coils; he hated it that way. Something in him wanted to tug out all those lithe silver pins and tangle himself in her. He wanted her hair wild and tousled, the way it looked when she was in his bed.
He pulled at one long loop of metal, feeling her hair slide like wet silk between his long fingers. Metis reached up and caught his hand. “Don’t.”
“Don’t? Why? Will I ruin you?” He placed a kiss against her neck, smiling into the curve of her jaw. “I think it might be a little late for that.”
“Tom…” She trailed off as his mouth covered hers.
He kissed her softly, but insistently, as if to reassure himself that she belonged to him, and only him. He could taste champagne on her mouth, feel her pulse pounding in time with his. She shifted uncomfortably against him, away from him, breaking his kiss and turning her head.
"We should go back. People will be wondering where we are." She began to move in the direction of the house, but he stopped her with one strong hand.
"Let them wonder." He breathed, pulling her back against him. "Do you really care what those limited, petty people think of us, Metis?"
"But…"
"Stop," he said, pushing her against the back of a stone bench. "I want you here with me. Now. That's all that should matter to either of us."
"Oh, Tom. You're too… sometimes I fear that you'll swallow me up. I don't even know myself when I'm with you." She trembled beneath his touch, as he caught her mouth with his again.
He maneuvered them around to the front of the low bench. It was carved of some heavy stone, pale as the surface of the moon, and sculpted with weeping, gothic angels. Tom pushed Metis onto the seat, bracing his hands on either side of one angel's spread wings.
She lay beneath him, passive now, lust and fear waging for supremacy in her dark eyes. Her breasts rising and falling rapidly against his slender chest. He could feel her every movement through the crisp, pressed fabric of his clothing.
He bent and kissed her, nothing hasty or hurried about it this time. He opened his eyes and watched her as they kissed - her black hair spilled on the stone beneath her, the tiny blue veins crisscrossing her eyelids, the way her dark lashes brushed against her skin…
It wasn't enough. Never enough. He needed her warmth, her breath and the pulse, pulse, pulse of her blood beneath her skin. So close but separate. He needed her from within to give him heat, to give him life. He would gladly devour her if he thought it would make them one, if he thought her warmth would heat the icy places he could never touch inside himself.
metis ~ june ~ minerva ~ fan ~ owl ~ hits ~ boys ~ dreamwalk ~ serenade ~ love ~ join ~ link ~ blame
