Golden Moment

Dear reader, while this is a content advisory, please understand that nothing in the story you are about to read is in any way objectionable. All characters are completely fictional, and above the age of majority. Everything that happens herein is consensual.

If you are not the age of majority in your home territory, please read no further. If you do not want to read what might be considered erotica, please read no furhter. If you know me from my horror, fantasy, and science fiction, welcome, but please understand that this is not the kind of story you would usually expect from me.

That being said, I hope you enjoy.

-0-

The opening of a door.

I know that sound.

What does it relate to?

Slowly, I surface from a lovely dream. The bed is small, too short for me, with walls on three sides. It’s built into a kind of nook. There’s a word for that, I know there is, but my addled brain won’t grasp it. The door.

The door meant something. But what? And why wasn’t I in my own bed?

Footsteps?

Yes. Soft, gentle, almost as though a person is walking with incredible care to avoid making too much noise. That’s not normal. And the bed certainly isn’t my own.

Opening my eyes, I see only darkness. Not so unusual, the darkness, I was asleep, wasn’t I? But I’m in a strange place. Strange and yet oddly familiar?

In the back of my mind, I curse the weed I can feel coursing through my system. It always makes trying to understand what’s going on around me so damned difficult. But… weed? A bed built into a wall? Gentle footsteps?

Turning over, the darkness obscuring my vision lessens as I adjust to the lack of light.

She is standing there, looking down at me. I can’t see her face, not clearly, but I know what she looks like. A beautiful face with smiling lips framed by pencil straight black hair that falls to her waist.

Slowly, the shadows retreat in the soft golden light from the street out her window.

“Did I wake you,” she asks, voice low and soft.

I don’t answer.

Pushing myself up, I kneel on the bed and look into her face. I can see it now, almost as though she were standing under the burning sun. Her eyes are wide, surprised and curious. I remember where I am now. Lights from passing cars briefly shine into the room, shrouding her in a constantly moving shadow.

Tired. Dead tired, that was why she was only coming to bed now. I had decided against accepting the invitation to join her and her housemates in the living room after the ‘mandatory cuddles’ that followed our earlier session. Too tired then. Wide awake now.

Gently, moving slowly, I reach out and cup her face in my hands.

Pressing my lips to hers, I feel the tension leave her. She was never afraid of me, only worried that she had woken me up. The cute little anxieties that our time together has not yet worn away. She wraps her arms around me as we share that long, lingering kiss.

Breaking from her lips, I pull back just slightly, just enough to see her again. More lights, showing me her glowing, wonderful face before it vanished again into the dark.

Her dark eyes are still accented by tiny wings of eyeliner. God how I love that, on her more than on anyone else in the world. She opens her lips to ask another question, the words turning to a shaky gasp as my fingertips trail down her neck to her collarbone.

Still gentle, still slow, slip my fingers under her loosely tied kimono and push it back. She takes one long, shaking breath as my hands reach her shoulders, then trail down her bare arms. The silk flutters down to pool at her feet.

I pull her closer, eager to taste her lips again, but unwilling to rush the moment. Her eyes close, she’s the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I kiss her, not quite so soft as before, not quite so gentle. I want her. I need her.

But will she have me?

We had had our fun earlier in the evening, after a romantic night lost to any knowledge of time, lost in each other’s company. But that had been a fast, needful, almost feral thing. This is different, this time, I am in control.

My arms encircle her, I can feel her breath getting just that little bit quicker. She knows what I want. Knows, but knows also that I haven’t started yet. Not until the signal, not until the moment of silent consent we worked out so many months before. I take my time, loving every second of having her in my arms again. We have all night, no need to rush.

Pulling back, I trail the tips of two fingers down her cheek. She shudders, sighing at the touch. Gently, I tilt her head to one side, my lips just touch her neck, right below the ear. She stiffens, drawing one short, unsteady breath. At any point she could stop me, she knows that. One hand on my chest, one word, but she doesn’t.

I kiss her neck. And again, just slightly lower. Again, and again, each one drawing out another stuttering breath until I reach the point where her neck meets her shoulder. Following the curve of her collarbone, I revel in every shudder, every gasp. In this moment she is mine, a goddess in my hands.

My hands move to her back, slowly sliding up the length of her as my lips again meet hers. She is leaning against me now, her arms pulling me tight. Reaching her shoulders, my fingers curl, catching the straps of her night dress. I love those dresses, though she wears them for herself.

Still moving slowly, I pull the straps over her shoulders, guiding the dress as it falls to the ground. She gasps against my lips, and I tentatively bite the lower one. It’s enough, she returns the signal, just the same way.

Trailing my fingers down her back, again I wrap my arms around her and stand from the bed. She feels so small, so delicate, there in my arms.

“Stay still,” I whisper, slowly circling her.

Behind her now, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. Her hands cover mine for a moment before trailing up my arms, drawing a soft gasp from my own lips. Her delicate fingers leave me for a moment, slipping behind her, between us, gripping my excitement where it presses into her back as I draw my hands slowly up, barely touching her until I can fill them with her.

She freezes, fingers teasing the band of my underwear. I lean down, kiss her neck again, and whisper into her ear, “I want you.”

No answer. No demand to stop. She grips me again, fingers gently teasing me.

I squeeze her then, gently - oh, so gently - her head leans back, eyes closed. I press my lips against hers, using thumbs and forefingers to tease her in turn. Her hands tighten around me. I can feel the tension in my arms, the desperate need for her, but I let the moment linger. Tweaking her, drawing out little gasps, making her shudder in my arms.

“I want you,” I say again, voice low and husky.

Releasing her breasts, I place my hands on her hips and turn her slowly in place. Then, I kneel down. Looking into her eyes, I slowly rise again until I can take her nipple into my mouth. She gasps, fingers curling into my hair.

My hands are at her back again, nails pressing just hard enough to make her shudder in my arms life a leaf in the breeze. Then one returns to the front, filling itself with the unattended breast, teasing her nipple as my teeth nip at her.

For a long time, I focus on her. Focus on drawing out her pleasure, focus on making her melt in my arms. Her fingers curl into my hair again, sending tiny shock waves of pleasure radiating across my scalp. One hand releases me, trailing fingers down my cheek until she cups my chin.

Tiling my head up, she looks deep into my eyes.

“Then take me.”