I never thought his touch would be so ‘intimate‘, that someone like him would ever see me as someone worth touching, especially in such circumstances as this. I’m not a ‘touchy feely woman‘ unless I’m comfortable with you touching me, even then it has to be ‘approved‘ touching, I have to see it coming. I initiate most physical contact I get, I reach out first, letting the person know I’m okay with the touch they want to give me. Which is usually a hug or a close embrace for a real close friend, but when he did it….when he touched me, there was something else, a need I suppose which he fed with that touch of his.

Just a touch, one touch from a stranger.

So innocent, a brush past and a touch on my skin from his hand, but the way he did it, the way his fingers grazed over my arm, ‘feeling‘ me, ‘reading‘ me as he did it. His face showing the concentration on it, sensing everything and understanding what it was saying to him, I just wish I understood what I’d told him to be here now. Lost in sensation, overloaded with stimulus, my skin bristling with nerves and information, all coming from him, into me.

I’d been distracted, looking for something I didn’t know the name of, lost I suppose; inside myself, looking for a way out of the dark when he passed me. I saw him coming toward me, I must have but I never registered him until he touched my skin. Purposefully running his fingers across my arm as he passed me by, watching my skin goose and the shudder that went through me as he did it. The feel of his pads on my skin still sending signals long after his physical contact was lost and gone, but he noticed too. As if my skin was still under his finger ends as he walked away, it made him stop, turn and look at me. He saw ‘me‘, not the mask I hide behind but ‘me’, the real one and for a moment we shared something across that link, across that moment of sight. Then he was gone, into the crowds, losing himself as I had been lost until that moment, still feeling his fingers on my arm and the pressure of his fingerprints in my skin.

I didn’t see him again for nearly a year, I’d been lost in life again, following the routines that had made my life such a bore. The weekly shopping trip, the friendly visit to people who knew the surface of me but not the ‘real‘ me, not the one who surfed sites others would go red with embarrassment of even knowing about. They’d never think it of me, never see it in me, not in the way I moved or met the world, no it was hidden, laying deep down like the layers of my skin and he’d seen through all of them in one look. It had been easy for him, because he was like that too, I didn’t know at first, my second look at him wasn’t across the crowded shopping area like last time. No, this time it was in a sandwich shop of all places, I’d gotten so tired, my feet were aching, I’d struggled along so far and finally I supposed I needed a rest. The place had seating and the customers looked unthreatening to me, so I went in, ordered a coffee, and sat with it on the green plastic seating.

I was daydreaming again, wishing for a better life when the only way to get one was to make it happen for me, but I had no clue back then, no road map to guide me. Just myself, routine and the ever present help from ‘well meaning‘ friends, like the time they suggested I go speed dating. I went, I did the rounds and got nothing but half hidden laughter and sarcasm, it took me a month to recover after that episode. Self confidence shot to ribbons and nothing to show for it, nothing but an ache and a memory of someone who’d loved me once. But they’d meant well and I was supposed to be ‘grateful‘ that they made the suggestion, as if humiliation by young men was ever going to make me happy.

No it was seeing him again, through the window of the sandwich shop, him freezing stock still and turning to see me looking at him but again not fully seeing him stood there. It took him sitting down across from me to get my mind to react, something my old love would have done. He didn’t speak, he just sat opposite me and reached out across the plastic table and touched my hand. His finger ends were still rough but the sensations he created in my skin snapped me back to the present. Everyone around us thought we were together, that we knew each other and in a way we did, that unspoken knowing that you ‘feel‘, you can’t explain it or fathom it. Just that it exists, that it’s real, and when he finally touched my wrist I almost dropped the cup I was holding.

That’s all we did for an hour, sit, drink coffee and touch, just our hands, nothing else, my eyes were riveted to his skin, his were on my face. I couldn’t look at him, I thought if I did he’d disappear like the dream he was, it was only when someone wanted the table that he actually made a sound.

“It’s taken,” it was in the way he said it, the intonation of the words, the way his fingers had curled around my hands and wrists, cradling, comforting, sheltering me in his own. The person wandered away again and I finally managed to look at him, he was still handsome, still beautiful to my eyes and I wondered whatever he could be doing with me, here.

He left me only once to pick up more coffee and a biscuit, he broke it in two and ate half, leaving me the other piece. It was a test, I know that now, if I took it I was giving permission for him to touch me, allowing him to feel the skin under his finger ends. I flicked my eyes up once and smiled quickly, taking my half and dipping it in the still steaming coffee, for once not worrying about who saw me eat the sweetness in my mouth. Finishing the thing and knowing his eyes were watching every movement, every swallow of my throat and understanding what I’d done, until there was nothing left but the crumbs on my fingers. Which he took up to his lips and cleaned with a swift lick across their lined surfaces, my eyes closing in delight as I felt his warm thick tongue against my flesh. When I finally opened them again, he was gone, his coffee cup still steaming and the door just closing on it’s piston.

It had been real, the slide of his saliva on my fingers told me that, I drank my coffee first and then finished his. The taste of him still on the cardboard and my fingers having to spread to find where his had been on it’s surface. I never expected to see him again, at least not for another year, not so soon. But when he did come, I’d been needing someone to save me from myself.

What is it they say, ‘a widows bed is the last place for a man with hope?‘ something about the neediness of women and the unchanging character they have? Well my bed had been lonely for nearly five years, five years of trying to get his scent from the sheets, five years of steam cleaning the mattress so I no longer woke with tears in my eyes. Fate had been so cruel, so heartless to me, to give me one who had understood everything there was in me, only to steal them away in the night as I slept next to them. It had changed me so much, altered me from the truth I had been, leaving me hollow, a shell, something I never wanted to recover from, or so I thought.

How he found me I have no idea, but he did, I got home to find him at my doorstep, leaning against the brickwork, watching my every move as the gate closed behind me. I could scream, call out to my neighbours, pull the small phone out of my bag and call the police but I didn’t. He just straightened up and waited for me, as if I’d invited him into my home and he was here keeping his appointment. The narrow space between us as I walked to my front door felt charged, I almost stopped, to feel the energy between us, it’s interplay in the small gap and the knowledge it seemed to send into my skin. When I turned my back to him to open the door his hand went above my head, holding onto the door frame caging me in; there was no changing my mind now I knew that. I’d eaten the biscuit, shared it with him, now he was here but what for I didn’t dare think about.

Before I stepped inside, he touched my waist with his other hand, gently, holding me as I moved forward, feeling my movements, the swing of my hip and body as I walked into my home. His strong fingers moving with me as if they were attached to my skin through my coat and clothes, I felt him shift with me over the threshold. Him looking out at the street just before he took the door and closed it on the world.

Unsure, routine raised it’s head and I did what I always did, took off my coat, my shoes, looked in the mirror near the door and saw the damage the world had done to me today. Yet this time when I looked, he was there behind me, his own coat now over mine, his feet bare as his shoes were stacked next to my own. I just stood looking at him in the mirror, the way his eyes roved over me, as if he were touching me, moving up behind me I could feel him, all of him, even the hidden part of him. The one that had called out to me that first day he touched me, when he moved closer I leaned back, never once leaving his eyes in the mirror. Letting myself fall into his body, to be supported by him, to feel all the hard planes that were under those clothes, the semi smile on his lips to the shine in his eyes. I just let myself ‘feel‘ for the first time in years, I let him touch me, let him move his hands to my upper arms and slide down them with his rough skinned pads. Feeling the broad chest behind me breathing, the rise and fall of him shifting me forward and back slightly, dropping my head backward into his chest and hearing his voice rumble out, “Good girl.”

‘Girl‘, I hadn’t been a girl for many years, but I felt like one, here and now with him, like a virgin with no idea of what was going to happen next, just shuddering with anticipation. I’m not sure how long we stood there, just looking at each other while he touched my skin, tracing his fingers over my hands and arms, pressing himself forward into me as I fell into him. The heat and warmth we generated seeped through us both, my skin finally looked healthy again, a little pink instead of the pale it always was these days.

He moved his hands higher, running them up my arms, holding me with his strong fingers, making me look at him again. The heat that was inside him, mirrored by the warmth that was hidden inside me, we matched each other, each vocally silent but saying so much with our bodies against each other. The way his hips held mine, the strength in his thighs as he stood strong with my weight leant against him. His broad chest shadowing my own shoulders for once, I was always broad across the back but he made me feel small, protected. As if I could just give over everything I was and he’d hold me safe, strong and whole, I didn’t know him from a stranger but I felt the world in his grip and that was enough of a miracle.

Slowly he moved me away from the hallway mirror, taking my steps for me, pushing his own weight forward first, making me copy his every movement. Like you would a child learning to walk, supportive yet cradling at the same time, all the while his breath was on me. Warm, flushing my skin with sensation on each inward breath and exhale, the slow rumble of his lungs vibrating through my own flesh and knowing I was copying his breathing unconsciously. Calming myself with every step we took into the home I had built since my husbands death.

I knew he was looking at everything I’d surrounded myself with, taking it into himself and reading what he saw of me within it. I was stood, still leaning back into him when he moved me forward and stood me straight again, moving his mouth to my ear he whispered, “Show me you.” His fingers tightened on me for a moment before adding, “The real you.”

Then he let me go, the difference was like stepping from an open aeroplane door, I was in free fall without his weight to guide me. Casting my eyes around the temple I’d built over time I struggled to find the piece of me he knew was here, moving like a deep sea diver I washed up against the mantelpiece. My hands did the moving of objects until I found it, a small silver hare hung on an old piece of thonging. Pushing away from the solid surface I aimed to be caught again by his grip, this time his eyes didn’t meet mine but the smile he had on his lips was enough of a reward. Taking the frayed thing he hung it on my neck, making sure it went over my head and rested against my skin, his calloused fingers touching the small silver object and warming it through almost immediately. “That’s better, back where it belongs.”

His fingers never left my throat, his other hand wove around my waist, pulling me into his grip further, plastering me against the whole of him, all of his hard places softened by my own curves. Stroking my skin, seeing my face flush with the touch he was giving me, the intimacy of it and the promise that was held in each and every slide of his skin against mine.

When he moved his head to mine I wondered what he would taste like, would his lips be as soft as my husbands had been? Instead of kissing my lips he touched my throat lightly, small gentle caresses of his mouth, unhurried, soft, gentle. My reaction as natural as the sunlight outside, I dropped my head backward and away, revealing more of myself to his touch. Allowing him access to the skin I had hidden for so long, feeling his hands grip me tighter to him as his kisses became stronger. Feeling my own hands rise to touch him, grip him to me, latching onto the very frame of him, digging under his clothes to the flesh beneath. The stress in my finger ends showing the depth of my need for his touch upon me, the want that rasped through my lungs with each breath that laboured through the emotions crowding my throat.

Lost…..

I was lost in him, the need to be devoured, to be taken, to be plundered whole by someone who understood the value of what was being given…

My voice finally freed as he took the underside of my jaw making me bend into his hips, into his warmth and the iron length resting there that was waiting for me. “Please…..” there were no more words needed, no protestations of propriety, just the sound of the need under the word. To be held, touched, valued, explored, loved with everything he had to give me, I wanted it all, this stranger who had found me worth looking at, worth touching, worth loving. I was so hungry I felt that I could consume him whole and still want more….

He didn’t hurry, even though I was pushing at him to peel his fabric skin away so I could touch him as much as he’d touched me. Taking my hands and settling me again, feathering his touch on my skin, making me calm, making me smoulder instead of being aflame. His whisper strong in my ear, his own stress showing in the words he chose, “Time, we have time….take it, all of it, remember me.” Then I understood, I began to slow my breath again, allowed him to touch me, to caress me over my shirt and back. He wanted to make a map of me, to know each piece of me until there was nothing left for him to discover, nothing but the truth of me. His fingers caught the thong of my little hare, bringing it up and into his view, taking it in his teeth wetting the leather with his own spittle. Knowing as he ran his tongue along the leather he was tasting my skin again, the unknown parts of me revealed to him, just him. A deep rumble followed his taste of the leather that he released back to my skin wet with his own moisture, moving it slowly around my neck. Watching me as I responded to his marking of me, the move one of ownership, another test, another pass.

Allowing him to move his hand under the shirt I wore, touching the bare expanse of my skin, feeling me flinch at the heat of his large hand against my own goosing body. Feeling myself shiver as he shifted his hand under the fabric, cautious, careful, watching my every signal, every breathless moment that left me aching deep within myself. Building me with each touch on my body, every kiss, every rumble of his breath on my flesh, knowing that I had the power over him, to stop him, to say ‘enough’ and he would leave. He was worshipping me, giving me something I thought had been long outside of my reach, when he brought my eyes to his, I saw the smile there, the link that had reached out to him the first time I’d seen him, the first time he’d touched me. “There you are, finally…”

Now he kissed my lips, eyes half open, heavy lidded, one hand under my shirt supporting my back, the other at my waist holding me still. My own hands still lost on his back, feeling the muscle there tense and reform with each movement he took, letting myself fall into his grip further, giving all to the embrace, the kiss that was pulling me up from the ground toward heaven. Feeling him take more of me the more I gave to him, knowing it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be enough until he was inside me, all of me. In everything I touched, everything I did, every thought I had, every movement I made, would be for him.

The strong calloused fingers moved across my nerves, stretching me to their limits of endurance as his hand came up the front of my shirt, giving me no respite as his warm palm cradled my breast. Kneading it through the soft fabric that enclosed me, feeling myself lose more ground to the sensations he was generating inside, bringing them closer and closer to the surface of my soul. Hearing myself sigh into his willing mouth and push myself into his caress, tensing as his fingertips flicked my growing nipple and sensing his own response to my pressure on his body.

Yet he still didn’t stop kissing me, changing tempo and stroke, his other hand moving down my waist to my rear, sliding over the skirt I wore, bunching the material as he reached beneath it’s length. Finally feeling his heated palm on my sensitized flesh, the thin cotton barrier between his skin and mine almost none existent. Breaking his kiss now, here, with my heart almost out of my chest, seeing him seeking permission to touch, to take, to taste, to feel. I let my head drop backward, showing my throat to his teeth and felt his bite enter my soul as his touch moved deeper into me.

It was all I could do to breathe, feeling so high, so wide open, so vulnerable but wanting him to never stop, even as his teeth dragged across my skin, marking my pale throat with rose coloured bruises. Feeling his fingers slide underneath me, touching me where no one had for too long, lost in his embrace, too far gone in his meal of me to stop now. Making my own hands move and shift under the fabric that covered his large stocky frame, touching the heating skin that burned my tender fingers, the need in him burning through his body and into my sensitized finger ends. Shifting his hand to my hip and lifting me as a whole, both hands now occupied with my weight, walking with me through my home, taking me to the bathroom, to strip me bare.

Coming to my senses as he dropped me down his frame again, making me pass his own unbridled erection, listening to his grunt as I passed over the heated length with my body, feeling it’s girth and the buck of his strong hips as I rested in his grip. Knowing he was calming himself, taking his time for my sake, showing me care, love, attention. Showing me there was nothing for me to fear from him, nothing to be afraid of but myself and what I was prepared to do; here and now. Standing with me, breathing me in with each slowly calming breath, he took hold of his own shirt and stripped it from his skin. Letting me see him, backing off so I had a view of him, all of him, watching as his eyes never left my face, feeling the blood fill my cheeks as this ‘man’ stripped himself for me. Doing it as calmly as he would for bed but knowing I was taking in every little detail of his movements, every shake of his tense frame, knowing he was finding this as hard as I was. But we had to go slowly, I needed time to get used to the idea of what was at the end of this, that I was worth the effort of his patience. He stood, shirt in hand, dropping it to the floor and I knew what he wanted from me without him saying a word. I took my own shirt edge and lifted it over my head, pulling it clear of my skin, showing the faded bra and pale skin that lay underneath. A half smile now showing on his expressive face as he reached for his under-shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing himself to my gaze.

The way his chest rose and fell, the myriad channels that had been made in his chest hairs that wove over his sun browned skin. He looked perfect, too much for someone like me, too much to hope for, a dream….

As if he’d known my thoughts, when I looked up again he was there, in front of me, lifting my head and taking my lips again, allowing me to feel his skin against my own and knowing no matter what happened now I would never forget this touch, his touch. Letting my hands weave their patterns over his chest, tickling my trace over his body, sensing each twitch and pulse of the muscle as I passed over it with my fingers. His own hands gentle on my back, stroking, caressing, removing my bra without an unnatural movement making me stumble over his own sculpted flesh. I was bare to him now, breasts loose and heavy, rasping against his own haired skin, my nipples hardening quickly as I fell into the heat shining from him.

Taking a breast in his palm, weighing it softly, supporting it, cradling me before running rough finger ends over the already hard nub of skin, each pass making me sigh, firing lightning through my nerve endings. Wanting both hands to hold me, touching me, caressing me, but he did better than that, he took his permission for touch, breaking away from my lips to take my breast instead. The heat and hard muscle of his tongue on my most sensitive bud taking all the air from my lungs, squeezing my eyes tight shut as his other hand wove it’s way back up my skirt. This time taking the fabric away and down my body, the broken zip forever ruining the garment but I didn’t care, I just never wanted him to stop touching or tasting me. Feelings of inadequacy fell away, burned in the movements of his head on my breast, hearing him growl and rumble as he took as much as he could of me into his mouth. Knowing he wanted to bite me, to mark me there but it would be too much, too soon, the tension in his lips testament to the control he was putting himself through. I was stood nearly naked, his head in my chest, my hands on his large shoulders and inside his mane of hair, willing him to take more of me. Feeling alive and unfettered as he moved from one breast to the other, his own hands weaving over my lower skin, touching my legs, stroking them into life. Urging me to move them apart for him, to give him access to the heart of me, the centre of all I had been.

Doing as I was bidden, shifting my legs apart for him, feeling his feathering finger ends running up my inner thighs, my sex already moist, breath heaving while his was still so calm, so peaceful. Letting my breasts go, seeing his attentions on them glistening in the light of the room, watching as he stood up with difficulty, his erection held back by denim and the look he was giving was all because of me.

Taking my hands he put them on his own hips, keeping his heavy hands over my own, making me follow his instruction as he moved my delicate hands over the soft worn denim. The grain of the fabric old and well loved, soft spots in the wear of the waistband told of their age, moving my hands to the button fly and leaving them there, his own hands just resting on mine, seeing my nerves, sensing my trepidation. His breath becoming heavier as my hands shifted across the fabric, touching the front of him, tracing the flesh that was laid beneath the thin covering with my fingers. Making his breath stutter as I finally touched the top button and held it for a moment, hearing his own whispered plea fall out with his ragged breath, “Release me…..please…..”

To hear such words from a man like him, sculpted, formed, adored, fall from his lips onto my pale skin, to enter my heavy frame and hold such need, such want….I opened each button, taking my time, feeling the warm copper in my fingers, brushing against the hard length each time and watching his hips buck into each touch I gave. My hands holding the fabric aside as he finally came free and into the space between us, looking at his eyes, the dark hunger there that I had grown within him. Every touch of my skin had done this, every breath on him, every piece of me I’d given willingly was in this point. Moving his hips slightly I knew what he needed from me, the same as I had from him, touch.

The heat from his softest skin branded my palm, allowing myself to slide down his length to the mess of curled hair at the root of him, still nestled in the confines of the denim. Both hands now, pushing the fabric away with one hand and stroking his erection with the other, watching the denim fall away from his strong muscular thighs. Pooling around his feet as he began to step out of their confining touch, his own hands on my hips, pulling and removing the last barrier between us, the thin cotton of my own shield. The last of my past to fall away to the floor, as lost and forgotten as the words that had haunted my life for too long….

‘Ugly’, ‘worthless’, ‘clumsy’, ‘unwanted’, all of these and more burned away, turning to ashes in the stare he was giving me, showing me all of him, every piece of darkness, every piece of light that sparkled in his eyes. He was here for ‘me’.

Just, me.

Feeling the wounds heal, the scars settle with each pass of his hands over my skin, the lumps and bumps of life’s battles, knowing that each pass of his hands built me higher, brought more life to my body and soul. My own grip on him solid but softly holding the root of his sex, my fingers nestling there as if they’d always been there. Knowing my touch, feeling me caress the soft skin, tracing the veins and solid muscle that was broad enough to fill the world.

Stilling his hands for a moment, looking at me again, a small half smile on his lips, bringing his head down to mine, whispering in-between small soft kisses that made my heart race. “I, want, you….now. Give me you.” Shifting my hand along his erection, pushing myself closer to the skin that was already burning my own, allowing him to touch my own soft haired sex. Taking him to the soft skinned entrance of me, allowing him to take, to enter me when he was ready to.

Suddenly surprised at his movements, his pulling of his hips away from my grip, making me lean over as he undid my hand from his body. Unsure why until his own fingers went to my own willing sex, his large heavy head resting in the crook of my neck, working the flesh there with his teeth and tongue. Feeling myself being forced backward to the wall of hanging towels, their rough surfaces so different from the sensation of his skin all over the front of me.

Drowning in sensation, his tongue at my neck as his rough fingers began to explore my most secret place. My own hand finding his heated erection again, wrapping myself around the swelled girth and shifting my fingers along him, feeling his hips bucking into the strokes I was creating on him. Listening to the rising of his breath, the growling at my throat deepening, the graze of his teeth becoming sharper as I shifted along his iron hard flesh.

Gently shifting my own labia, tracing every part of me, swirling his fingers through every swelling piece of my sex, reading me as if I were braille under his finger-ends. Stroking the entrance to me, circling around my wet heart before sliding himself inside, feeling me bucking into it, driving my hips down to meet him. My grip on him strengthening as he entered fully, pulling him hard mimicking the movement of his firm digit inside me. The grip of his teeth in my flesh, feeling the sharp edges bite hard as he pushed his digit further inside my tight body, my breath lost to the force of his body against my own. Covered by him entirely, pressed to the wall, lost in him, dominated by his weight, strength and power, submitting all I was to this, to him.

Feeling his digits move as another was added to the first that was already crooked inside me, making me shift higher and deepen my responses to his touches in and on me. Holding his head to my neck, gasping for air but holding him to me, my other hand gaining strength from his own ministrations. Feeding back into itself, a circuit of pleasure that was never ending, the slide of him inside me and the grip on his already twitching erection, knowing he was close to coming by the heat of his skin on mine.

His firm hand unwrapping my grip from him and laying it on my own breast, covering it with his own making me tease and knead my own flesh while his thumb beneath me found my now proud standing clitoris. My voice rose unbidden and he covered it, swallowing all the sound I made, his kiss taking all I could give and more. Feeling the world spin as he took everything from me, filled at both ends with the same man, the same power, sensing the greying of my senses he released me for a moment.

Breath filling me as he moved to my breasts again, using his fingers beneath me to raise me higher, feeling myself begin to spasm and tighten, watching as his eyes flicked up to mine as I came. Seeing the devourer there riding high in his frame, releasing my breast to plunder my mouth, taking all sound, all emotion from me, all I could give, the devourer took. Laying himself against me, feeling with all his skin against mine, the shuddering goosing skin that crept over my body as I fell into his embrace again. Feeling the thick slide of his fingers as they left me, aching and shuddering with his loss, taking my hand and guiding it back to his own now weeping erection, wrapping my palm around him and feeling the changes in it. Knowing the from the spread of my fingers that he was bigger, wider, larger, this was my reward, for my allowing his touch on my body.

Hunger rose viciously inside my heart, one hand on his erection the other on his hip, pulling him into my soft willing form, opening myself to allow his soft skinned iron inside my moist aching channel.

He took my thigh and lifted it wide, opening me further as I released him finally, resting my hands on his haired shoulders, gripping his bones under the flesh, willing him to fill me, to ease the ache that been untended till now. Closing my eyes to him to remember the sensations, the rasp of his hair against my skin, the feel of his abdomen against me, the stiff slide of his erection and the deep rumble it elicited from his chest. The pressure of his grip increasing as he pushed himself deeper, shifting his other hand to lift me, supporting me against the wall of towels with his strength and power. His hips moving slowly, making every single touch on my skin burn, locking his gaze to mine, seeing me finally open my eyes to him, smiling at the hunger that was laying over their wide lenses. Hands gripping my thighs tight as he pulled away, sliding tight inside me, seating himself deeper each time, until the thrusts were being made with just his strong hips. Running my hands into his hair, pulling him to me this time, showing him my hunger for his touch, his skin, his energy, everything he was willing to give and more.

Taking the lead this time, the small hare shifting against my skin as I took what I needed from his already breathless mouth, nipping his lips with my own teeth, becoming bolder as I worked my way down his thick neck. Latching onto his most sensitive place, feeling an unconscious buck into my aching centre as I grazed it with my teeth, making sure to hold myself there, to suckle, bite, to mark him as much as he had me. Feeling the pressure under my sex building, his grip on my thighs beginning to hurt as he dug his strong finger-ends deep into my soft yielding flesh. His breathing becoming laboured, skin as hot as my own was, slicked with our sweat, his scent plastered all over and within me. Feeling the twitching of his broad back as he began to push to his climax, teeth gritted as he forced my head from his neck, to take my mouth again. Filling both ends of me with himself, his hands dug deep into my body, my back and shoulders flattened against the wall as the heat of his semen filled my empty spaces. Drowning me in fire, in him, feeling it swirl through my innermost parts, the tension in him still being released, thrusting himself into me as far as he could reach, losing himself utterly within my body.

Finally, when he released my lips, my hands still in his hair, holding his skull tight in my hands, seeing his smile light all of his face, small delicate kisses raining down on my face and shoulders. Gently moving me, slow and steady movements, allowing the blood to return to my legs, stroking them back to life while still resting inside my body, his girth comfortable there. Resting within me as if he’d always been there, a ghost made flesh, filling the aching space with life, awakening a desire that had been ignored for too long.

His still damp fingers tracing the blooming bruises he’d made on my pale canvas skin, the tracery of his movements making me shudder with pleasure, the pain mingled with his soft touch. Shifting himself out of me finally, dropping his hips as he placed his hands onto my belly and pressed me backward again. Kneeling in front of my sex, his eyes heating as he brought his large heavy head to my body, seeing his own semen running down my inner thigh, mingled with my own scented flow. His rough skinned hand pressing hard against my stomach, his single word backed up by his gaze, nailing me to the wall, keeping me obedient.

“Stay.”

The word growled out, sensing the hunger in him below me, knowing the devourer was here, the hunger he held in check suddenly free. Sensing the change, the split in him finally healed, by joining with me he was free to be whole, as much as I was with him. Feeling his fingers rasp up my inner thigh, chasing the flow of mixed essences until his eyes met the vessel containing what he sought. Pushing me back harder, his large head lost between my thighs, having to spread myself wide to accommodate his size, the rasp of his cheeks against my sensitive skin. Feeling his thick tongue wrapping around every single piece of my labia, tasting everything I was, devouring me whole. Feeling his hands shift my thighs so he was underneath me completely, making the towels behind me bunch up into scratching peaks as he stretched to chase the taste around my heating sex, his nose rubbing against my sensitized clitoris. Feeling his firm tongue enter me, plunging as deep as it could, tasting, exploring, taking all I had, his rumbling purr sending ripples through my nerves, lighting up my skin and making my nipples pebble again.

Feeling him sensing my rise, the flow of my inner walls becoming stronger than his own taste, moving his mouth to my nub of nerves, his face glistening with his need to devour me whole. Holding me still, watching me as he played with every sensation that passed through me, seeing which touch worked the best, which one earned him more of my taste from deep inside me. Which one was stronger, more pungent, more me, then giving me that touch, that sensation until I was gripping the towels behind me with white hands, teeth biting my own lip purple. Barely keeping my voice silent, knowing the devourer wouldn’t accept my sound yet.

He wouldn’t let me come, keeping me just on the edge, just a flick of his strong tongue away and he liked it, his eyes showing me the depth of his control over me and inside I wanted him to. To be vulnerable, to trust, to give him all without price, without cost. Finally when I thought he would never end it, he reached under me and slid three fingers deep inside my body, watching my eyes widen as he wrapped his tongue around my clitoris and suckled hard, flicking it softly, bringing me over again. Seeing me lose everything again, my hands dug deep in the white of the towels, my breath hardly registering as he shifted out from under me, letting me fall to the floor again. Holding me up, supporting me with his broad hands and pulling me into his warmth, nuzzling me with his head like a cat, letting me touch him, wrapping myself around all of him. Feeling him lift me, the whole weight of me, into the shower, holding me against his body, cradling me, loving me, cherishing all that I am.

I was on sensory overload, heat, smell, touch, even the taste of his breath as he moved me against his body, my cheek resting against his skin and feeling the slide of his sweat against me. Knowing that the effort he’d used was all for me, was about me, not what others had told me about myself. He found me worthy, lowering me slowly into the showers enclosure, keeping me against him as the water came on. Him taking the brunt of the cold first before the water heated up, feeling him shiver then stretch into the falling rain. His strong fingers taking my head and lifting my face to his, softly taking my slack lips and opening me to him, his tongue tart with new tastes, knowing that this was my own flavour, mingled with his own spice. My hands feathered up his sides to his broad chest, holding him to me as the warm rain pattered against my finger ends, moving my hands lower to touch his haired rear. Tired, exhausted almost by his desires, his needs, I let him do what he wanted to me, what was left of me.

He moved me under the warm waterfall, letting it sluice me, knowing he was watching where the water fell, where it beaded and made larger drops. His deep rumbling breath on my skin told me of his excitement, the tension building in his frame as his lips met my heavy breasts again. Gently this time, licking, teasing, allowing the water to run over their raised surfaces before suckling them again, hearing his purr and feeling it run through my sensitized flesh. His hand moving to mine and pulling it to his groin, making me wrap my hand around his stiffening warmth, sliding it expertly, making sure to guide me to the root of him. When I had the rhythm he needed, his hand released me again, his eyes making sure to meet my own as he continued to suckle at my breasts.

With each down-stroke he pushed hard into my palm, the need in him rising as his purr became a growl, his head lifting from my now sore nipples to take my mouth, his whispers loud in my ears and blood. “Let me have you, turn around….please, turn around.”

There was something there, something that called to the depth of me, a trust I knew to follow, something I had had with my old love. It was here again in him, through the warm rain I saw and felt the utter need I was filling within him and again I let my head drop back and turned myself for him. Releasing his erection to feel his scalding touch go to my hips, putting my hands against the tiled surface and pushing myself backward into his already taut body. I kept my head back, opening my throat to him, letting him see I had given him all of me, the warm rain now hitting my back and shoulders, feeling his large hand stroke the skin of my back, following the flow of water as it turned from rain to a river on my skin. Listening to his words as they too fell like water in the desert of my soul, refilling the heart of me, the lost part of myself. “Beautiful…..fuckin’ beautiful, all of you. Every curve, every piece of you…perfect.” Feeling him stroke me, pushing myself into the warm touch as it passed over my skin, feeling like a cat who finally had a hand on their fur. His large hands resting on the small of back, running them over my ass and under me, spreading me wide for him to enter easily. Hearing his growl raise as he slid himself inside me again, this time the sensation was different, deeper, his voice becoming harsh as his own emotions began to break his words into growled snatches.

“Perfect…..fuck, you feel so tight, like you’re a part of me!” His breath hard on my skin as he pulled himself closer to my own tried body, pushing my all into the wall and his own thrusting hips, “I want you….every time I see you, I’ll want you…..like this.”

His grip increasing as he snarled the words out, a large hand going to my breast and holding me tightly. “I’ll be here and you’ll feel me coming to you……for this.” His hips pushed hard and he raised me, making my head brush against his own, listening to the stream of words that was coming from his mouth that had been so silent before. “Tell me you’ll have me…..tell me!”

The sensations he was pushing into me were plundering my mind, the water, the strength of him, the cool of the tile, everything began to swim. But I whispered my answer, dropping the almost silent words over his straining skin, “Yes, you,only you…..”

It was if I had given him the world, his hands went over my own on the wall, linking with them, supporting me as he fucked me, shifting my feet so I stood around his. Feeling my own inner walls begin to flex with his pushing into me, beginning to voice my own needs to his ears. His thick tongue licking the side of my neck before biting down, holding the bite as he fought to finish his meal of me.

“Please…..touch me…..please….” whispering my begging pleas to his ears, watching as a large rough skinned hand came toward my sex. Laying myself open to his mercy as he finally came again, deep deep inside me, scalding me with him, his hand gripping mine tightly as his other hand touched my clit. Stroking me with deft touches, knowing how to bring me over, breaking me apart against his solid form. My cries lost to the stream of rain and my consciousness pouring away with it, until there was nothing but heat, musk and warmth, the last thing he said to me ringing in my ears and holding it tight to my chest as I went under to sleep. “I got ya….it’s okay…..I got ya.”

I woke to a dark room, my bedroom, the curtains had been drawn and the bed was empty apart from me, the clock read 8.45pm. I was dressed in my bathrobe, the familiar touch of it’s cloth warm against my naked skin, dazed and a little disorientated I walked around my quiet home. The slick slide of my upper thighs told me that today hadn’t been a widows fantasy, the little silver hare was still at my neck. The thong still damp in places, my fingers moved the thin leather around my neck and I found the small stabs of pain reminders of what had happened to me. Going to the bathroom I flicked on the light, the shower had been used, the towels were drying and the smell of ‘man’ was still lingering in the air. Some of his hair was still in the bath, dark and strong like he had been, I pulled the cloth away from my skin and looked at myself in the mirror.

Bite marks on my neck bloomed like roses, their delicate traces would take days to heal, my breasts were a little bruised, the nipples sore and red but it was the fingerprints on my hips, the deep weal’s that would take over a week to fade. Each one a mark of his fingers in my skin, each one a testament to the loss of control he had with me, one he would make again if his words were any judge.

I closed the fabric and turned to switch off the light when the mirror caught my eye, there were words left there for me, in the surface waiting to be revealed. Turning on the taps I ran the water as hot as I could, seeing his words appear to my eyes, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.” Smiling to myself I let the message fade again, checking my front door was locked and seeing his shirt left behind covering my own coat. Plucking it down and dropping the old bathrobe to pool at my feet, pulling on the old faded shirt, letting the soft fabric caress my skin, breathing him in as I walked into my new life with someone who saw me worth the effort of touching.