A Refuge in Episodes Ep. 02

For Cinner

The flowers were a stark contrast to the world she has so recently left. They were gaily colored and scented the air of sweetness and wilderness. Their very existence seemed to drive the gray world outside into the shadows, rendering it a memory, an impotent force behind the walls of delicate, colorful petals. How he had come by these flowers was a mystery but one she accepted happily and without question. So many times things had happened between them where she could find no way to rationally explain what he had done or how he had done it. As with her trust in him, she learned to accept these things as they happened, to accept them without question and to revel in them as a private gift for her alone as if bestowed by some secret house faeries.

It took her several moments of smiling at the myriad colors about her to realize that he had removed her shoes while she slept, as well as her jacket, and the light woolen cap that had so feebly encapsulated her hair against the wind outside. The room was already warmer though it would never be as warm as it was during the summer days. That was one of the sacrifices to have the solitude of their refuge. She knew plenty of warmth would be generated in other ways and that the cold did magical, delicious things to her body when properly applied.

The sky outside that had been dull gray upon their arrival now loomed as inky blackness beyond the window panes, night having fallen swiftly and silently as it did in this place at this time of year. Along with the walls of flower petals that kept the darkness and cold at bay a brace of candles and oil hurricane lamps doused the room in soft yellow light. She could still hear the jazz playing from the old radio and the sounds of her man puttering about outside the bedroom. She did not want to leave the comfort of her quilted flower cocoon but her appetites had grown while she slept and so, with a little sigh, she pushed the blankets from atop her and swung her feet to the ground. A pair of fur-lined house shoes waited and she slipped her dainty feet into them, enjoying their snug softness, capturing the heat left in her toes and socks. Though a woolen house coat hung from the back of the bedroom door, she was warm enough in her jeans and sweater to brave the other rooms without it.

The main room of the cottage doubled as both a common living area and a dining area. A small table sat with four chairs before the double windows that opened upon the deck outside the front door. Opposite the windows, door, and table was an old but terribly comfortable sofa, draped with a white knitted throw and decorated with several small pillows. An end table at one end held another hurricane lamp and a small collection of books. She giggled to herself at the sight of these books. There as precious little time to read while they took their refuge but on those occasions that presented themselves, the books always played a delicious part in their time alone.

She leaned against the frame of the bedroom door, watching him as he worked in the small kitchen opposite the bedroom on the other side of the common living and dining area. A pot on the stove steamed merrily away while a small saucepan simmered the scent of warmed butter through the air. A bottle of white wine sat uncorked at the edge of the counter and two glasses stood dutiful sentry, waiting to fulfill their purpose in existence. She cast a quick glance to her left down the one impossibly small hallway the led to the second of three small bedrooms and the small bathroom. This area of the cottage was still dark but she knew that he had been through these areas already while she slept, preparing them as with each room so that the entire cottage would be lived and loved in before their time here was up.

"Did you rest well?" he asked as he stopped working in the kitchen to watch her. His smile and voice filled her with warmth and stirred her appetites more.

"Of course, how could I not?" she replied as she walked to join him in the kitchen. It was warmer here, the steam and heat from the pots on the stove raising the temperature to a point that was almost uncomfortable in comparison to the rest of the cottage. She leaned into his kiss, her head tilted and mouth open in willing supplication. Her world shrunk in a fraction of an instant to the delicate pieces of flesh that touched upon their lips, electricity crackling between them with the intensity of the kiss. Their tongues caressed one another, adding another heady layer to her world of concentrated sensation. Her knees buckled and she sagged against him as one arm circled her back, drawing her against his chest, while the other caressed the soft skin beneath her sweater above the swell of her hips. His hands were warm and light on her skin as they moved beneath her sweater. When his one free hand cupped her heavy breast through its delicate lacy sheath she moaned deeply into his mouth and felt her most delicate and intimate of areas melt into molten stickiness between her thighs. This refuge, their time here in this place, was always like this for her, like another world, a world where every feeling, every sensation, every passion, was amplified and redoubled to the point where she simply did not think it possible to take any more. But she always did take more and did so willingly, greedily, and insatiably.

The orgasm that ripped through her body came suddenly, exploding from her lips, across her tongue, across both her breasts, her erect nipples, down from her navel and into the minty sweet depths of her sex. His one hand had found her nipple through her bra and pinched it roughly at the same moment his other hand had slipped inside the back of her jeans and cupped her taut buttocks in his hand, the dual sensations triggering the orgasm. She had not even realized that he had unbuttoned her jeans while she slept so that when they embraced her clothes were rendered barely a barrier against his loving and skillful touches.

She rode the spasms of her orgasm, her mind splintered into the sensations of her lips, her sex, her breasts, her buttocks, her nipples, her tongue. He continued to hold her and kiss her deeply as she came down from the orgasm with a shiver of delight. She broke their kiss and looked him in the eye before whispering in a lust-filled throaty voice, "Thank you."

It was his turn to chuckle now. "I knew that was that you wanted first, most, from the way you kissed me. There will be plenty more later." He kissed her again, less deeply but no less passionately. "Why don't you pour the wine and have a seat?"

She smiled mischievously back at him as their bodies separated. Making to button her jeans, she instead slipped her hand inside and reached down into her panties. They wear already soaked with her juices, ready to be tossed away, but time for that would come later. A groan escaped her lips as she ran two fingers down the length of her dripping sex, stopping to rub a few searing circles around her engorged clit, before slipping down to dip inside her body. She removed her fingers and brought them to his lips where his tongue flicked out to lap her arousal from them. Another shiver went down her spine and sparked another orgasm as her wet fingers slipped into his mouth, their eyes locked, hers pleading with excitement as his tongue moved over her fingers seeking to taste any drop of her nectar still on them. She thrilled at the power he had over her body and her mind, her appetites.

Withdrawing her fingers from his mouth, she leaned forward, kissed him again, and this time did up the button on her jeans. A very clear spot of wetness spread across the crotch of her jeans and she luxuriated in the sensation of her wet panties rubbing against her sex as she took the bottle of wine and glasses and walked over to the table.

He joined her a few moments later, carrying the large pot from the stove, removing the lid with a flourish of steam and the smell of cooked seafood flooding moistly into the air. Inside the pot were several steamed lobsters, the cold water lobsters of the northern coastal waters of their refuge, whose delicate white meat was as sweet and delicious as grapes plumped with rainwater and afternoons of radiant sunlight. Paired with the butter melted on the stove, the lobster was a delicate and decadent treat in which they indulged as part of their refuge ritual. He bent down to kiss her as she sat at the little table before the windows, pressing a pair of nut crackers into her hands.

"Dig in, kitten," he said with a smile, knowing that this feast and their touches just moments before would only serve to make her appetites for him grow even more. She knew this too and, after taking a healthy drink of the delicious white wine, chose her first victim of the evening just as she knew she was already chosen as his...