Eros and Psyche

He pushed again, a little harder, and Psyche felt herself begin to stretch. It was an aching sort of opening, this careful, gentle intrusion, and though she had only the vaguest notion of the business of men and women, she knew enough to know what it meant. She felt every inch of him as he slid against her wet folds, felt the pinch of her maidenhead as he tore it away, and he paused for a moment when she tensed, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. She could feel his breath on her, could smell the sweetness of him when he opened his mouth to speak, and as the throb went away and he sunk a little deeper she gasped, her tight, aching passage squeezing around him.

"There's a good girl," he breathed. "That's it, love... let me in."

And when she sank back onto her pillows, letting him press another ardent kiss to her parted lips, he was there, his hips flush with hers. His body was hot around her, against her, inside her, and when she made another sound he began to move, slowly circling his hips.

"Does it sting?"

"No..."

"Can you feel me?" he whispered. "You've taken all of me in."

"Yes..."

When he began to move in earnest, she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was a new sensation, and one so unexpectedly welcome that Psyche could not help the arch of her back, the awkward, fumbling roll of her hips. She felt him withdraw from her, pulling ever so slightly back before he pushed inside again, and so eager was she for his return that she met him halfway. Inside her, so deep that she had never known it was there, he rubbed a secret place within and this was enough to send her reeling, to make her cry out as he hit it again and again. That sound was all he needed— before it had even left her lips he had begun to move a little quicker.

Each withdraw was a torture, each thrust like a stone striking flint. Sparks showered around her as he pumped himself inside, his manhood hitting parts of her she never knew existed. His hands were on her face again, wiping a different sort of tear from her cheek as he whispered sweet words into her ears, and when she brought her hands up to squeeze his, desperate for every part of him to meet with every part of her, he twined their fingers together and pinned them to the pillow above her head. He never missed a beat, never once faltered or lost his rhythm, and when he began to move even faster still, Psyche felt her body ignite. She cried out again and again, each return sending shockwaves through her core, and when her noise had risen to a crescendo once more, he lowered his lips to to her soft, pink nipple.

His hips thrust a steady rhythm. His lips latched on to her aching breasts. His hands left hers to stroke her belly, the outline of him palpable so deep inside her, before they moved down to stroke that tiny, wet pearl that had given her her first taste of pleasure. She gasped when he began to stroke it, making the wet tunnel between her legs contract and quiver, and it was not long again before she was crying out with each spasm. Her second orgasm hit her with a ferocity that she did not expect, making the darkness behind her eyelids flare with a brilliant, white light, and when he did not stop, did not so much as slow, she felt the threatening dam of tears break loose. He held her as she wept, her body overcome with such powerful, tremulous lust, and he kissed her tears away as he gathered up whatever bits of her remained. In his arms she felt small, tucked away against his strong, hard chest, and when he sat her up, never once losing his place inside her, he paused.

She was astride him now, his powerful arms keeping her upright, and when he adjusted himself ever so slightly, Psyche felt him sink in a little deeper. She had not known it possible— she had thought, without a doubt, that the end of him had already reached the end of her— but now she was so wet and so slick that he slid in just a little more, her lower lips pressed against his pelvis. She couldn't move, not so much as a single muscle, and her legs shook like jelly when she tried to ease away so he moved instead, carefully pulling her away before thrusting himself back up inside. He did it again, reaching that untouchable depth once more before she collapsed down onto him— belly to belly, chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around him, letting her fingers stroke the soft, downy feathers of his wings as he moved, and as she felt herself begin to fall apart yet again, his voice was gentle.

"That's my girl," he said, feeling the telltale tremors overtake her yet again. "That's it, my sweet... let it come..."

His hips, still moving, began to snap up to meet hers. Her cheek on his shoulder was wet with sweat and tears. His hands— one on her hair, the other on the small of her back— began to shake as he moved a little faster, pushed a little harder. There was pain with the pleasure now— an ache as he began to slam himself inside her— and then there was one spark, two sparks, three sparks...

He groaned with her as she wailed, his own hips twitching as her whole self fell into disarray.

The noise in her ears turned to muffled distortion. The darkness of the night deepened to an absolute black. Her voice echoed off the chamber walls, carrying, she was sure, down the long, ornate hall, and between her legs she spasmed so strongly that she felt her lover slip out. There was a warmth between her thighs now— the essence of him, so newly spilled— and as she slowly came back to the world she felt his hand against her tender flesh. He felt the last of those tremors against his palm as he rubbed his hand back and forth, and though he was gentle, she stilled him, trying to catch her breath.

"Please," she begged, though she need not have asked at all. His hand, so steady, simply fell away without a word. "Please..."

Instead he kissed her again, swallowing those pleas as they fell from her lips like a prayer. She could feel the thrum of his heart against the skin of her chest, could feel the racing of his pulse against her palms. Like her, he seemed replete, and for this she was grateful, because when he laid himself back down on the bed beside her, he did not move an inch.

"You are magnificent," said the god, and Psyche felt his fingers in her hair. "Glorious, my love. A Queen among women."

"I'm not a Queen..."

"You are my Queen," he said at once. "Queen of my home and Queen of my heart."

Psyche had never heard such beautiful promises in all her life.

"But now, we sleep," said the god, and Psyche felt suddenly so tired that she could not fight her yawn. "It is late, and you are replete."

"Will I see you in the morning?"

"I will come again after dark," said Eros. "When the lights are out and the moon is high. You will know me then, my love."

Psyche shivered.

"Will you stay for now, then?"

"Yes."

"And again tomorrow?"

"Yes..."

"And will we...?"

"Sleep now, little love," laughed the God, and as if by some unseen magic, Psyche felt her eyes grow heavy. "Rest, and close your eyes. I am here, now. Do not be afraid."

"I am not afraid..."

"Then may your dreams be sweet," said Eros. "Look for me on the morrow, darling, when the lights go out. I'll be back again and together we'll soar, but for right now, close your eyes and sleep, Let me hold you for a while."

"Goodnight..."

"Goodnight, Psyche," whispered the god, and Psyche felt him pull the bedclothes up around her. Beside her, he settled down onto a pillow. "Goodnight, sweet girl... the darkness cannot come soon enough."

And in that same, elusive darkness Psyche slept, well beyond the glowing, silver dawn.