In Sight, In Mind

As the door swung open in front of her, she bent to pick up the bouquet of flowers left on her front step and walked briskly inside, not missing a beat as she kicked the door shut behind her with one leather heel.

"Damn him," she sighed, one hand holding her forehead as she leaned with that elbow over the sink. In the metal basin lay the twelve roses he must have sent while she was stuck in afternoon traffic.

"I hate when he's that sweet," Emily said, pushing the roses into the trash compactor and flicking the nearby switch.

Red petal pieces churned and flew everywhere in the sink, mixed with the odd thorn or torn leaf. Then finally, Rodney's loving gesture of apology was lost down the drain, no more than future compost.

Emily removed her jacket and hung it in the dim closet, unbuttoning the top three buttons of her pale pink blouse and ruffling the silky material over her breasts. Today had been hot, and arguing with Rodney had not helped.

Of course, it wasn't a real argument. It was just her dwelling. She wouldn't need him to tell her that. She had been nitpicking, trying to rile him. And all she had succeeded in doing was make him feel guilty for being a certain way that in truth, he was not.

She sighed and paused at the closet, head leaning against the wooden door.

A pair of hands crept around her waist, turning her slowly.

She lifted her mouth, eyes closed, to the waiting kiss, and was pleasantly surprised as her lips were greeted with a tongue, warm and seductive, slipping into her mouth.

Emily moaned slight as the hands went to the remaining buttons of her blouse.

"I need you," he whispered to her, his lips against her cheek, her ear, her neck.

She could hear him as he smelled her hair, brushing it aside with his nose, burying his face there and releasing her brown tresses from various pins and clips that fell forgotten to the floor.

His words made her skin shiver, as did his hands, moving over her exposed neck then up over her breasts. He cupped them, one in each large palm, smoothing his hands over the tight, seamless silk of her brassiere. Then his thumbs found her excited nipples, hard protrusions beneath her bra. He rubbed over them, stimulating them, making Emily ache for him.

"I need you too," she moaned, tilting her head back to press against the wall.

His strong hands moved to her hips, hiking her grey knee-length skirt up over her thighs. Deftly his fingers unclasped her nylons from her garters, slipping between the sheer material to run down to her knees. He loved to explore her skin, and she knew it, adored him for it.

Soon, his hands moved back up, his mouth busy devouring her neck as his hands slipped up and into her panties. Plain, white, silk-like, he pulled them down. As he moved his hands low to slip the panties off, his mouth moved to lap kitten-like between her breasts. He lifted one of her feet, and then the other, removing her undergarments. His mouth had lowered to her stomach, and Emily gasped at the warmth he gave her, both inside and outside of her flesh.

He was careful, and yet precise, as he mouthed over her bush of dark curls. His tongue slid into her crevice, dipping snake-like into her privacy, and Emily clutched his hair with her hands. He flicked at her clitoris, tasting the small, dark bud before sucking it into his lips, between his teeth.

Emily cried out then, her eyes rolling back in her head. And at the sound of her pleasure, he quickly stood up in front of her again. In no time, he had released his own aching member, holding it in his hand. She could feel it, heavy and hard, as he teased it along the inside of her thigh.

"I need you...please..." she begged, almost weeping with her need as her legs writhed up and down against the outside of his own.

He smiled and kissed her, and she could feel the smile of satisfaction in his lips, and in his kiss. As his hands moved to her thighs, he kissed her, deeply. His tongue sought out hers and played with it, teased it.

Eagerly, he grasped one of her legs in each of his massive hands, and lifted her feet from the ground. He pulled her legs apart, and she squealed with the strain.

But soon, his member was pressing against her. And then, entering her.

Sighing, Emily let the feeling of completeness and wholeness wash over her body and soul. This is what it was like to make love to him. It was as if the final pieces of a hard and intense game had finally been played, and the prize had been won.

He thrust himself deeply into her, mating his tongue with hers as he filled her, stretched her.

And she enveloped him, tight and warm and secure. This was where he belonged.

He began to thrust into her. He knew how to move her, he knew how to move himself. He was so good at this, so experienced with her body and her ways. In no time at all, with his fingers digging into the insides of her thighs, with his tongue pressing commandingly against her own, he brought her to orgasm.

Hours later, Emily lay in her bed. The sheets were entangled around her body, and his. She lay with her head in the crook of his arm and shoulder. And he stroked her hair with his curled-over arm, pulling it, combing it in his fingers.

He sniffed, breathing her in. And happily, Emily sighed.

"How was your day?" he inquired softly.

"We argued again," Emily answered. She felt regretful.

He nodded, a gesture she barely felt as sleep began to envelope her. Against her will, one tear slid from her closed eye and landed against his bare chest.

He dabbed at it, then at her cheek. And he twisted his face, into her hair.

Gently, he kissed her forehead.

"It will be okay tomorrow. It's another day, and you will work it all out."

Emily sighed and let the dreams come, knowing she would forget them in the morning.

After the alarm clock rang loudly in her ear, she snorted herself awake, almost satisfied and recovered from the stress of the day before.

His arms were around her breasts, and she could feel him breathing. She dared not move more than enough to turn the clock off. Then she nestled back against him.

At least part of him was awake. She could feel his hardness pressing between the crack of her behind, hot already, and eager. It bounced, once, and Emily knew he was awake.

But she did not turn to him.

He licked her earlobe, as his hand moved to himself. She could feel him stroking himself, making sure he was ready...making sure she knew he was ready. And she tilted her spine, pushing her bottom back against him.

He loved to take her this way. And she loved to make him happy.

Slowly, careful as always, he entered her back there. The sensation almost burned, but with it came such an enormous feeling of trust, intimacy, and love, she could not deny that this pleased her.

He moved into her, fully, slowly. He was so large, and she could appreciate his egotistical attitude about himself when he was so firmly inside her she almost swore she could taste him in her mouth, at the back of her throat.

His hand crept over her hip, and down over her stomach. He parted her thighs, his member still and motionless inside her as his hand reached between her privacy and entered her with one finger.

As he felt her wetness, her own excitement, he sucked his breath in, and the sound in her ear of his delighted surprise thrilled Emily. She moved herself, pulled her hips slightly forward. Then, she pushed herself back again. She was moving him in and out of her, and he held her close, his finger dipping in and again into her crevice.

"I love you," he spoke in her ear, nuzzling her distractedly.

She believed him.

He was trying to hold back, she could feel him throbbing wantingly inside her. And she wanted to feel his ecstasy, to feel how much she pleased him.

His happiness was so often everything to her.

Emily moved her hips quicker, and he in turn moved his fingers expertly inside her. It became a race to see who would please who first, who would not be able to withstand what the other did.

He won.

Emily came over his fingers, wet and slick, her insides contracting.

And he followed, pleased she had not been able to resist.

He filled her with burning warmth, and his hands both gripped her hips, rolling himself onto his back, and her onto his stomach.

As his bucking ceased, he moved his hands to her breasts, massaging them tenderly.

He loved her. She would never let that go.

The shower was quick, warm and soothing to her aching body. And the ache she hoped would not wash away. She wanted to carry this feeling with her all day. To sit in her chair, at her desk, and feel the ache in her behind, in her insides. To smile that secretive smile of the desired and well-loved while she talked to her friends at lunch.

Emily knew though, that this feeling of comfort, of satisfaction, of perfect love, would fade as soon as one thing happened.

As soon as Rodney opened his office door, and looked at her, and smiled. And asked if she had gotten his flowers.

His eyes would shine. His breath would smell minty and wonderful. His face would be clean-shaven and fresh. And he would be full of love for her.

And she would forget all this, all last night, all this morning.

Breakfast was fast, smooth and well-prepared. Filling, as everything always was.

She brushed her teeth, applied her make-up, and fixed her dress-suit in the hallway mirror.

He came up behind her, licking at her neck, but knowing he was already fading from the forefront of her mind.

He handed her her jacket, and her briefcase.

And for a moment, Emily looked at him. Directly.

And knew him.

She leaned up to him, and kissed him. And the kiss was a loving kiss, pure and sweet and everything he wanted to feel.

Then she opened the door, went outside, and closed the door. She locked the deadbolt, and bent to pick up the paper, and continued down to her car, never missing a beat.

He smiled as she pulled away. He was already fading.

He moved to sit in the fluffy armchair, to wait for her to return. And the farther she drove, the farther from her mind he was.

And the farther from reality.

Soon, he was mist.

And then, he was not.

Nothing was in the chair.