He knew the form of her, the tiny puzzled pieces that interlocked into a whole. She was not shattered, like so many broken dreams. She was merely divided, slowly constructing herself like a jigsaw portrait. From here he drew her in, just a little at a time: a word, a look, the faintest caress. She responded to every nuance, he could see it in her body language. In conversation, each became comfortable in touch, a brush of the hand on a knee, an arm on a shoulder, or fingers brushing away a curl.

As time passed, he became bolder, often staring into her eyes wantonly during innocent conversation. He noticed she did not turn away, rather, she stared right back. Her breathing would increase in intensity as they locked in a gaze. Soon, he thought, she would fold beneath him.

These edges were easy, the straight borders fit so well. But, the tiny glimpses into order were nothing like the jumbled rest of her. Just as he understood, just as something seemed to fit, the pieces spiraled uncontrollably. Right was wrong and everything spun upside-down. He reached a plateau and then tumbled. During a conversation, while their eyes locked, he reached out and caressed her breast.

She responded, arching her back to him, beginning to breathe harder. He could feel the hard knot of her nipple though her clothing. He placed both hands on her breasts and squeezed. She seemed about to melt when suddenly she broke eye contact and withdrew. Not angry, she seemed strangely remote, so he withdrew.

Colors! Colors sometimes guided him in patterns of reds, blues and yellows. Subtle variations framed her in the spectrum of some need, some longing and some imagined wound. But far beyond the rainbow, she rained black. The colors failed him as her darkness ruled.

He persevered her blues and reveled in the passionate reds and cautious yellows. Reading her became an obsession as his eyes met hers, but each time, as he reached she pulled away. He realized her intelligence was a barrier to him, one he would need to work to defeat. They continued to meet, each time, locking eyes for a longer and longer period of time. As they came to know each other, he yearned to know more about her, he needed to know more if he was to possess her.

He wondered if it was laughter that inspired her, when joyous pieces came together in her smile. At times everything seemed well, as tabs and curves merged effortlessly into larger floating shapes. Ah, but those impressions failed him. The shadows emerged and shape became chaos, nothing fit. He found himself groping blindly in the night, as laughter became tears and she walked away.

Finally he decided to act, to take one step further. Professing his love, he locked her with his eyes, and where before he hesitated, this time he advanced. Caressing her breasts, he drew her to him, eyes still locked; he unbuttoned her blouse and reached inside her bra. She gasped at his touch, but did not withdraw. Instead she responded, removing the blouse and her bra.

He watched as she undressed and then he stood helplessly as she undressed him. He felt a wave come over him as she lowered her mouth to his nipples, circling them with her tongue. Her hands grabbed his cock and stroked it forcibly. He lay back on the bed as she took him in her mouth. He felt her bob up and down on him, but as he felt himself building to climax, she suddenly stopped and glared at him.

He watched her wait until he calmed, when she suddenly climbed above him and lowered herself onto his shaft. He felt her wet warmth as she took his length. She moved quickly now, rubbing her clit with her fingertips as she rode him. Each time he felt as if he might come, she'd reach out, pinch his nipple and glare.

She came in intense pulsations that rolled over his cock. He pressed deeply, wanting to come, but the pain pierced his nipple and her stare stopped him. He lay back, as she caught her breath, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to let him come. In a moment, she smiled and whispered, "Thank you, I needed that."

He watched helplessly as she climbed off him, leaving him on his back, his cock hard and throbbing. He tried to speak, but her look silenced him. He could only watch as she slowly and gracefully got dressed. As she turned for the door, they broke eye contact and she pleaded, "But aren't you going to finish?"

"I have finished – with you," she said loudly with a glare.

He tried to respond, to beg her forgiveness, but he couldn't. Their eyes remained locked as she backed though the door, away from him forever. As she left, he felt his cock wilt limply to one side.

Now, looking back from a distance, he saw the darkness and the light, the truth and the lies, the form and the contours. The portrait began to fit; shadows and sun merged as the puzzle took shape. He finally realized that, though the pieces fit, they would never be whole. The dream was always broken, the missing piece was truth.

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