"Stars live where hope sparkles."

Her eyes dance closer to him as the words slip from between his lips. Thoughts swirl in the turbid space keeping their bodies from melting together. Without form or meaning, they flare like shooting stars.

Visions of night glinting from her teeth, scenes rich with the feel of her skin, sighs rippling with her laughter. Breath is sultry. Filled with spoken and fervent desire.

"The shine of a haven that draws us forth shows the flickering torch of our fickle heart."

Sounds of warmth enfold them and he feels her pulse spark. Spritzes across the smooth of her arms. He wants to reach his fingers over the span of tension to revel in sensation. Touch her wrist to shoulder and back to fingertips. She will flow willing into his arms if he but wills it, but waits on his voice.

"And the glow of ageless love knows only the blue of a flame too great to climb and too far to see quavering orange blossoms rent the cloth of a world growing past."

She wants to hear it all. Longs for his hands to find her soft light as the poetry washes her soul. His hands send waves of heat crashing into her. Over her. Through her being. He holds her there, rapt, wanting him to wrench her from her plinth and force himself upon her. Take her every nerve and ache and thrust himself up past her boundaries. Instead, he holds her suspended. Knowing he will have her whenever he wants.

"Stars breathe, love. Suckle the muddle of our paltry world and set it ablaze with impassioned dreams."

His touch sends her falling through time. She feels her muscles give way. Even though he's done little more than set fingerprints to her forearm, she feels her knees falter and her thoughts flutter like sheers in a coming storm. She has no windows left to close and she knows she has nowhere to run by the way her insides have slipped beyond her help.

"We are stars, you and I. Close beside you, my heart knows no bounds of time or tide. My soul is flame come alive. Dance with me like firelight shimmering in your eyes. I will settle your fey wandering feet and feckless wanting spirit. Feed you reveries and delight. Our hearts alight, we are comets burning holes through the universe until finding restless coven. Left here in the end as wishes for lovers grasping at wanton bliss."

His hands end at hers. The leisurely exploration of her wrists, arms to shoulders and back leaving trails of seared nerve endings and prickled flesh. The goosebumps unnoticed where the tips of his fingers sent fiery designs. Her gasps floating free in time. And it all comes to rest as he strokes her wrists, her palms, the back of her hands and her long stretched digits. One by one taken in his, separated from the others and brought to life.

He doesn't stop there, but impatience grows in her. A blossoming that makes her pluck at his too slow hands and press in at the warmth of his body. Hear glows around him like an aura and a blaze flares inside her, but he keeps her at bay.

Gentle pressure moves her back into position where he continues to stroke one knuckle at a time. Frustration builds as he finishes all but the last pinky and somehow drags the minutes out until she pushes into him again.

This time, she is forced into a wall she'd somehow gotten moved up against. His body hard and unyielding where it traps her. Back to the solid surface, front to the rock he suddenly becomes, her hair is tugged down, stretching her neck until her lips give invitation. She wonders if he will accept as he pauses hovering close. Then electricity shoots through her. There is a touch, a brush of soft tissue, the barest of nibbles and a sigh that could have come from either or both of them.

Her spine to the wall, his hands slip up her arms to capture her head. His thumbs slide over her cheekbones, his fist curls in her hair. He learns every nudge and tender spot on her scalp. Her legs want to give way yet he keeps her held on edge, exploring her. Knowing her. Her brow, her jaw, her breath.

Her heart burns. Like his poetry whispered in her ear, she is aflame. She wants kisses, but he has her held entranced. His hands still light, but firm, poking now and then, prodding deep in places that send her falling into weakness. Surrender.

"I'm not going to take you until you say please."

"Please." She fires back.

"Oh no." He chuckles. A sound that turns her helpless. "You're going to really mean it." His voice has a steely glint through it that brings her quaking before him.

"Please." She just manages as vulnerability washes over her. Another feeling carries right behind, though. A sense of indignance ripples outward that reminds her how strong she really is. How capable.

He chuckles again as though reading her thoughts. His fingers spread over her face as his lips tingle and tempt hers.

She moans in spite of herself. A low noise muffled by a kiss.

He works his way bit by bit through every nuance of her body. Punctuating each new sensation with a kiss. Light or forced. Nibble or crush. Her collarbones turn to mush., her shoulders limp. Her back droops and her skin sloughs from her with the sighs he pulls from deep in her heart. His fingers sliding the muscles apart and shifting her organs. His fingers move her ribs, slip her hips into a position that makes her flush and numb, delve into the muscles of her thighs and claim her heart, her breasts, her soul.

When he reaches the end, he's touched and worked over every inch of her body head to knees, skipping over only her nipples and her open sex, he relaxes his hold on her. Her breath catches and holds. She waits, expectant. After such delicate maneuvering, there is always a gathering breath before the plunge. She barely stands, weak, ready and throbbing.

He lets her stand. Swaying in gentle motion, a rhythm her body alone knows. A pulse that marks time beyond her counting. She feels the tell tale moisture of her willingness. His hands, however, soothe their way up her curves to her burning face.

The moment when he drives himself into her roils between them. The very air churning with desperation and lust. Her nerves tense with deliberate need, her mouth open in want, lips parted and aching for his touch, she gradually becomes aware that he is releasing her slowly. He massages her neck and shoulders, lightly, making her want more. He leans close to her ear and sighs. "Poor baby. If only it were that easy."

His voice carries waves of promise and threat. She feels a small burst deep inside her and a flood unleashes from her center. He grabs her buttocks tight in his hands, lifts her and sets her on the edge of the bed. Before she can do more than gasp, he yanks her shirt up and over her head, baring her chest. Her nipples harden so fast it hurts and forces a deep moan from her. The shirt stops at her upper arms and holds her tight as his chest brushes against her aching breasts. They feel full and push moans from her with every touch.

He still refuses to do more than skim against her nipples, possibly by accident, maybe not, she can't tell. Every time it happens, though, she practically screams with the jolt of electricity that shoots through her. Her entire body arches and startles even as he works the shirt ever more firmly onto her arms. Leaving them strapped to her sides and back, throwing out her chest and making her little marbles impossible not to bump up against them.

He finishes securing her arms with the shirt and his hands are once again tender as they explore her face. His lips hardly touch hers, sending waves of molten feeling through her. She recognizes the feel of a flushing redness spreading over her front like a spilled coffee. The searing, tingling, quickening sensation makes her groan out load. It's like a wild animal in a snare splitting open the thick night.

Unbidden, the memory of his hands on her bottom as he lifted her flashes in her mind, sending rockets of need bursting in, out and through. She gasps again and sees just a glimpse of what he is talking about making her say please and really mean it. She can barely breathe. Her throat clamps down on each moan and sigh that forces its way up and out of her. Her body quivers with every movement of his hands.

They press the skin flat over her scalp, smooth across her brow, pinch and stroke her lips until they plump into luscious fruits. They follow her jawline, then the back of her neck, down to grasp her vertebrae between forefinger and thumb and follow her spine slow and steady.

When he comes to the place where her arms are bound to one another and the shirt stretches across her back, he pushes her over on her side and rolls her onto her stomach.

Annoyance flares at his treatment of her. Frustration and even a bit of fear bound inside her. She struggles. Her arms bent and helplessly weak, she squirms, trying not to show her growing fear.

His hand presses firm to the spot on her back it last massaged and his lips come close to her ear. "It's unfortunate how much I enjoy your struggles. Your uncertainty and even discomfort. I especially like the way these things war with your excitement and arousal."

His hips bear into her arm and she realizes he is fully hard. Her eyes open wide.

"You're a beautiful woman. I'm going to enjoy every bit of you. There's time for sex. You'll get what you need, but first, I'm going to take what I want."

Shivers wrack her bones. His voice never changes from the low, cool tones he began with, but she feels the excitement blazing from his skin. He finishes the journey down her spine as she lays quiet but quivering. A mass of nerve and fire.

He reaches the top of her jeans and as one palm flattens against the rounding of her buttocks, the other slips underneath her and unbuttons her with such ease that she she wonders if the pants themselves didn't help.

He tugs at them and she lifts her hips to help without a thought. They come off like water sliding down glass. Her panties stay. Soaked and sticking to her bare flesh. She has a feeling he wants it like this and the wetness grows at the thought.

It was just a date. Not really even that. Dinner. Alone. They probably shouldn't, but the attraction made it a certainty they would sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

Nothing but talk. She wondered beforehand what it would be like. They stay close. Closer than they should, but comfortable and moreso with every delicious moment the touch lengthens to. Thighs that rubbed with each other, flow muscle to muscle until they remain as one. Molded together, she feels every fiber of him and it soothes her.

They talk past the meal, past the drinks that stand on the table merely sipped, past the fall of night. They stroll under the stars holding hands and where she expected him to handle her, he only looks. The stars glow in a steady hope and warmth breezes over them.

She presses as near to him as possible, the warmth and ease encouraging her. She wants him to reach for her, not sure what she'll do if he does, but wanting more of his touch.

The walk ends too soon. The touch of his hand taken before she is ready to let go. Parting is something unnatural. When the last hug separates, the tingle remains for hours.

Hope is written by starlight. Moons pass, phasing in and out, suns keep a time that might otherwise be lost, but stars return every night. Every year. Each life.

Lying face down, his hands firmly moving up and down her body, she tries hard to decide how she feels. He finally frees her arms from her shirt, but wraps it instead around her hands and secured them above her head using her jeans. She is vulnerable as she's never been before and safe within his hands as she rarely feels.

Her muscles separate as he works. Spread apart and kneaded into limp material from which he will make whatever he wants. His fingers dig in, pull the tendons from the bones and coax the flesh into lumps of tamed energy set to give itself to his whim.

She realizes she has been sighing and moaning into the still air. Every breath in, deep and rich with luxury. Her breaths out replete with ecstasy. He finishes her back by kissing the nape of her neck and causing eruptions up and down her spine. Somewhere he has let his clothes fall away and he snuggles close as he nibbles the base of her skull.

She can feel the ripple of his thighs as he slides down along her body, kissing and tugging at her skin on a straight line down her vertebrae. His hands peel away her underwear as she shifts to brush against his hard length.

She tries to rub against it, but he pulls away just out of reach. When he reaches the curve of her ass, thoughts storm her brain, numbing and electrifying. He's thorough. Every bit of her behind tingles from hand and mouth as he lifts off from her.

His hands show a strength that takes her breath as he raises her hips and turns her over. She squirms in uncertainty. What will he do now rushes her mind. Her lips nearly chap with nervous excitement. At the same time, a gush of fluid escapes her sex.

He presses his mouth to hers. Gently, testing and teasing. She would take him inside her right now if he would only roll on top and claim her. Pictures throb in her. Stark visions of capture, command and overwhelming victory stream rampant through her fantasies.

Her hips shift to show her curves and guile all by themselves. She is temptation in subconscious motion. She feels his need and the interest. Knows that he wants her as much as she wants him. Knows the ache deep within her pulses in his being just as strong.

She meets his eyes and reflections of reflections burst into stars. They gasp in unison. Then sigh. Then kiss hard and deep and long.

She held that first date against her heart for the next week. Seeing him in innocent situations fueling the secret, pushing the boundaries. She made excuses to walk past him to know he watches her. Made pretense to touch him to be sure that otherworldly sensation remained.

Everything stayed the same; everything was different.

All she wants to do for a second date is be together. Usually a date means doing something. A meal, a show, activity. Something taking up space between them. She wants nothing more than to bridge that. To move into that space and stay there. This night. Always.

He brought a picnic. Places her on one side of the park table and even though she feared for a moment that he would sit opposite her, he snuggles so close her chest tightens.

More talk. More touch. She craves even more than that. To have her hands taken from her the first time they make love is so frustrating, she can barely stand it. She wants to rebel. To turn her body off. It has other ideas and he has other plans.

His hands slide up her arms as he kisses her, hovering over her, and she responds with every nerve and fiber. Her body ready to take him in. His lips press harder as his hands reach hers and fingers twine together. Her nipples stretch to his chest and draw tight circles. Her legs part, raise and wrap around his. He is tantalizingly close to entering her, yet misses the mark. She readjusts several times, trying to force him in, but she can't get the aim and angle right. Her frustration reaches maddening levels. Worse, is that he seems unfazed by her lust. Except that his obvious excitement grows even greater.

He lets loose her hands, moves down her arms as his mouth kisses the back of her ear down to her shoulder and across. By the time his fingers reach her collarbones, his mouth has kissed and nibbled her chest right to her breasts. Then around, covering every inch except her nipples. She feels a deep ache spread over her heart and connect to her midsection.

Her back arches as his mouth slips further toward her center. He outlines rib after rib, making her squirm and shiver. His palms and fingers following behind, smoothing and quelling. She wants him to take her. His words running through her mind as though he intentionally planted them as seeds timed to bloom when he has her ready.

His admonition that he will accept her please when he knows she fully means it warring in her mind with rationality, dignity and stubbornness. She struggles against the bindings on her hands until both her excitement and her apprehension raise to another level.

He is at her waist and her writhing becomes more violent. She bucks her hips, tugs at her wrists, all to no avail. He calmly continues his pace. His excitement seems to grow with every passing moment, or maybe with her anguish. He'd told her it would. Described how he can't help the way he enjoys the feel of her angst. How he wants her to fight her need and how he'll pit her pride, strength and emotion against her own body.

His hard member brushes against her thigh, her calf. Rubs tantalizing across the underside of her knee. Her straining at the bindings quiets as his mouth passes her sex by once more and starts down her long legs.

He finishes at her ankles. Having slipped languidly down and up and back down each thigh, he gives a last light kiss to the outside, just at the join of her foot. She is both relaxed and humming like a bare electric fence. When he clamps her leg and ties it to the end of the bed, the fight begins again. She pulls and jolts, but he is firm and, once secured, her ankle stays. As he ties the other one, she arches her back and pulls at her shoulders.

"It is not just the bread of our conversation that warms." His voice is at her ear and she only just notices how he is stretched out against her. Body to body, one hand in her hair, bringing her ear close to his lips and one hand strolling almost carelessly over her torso.

She goes still. Her every sense aflame and nerves alive.

He kisses her cheek. "The fruit of our time leaves freshets of memory." His hand strays casually over her stomach, splays across her mons, still strategically missing the edges of her sensitive areas and dallies up between her breasts.

Even her breath holds. Even as she feels her chest heaving and gasps trying to escape, her throat lets nothing out but small "Oh"s.

His lips outline her brow. She can feel the heat rising like morning fog from where they touch. She tries to turn herself full into him, but the ties hold tight. Her arms stretched above her head and legs spread wide. "Wine and mead pulse through meet of our lips."

She wants to touch him. She wants to take him inside her very soul. His hardness presses into her hip as a reminder of pleasures that wait. Her impatience ebbs with the thought of how he is trying to make her surrender. She feels the challenge to be his equal.

"The moonlight strays, fireflies alight. Waves crash upon dreams of night."

He kisses her neck and her flesh erupts with tingles. Bursts of sensation, flashes of heat shoot from one end of her toes to the furthest hair of her scalp. He nibbles at the nape of her neck and she nearly misses the light pinches of her nipples among the riveting splashes of tension flaring down her spine.

He pulls her nipple up, tenderly but distinctly, before letting it go. Again. Then the other. Again. "Cradle here in lovesweet arms. Light and hearth and blanket spread."

She can't think. She wants loose to hold him, she wants to never be free. She needs him and wants the delicious torment to linger on and on. His palms circle the fullness of her breast as his fingers continue to pull at her nipples, though they are long since so hard they might hurt but for the wave after wave of pleasure they send storming to her knees.

"My weathered heart lies in your basket, love. My ear to your chest gives food to a weary child." His voice has a husk to it that echoes deep within.

When he takes her nipple between his lips her back arches. When he lets it plop from him, she crashes. Her voice has unstuck and moans escape her now.

"The pulse of time fills my cup. Want is sere in comforts of you."

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