Swallowtail Ch. 03

I close my eyes too to shut out as much as I can that is not my cock and the living thing that possesses it.

She raises and lowers herself, giving herself over to the Jezebel that she's secretly admired for so long.

She's frustratingly slow, as though she's reciting an Our Father with each thrust.

I've had enough. I throw her onto her back and brace her legs against my arms, pushing them back as far as I think I can. I have surprised her out of that world where she possesses me.

I possess her now.

Her breasts roll like waves with each thrust. Her legs are braced and open and vulnerable. She can do no more than whimper and moan her pleasure or pain. The two are related and until she tells me to stop I plan to pummel her. I've worked myself to a frenzy. She gasps with the mindless violence of it, the animal thrusting, the lack of anything intimate that would justify this surrender.

I withdraw just in time and erupt onto her stomach, hot gouts spattering wax-like on her pale skin. I don't need to do this. I know it from past experience that Moira "has taken care of things" and she doesn't like the feeling of condoms anyway. Like the hedonist she isn't.

She grimaces and expresses her surprise and disgust with the sticky mess I've deposited on her.

But I'm done and I don't care....

I'm done...

***

I open my eyes and spy Dex at the far edge of the bed. She has moved at some point and I didn't notice the addition of her weight on the mattress. She looks startled, but I'm not sure it's because of what I've done or what she has made me do. For a moment she looks a lot younger, not the worldly seductress who had me at the vernissage.

"That was different," I say.

"Were you thinking of me?"

"No." I don't even think of lying.

She nods. There's no disappointment or surprise. "You will."

Dex leans over me and swirls her finger through the drops that have splattered my torso, playing connect-a-dot with the evidence of my wasted vitality. She places her finger on her lips and spreads the liquid there.

Then she kisses me.

I'm more startled than anything else. She pulls away from me and our lips resist the departure.

She goes to the ensuite and returns with a washcloth. She wipes the wet stickiness from me. "Do you mind if I stay?" she asks.

"No. I'd like that."

She undresses with the light on. I watch with interest and regret that I'm useless to her now. I'm not an adolescent any more with superhero powers of regeneration. She slides into bed next to me.

She shivers and presses against me, sighing contentedly. She feels small and delicate and I have to admit that it's a pleasure to feel her skin against mine. That's all I will have tonight as I have spent myself on the memory of a ghost.

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