The Wraith

He's no more than a mist, tucked into the darkest shadow of the darkest corner of the living room, when she walks through the front door late at night. She drops her keys and purse on the coffee table, and momentarily rests one hand on the arm of the sofa while she wearily slips off first one then the other strappy high-heeled sandal. He watches as her fingertips lightly skim across her slim, muscular calf, and marvels that, insubstantial as he is, his brain can still register arousal. Still tired from her long day, she distractedly walks right past him on her way to her bedroom, and he catches the faintest whisper of the scent of her perfume. He's glad her back is turned, because for the briefest second his concentration wavers, and his eyes glimmer from the darkness. He waits a moment after he hears her bedroom door shut to compose himself, before merging himself with and passing through the bedroom wall.

She's in the bathroom, taking off her makeup when he enters the bedroom, and he takes a moment to stretch before metamorphosing once again. The moment he completes the transformation she wanders back into the bedroom, slipping off her dress as she walks. She slides the straps down her shoulders, and the sensitive brown peaks of her breasts tighten as they're exposed to the air for the first time since that morning. Mentally, he can feel his body tighten in response, and she suddenly pauses in the act of stepping out of her dress. She lazily smiles, and he knows that she knows he's there.

He'd been gone so very long this time, and she'd been agonizingly worried. Because of the danger he was always in, he couldn't keep in touch with her without risking her safety as well. She knew his work was important, even vital; but she'd missed him more than she ever thought possible. How do you miss a wraith that's as ethereal as air most of the time anyway? She feels his presence so acutely, she wonders how long he's been there, watching; and marvels that she could have missed the almost tangible essence of his presence in the building before now. She wouldn't have thought that it was still possible for him to sneak up on her like that anymore.

She stretches, raising her arms above her head and arching her back, knowing how much he loves her breasts, and wondering how long his control will last. Her body begins to heat up, and she knows that he can sense rather than feel her heat. She lazily smiles again, and gives him a perfect view of her thong-clad backside as she sensuously moves toward their bed. Her joy and relief at not having to spend another night alone in that bed is so strong that, for a moment, her breath catches and her eyes well up with tears. Catlike, she crawls into bed, and then nestles face down among the cushions and pillows.

She feels, rather than sees, him leave the comfort of his shadows. She knows that if she looks, she'll see no more than a gritty, insubstantial black shadow. She knows he believes that his wraith form is the refection of the blackness in his soul, but she also knows he's so much more than what he believes. She's touched his soul, entwined herself with it, and she knows the innate kindness, tenderness, and compassion that he keeps hidden deep within. She knows that he keeps it tucked away, hidden, to keep it protected from the dark things he has to do as part of his job, of what he is.

She closes her eyes, and feels his essence envelop her. All that he is, he covers her with, and they both breathe a deep sigh of relief and contentment as they feed their tired spirits off one another. It amazes her that she can feel so completely touched and surrounded by something that isn't even really there.

His control slips momentarily; the only substantial part of his body presses itself urgently into the curve of her buttocks. She gasps, moans, and arches her back in an attempt to get closer to him. It's almost maddening, being able to feel him, yet not feel him. She's hungry for all of him, for his arms and hands and fingertips and chest and legs. She needs to do more than just sense him; she's desperate for the weight of him pressing her down. She's ravenous for his scent and the sound of his voice. He responds, intuitively as usual, to her unspoken request. As from across a great distance, she faintly hears him say, "Be patient, not just yet. Close your eyes, and just feel."

She obeys, and gasps once again as his fingertips, just his fingertips, trace her spine. As she squirms to get more of that gossamer touch, the fingertips disappear and are replaced by the sensation of breath across the back of her neck, and lips pressing a tender kiss to that warm spot. She moans, and for the briefest of moments she feels his entire body materialize as he rolls her over. She catches a quick glimpse of the feral look in his eyes before he disappears again, and she almost weeps.

Fingertips again. Just fingertips. They electrify her skin as they trace a path from the nape of her neck to the peak of one breast. The tiny, brown, pearl-shaped nub tightens excruciatingly; and she knows he's watching her body respond to his touch. She closes her eyes as she feels the tip of his tongue stroke that nipple. She feels lips and teeth as he takes it in his mouth and strokes it with his tongue. There are hands, now; stroking the sides of her body as his lips pleasure her breast. She feels a palm squeeze her hip, and fingertips test the softness of the skin in the crease between her thigh and torso.

Her body is in agony. There is so much pressure, so much heat, and nothing to answer it. He's there, but not there. How much more of this can she take? How much more can he take? Surely, the predator is awakening within him. Surely, the demands of his body won't allow him to take this awful, wonderful teasing too much further. She reflexively writhes and shudders, incredulous at how the pleasure is so complete, so immersive. She lowers one hand in a fruitless attempt to touch him, to grasp his cock, but her fingers close around nothing and she whimpers breathlessly.

"I told you to be patient!" The command is almost a snarl, and suddenly her arms are pinned above her head in a vise-like grip and his lips close around her nipple again, worrying it with his teeth almost ferociously. Her back arches up off the bed, and she cries out as daggers of pleasure stab themselves into her core. She feels the pressure and heat building deep within and squeezes her thighs together to soothe it, almost weeping with the need to feel him inside her.

Suddenly his eyes blaze out of the darkness, the passion within them glowing like a small sun. She feels his knees thrust between hers and force her trembling thighs apart, exposing her glistening, and radiant center. With her wrists still pinned in a manacled grip, she cries out - gasping and shuddering in an explosive orgasm as she suddenly feels his hot breath, his tongue somehow plumb her deepest, hungriest spot.

"God, Ronin, no more! Please, let me have you!" Her plea is answered by nothing more than an animalistic growl as he continues to feast, his mouth stoking the fire in her core even hotter than she ever thought possible. Her body spasms as shudder after shudder wracks her, the almost painful erectness of her nipples adding to the delicious, painful pleasure of incompletion. How much longer can this possibly last?

Shockingly, this unspoken question is answered by every touch abruptly ceasing. He's suddenly just gone! She cries out in agony, calling his name as the tears begin to well up again. Could he possibly have left? There's a long, breathless moment when everything seems to just stop. Even the distant music drifting through her window seems to pause on one, long, mournful note. Then, without warning, he's there, pinning her down. His body fully materialized, his weight finally answering the desperate need deep within her, his gaze meeting hers with that blazing look in his eyes, he finally, deliciously starts to press himself inside her.

The tears finally begin to fall. The joy and pleasure clash and war within her as he starts his slow, torturous drive. Inch by glorious inch he claims her, making her once again his own. She clasps her slender, trembling thighs around his very real, very solid hips and arches her back, digging her nails into his skin as she urges him deeper, faster. The stars burst behind her eyes and whimpering moans escape her as pleasure explosions rocket through her body. Unable to do much more than just hang on for the ride, her head falls back against the pillows as he continues to fill her. Her drenched, hot softness ripples around him, the muscles flexing and releasing in a torturous cock massage; milking him with her body for every ounce of pleasure that she can wring from him.

Feeling her soft, sweet pussy muscles rippling around him, his control begins to erode and he rears over her; his hips driving forward in one, long, powerful push. He snarls as her body arches backwards again, every muscle trembling and pulsating gloriously. Lowering his lips to her beautifully elongated throat, his hips begin pumping, his back hunching, muscles undulating as the very last of control shreds like silk under claws. Swifter, higher, harder, faster, they begin climbing that one long last journey together; their souls joining together in a soar towards the heavens. They're both breathless as he slams into her one last time and throws his head back in a roar that would almost sound like rage to anyone listening. Her low, breathless moan joins him in a song as old as time. His cock pulses inside her as he explodes, filling her with everything that's good, and that hot, delicious rush of sensation sets off answering ripples inside her. For long, glorious moments time seems to stop again; and they're able to do nothing more than just hold on to one another as they slowly spiral together back down towards Earth.

The sleepy, fulfilled contentment fills them both, as he rolls over and pulls her into his arms. He brushes her sweaty brow with his lips and whispers a promise that she never thought to hear: "Sleep now, rest awhile babe. I'm here to stay..."

To be continued...