She sat waiting patiently on the couch for him to return home from work. She had done little but think of him and it had been working her into a quiet frenzy, knowing she wouldn't have to wait much longer to taste, touch, smell, hold, feel, know, have her man. As the sensations she imagined washed over her, she let her eyes drift close, let her head fall back and her hands slip over her ribs to her navel. Because she had been so anxiously waiting for his touch and his hands, it wasn't hard to imagine that it was him standing before her, tormenting her, teasing. In her mind, she could hear him whispering softly to her. Nonsense words, mumbled whispers. Perfectly incoherent, but spoken from his heart to her own, his body to hers.

Letting her hands skim over her belly, and lower, the barest of touches slipping along that which ached for him so badly. Tighter and tighter she wound herself, anticipating the touch, the sweet torment only he could bring her. Leaning over her barely covered body, he would lightly run his fingers from her collarbone to her nipple, and with a firm pull, would shatter any thought she might have had of resistance. Anchoring her arms over her head, he would tease and torment until she was begging for the release only he could bring.

With firm, gentle hands, he would help her onto her stomach, bringing his hands to the nape of her neck and the heavy mass of hair that lay there, and wrapping his hand in it, would lay the other on one smooth curve of her ass in silent warning. Massaging her scalp with one hand tightly fisted in her hair, the other resting in blatant threat, whispering. All the time whispering. Words of love, words of torment, nonsensical words, words designed to leave her mind in his hands. As a moan slips from her lips unbidden, tumbles from lips too entranced to stop it, his hand rises and without warning, falls and leaves his mark, red and hot, his brand, on her body. "You are my slut," he whispers and she whimpers again that yes, she is. Softly, deceptively he whispers that she wasn't told to speak and as suddenly as it had appeared, the hand in the hair and the cruel sweet torment of the hand on her ass is gone. As she blinks, she realizes that her mind has made off with her again. He has not yet come home, but will be soon... so soon.

She fights to keep herself awake, to stay up for him, but sleep sneaks in and robs her of her energy when she wasn't paying attention. Lying on the couch, her mind on him, her body tuned into his, waiting, she imagines him. She sees him walking toward her, a new lesson in his eyes, new punishments, new limits to push. The look in his eyes scares her, but she knows this man, and she trusts him. Above all else, she knows that whatever he sees in his mind, he sees for only her. And even now, after all this time, he still had the power to bring her to her knees, to make her tummy twisty and bring every nerve in her body humming to life.

Somewhere deep in the darkness of her mind, she registers a sound much like a door closing, but can't quite come to the surface to think about it. He leans over her, tracing his hand along her cheekbone, sliding the hair behind her ear, whispering, always whispering. "I love you baby;" he breathes into her ear, so softly she almost believes she imagined it. Sliding his hands gently beneath her body, he picks her up and carries her to their bedroom. Rising through the mists of sleep, she winds her arms around his neck, turning into him, breathing him in.

Carefully, he lowers her to their bed, the bed that for three years, they've shared. In that bed, there are memories, erotic, sad, sweet, painful. They've been through much together, and in their mind, in their own special way, each goes back. She remembers him only as the man who has shaped her to become the woman she is today. He remembers the journey to where they are today.

As he runs his hands along her arms to her hands, to link his fingers with hers, he begins to whisper of a time when things were so much different. And as he whispers to her, as he feels her body respond, her heart beat get heavier and her breathing get deeper, he spins for her a story of two people who didn't know what they had, didn't know what could be. As their eyes meet and they loose themselves in the deepness of the dark pools, they remember the two who were and with no sorrow, watch the two disappear to form the two that are.

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