The Cellar Ch. 05byjiskitten©
Even through a veil of crooked limbs and leafy branches, it was clear to see that every single light in the house was on. Like a beacon on a desolate shore, it sprayed a glowing path through the haze of trees, guiding Lucien home.
Three weeks had passed since he had savagely murdered Joelle and left her tattered remains in Delilah's capable hands. Though the rules were broken, and there would no doubt be a penalty to pay, Joelle's life had been restored. But the reparations ended there and he knew what waited for him at home, was bound to be as torturous as the carnage he had left behind.
Pushing open the front door, he found Delilah's twisted frame draped over the mocha, high-backed leather chair in the foyer, and though he had made quite an impressive entrance, she barely stirred.
"You're late," grumbled Delilah through a wide yawn which twisted her angelic face. "She's leaving in two weeks. I hope you have a plan."
"Did she say where?" he asked as he rushed past her toward the stairs.
"All she would say is 'back home', wherever that is."
Detroit, he thought to himself, while racing up the stairs. Although Delilah had skillfully mended Joelle's physical wounds and returned the breath to her punctured lungs, she could do nothing to revive Joelle's broken heart. That was entirely up to Lucien to mend. And when he found himself standing outside their bedroom door, it suddenly occurred to him that fixing what he had broken, was the one thing beyond his scope of knowledge.
Joelle sat at the edge of the bed and stared blankly at her suitcase, wondering why it was still empty. More so, she wondered why she wasn't more eager to correct that problem. Perhaps part of the reason was that in just two week's time, she would be going home to the dregs of The Motor City and a life from which she had fought so hard to escape.
Perhaps the bigger reason was that, though Lucien had murdered her body, her heart never stopped beating his name and that pain had consumed her fully. But irrespective of her reluctance, she could stay no longer. Remaining in his home meant a more painful death, the death of her spirit. So, feeling obliterated by life, she kicked closed the lid to her suitcase, hurled it across the floor with a loud grunt, and turned on the television. And as she hung her head over the side of the bed, she wondered if, like with The Notebook, life might have a more amusing ending if experienced upside down.
After hearing her groans of frustration and the muted sounds of the television, Lucien opened the door and stood in the streams of light which poured in from the hallway. Dressed in a thin ivory nightgown, Joelle lay draped across their bed in a twist of sheets, as a kaleidoscope of colors spilled from the plasma and pranced across the shimmering fabric encasing her delightful figure. And for the first time in his many years, he found himself stammering.
"Forgive me Joelle... I... please, there are no words to express how..."
"Not this time," she interrupted, turning up the volume, "we're beyond salvage."
"Tell me what to do; I will happily oblige your demands."
"Leave," she sighed, "just go away."
"As you wish."
In the week since his return, Lucien had tried everything he could think of to win Joelle's favor. Pink peonies filled the bedroom every night; he bought her every vintage Zeppelin album he could find; he wrote letters of adoration and apology; and even stooped so low as to have Delilah plead forgiveness on his behalf. Ultimately, nothing worked and she remained steadfast in her commitment to leave.
On the very few occasions Lucien actually saw her, she merely hissed at him and beat a hasty retreat into the safety of the bedroom. Though she hadn't technically banned him from entering, it had become her sanctuary and it was obvious she needed for it to remain that way. So, despite his desire to be close to her, he tried his best to accommodate her need for distance and only spoke to her through the barricade of a closed door. But she almost never answered, and when she did, her words were doused in venom.
As she'd done every night for the past week, Joelle pulled a handful of peonies from the vase and plucked the petals from the plump blossoms, letting them float like snowflakes to the floor. It was mesmerizing, like watching the little flecks of white, drift around in a snow globe.
She'd had one once, with a tiny replica of the Empire State Building inside. When she turned five her father had given it to her for her birthday after a trip to New York but, when he died, her mother threw it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. All that remained was a fractured building, its point missing and its base cracked, but she kept it safely tucked in the tiny zippered pocket of her purse. It was a reminder of what she left behind and a life to which she had never intended to return.
When nothing remained of the peonies but a few spiny green skeletons, she pulled the blankets over her head and felt the first wave of tears claim her lashes. All that life now promised was a relinquishment of hope and what felt like her only chance for something more than the nagging ache which had stolen her childhood. When her father died, he took with him every semblance of normalcy and feeling of family, leaving her with a mother who resented being burdened with a child. And that's what was waiting for her back home, a history of regret and selfish indignation.
Tonight, as Lucien stood outside the door in the hopes of seeing Joelle, he heard her mewling, and the fact that she despised him no longer mattered.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, rushing to the bedside.
"Nothing, it's fine, really."
"Joelle, please, tell me."
"I don't want to go home. Are you happy now?"
Dissatisfied with her response, Lucien lay beside her and nestled his chin in the well of her neck. "Whatever your desire, you may have it."
"I want to go back to the beginning. I want a do-over."
"Then permit me to take you away from here, we can start anew."
"That's not the same thing Lucien, and you know that. I just can't do this anymore."
If this were truly meant to be the end, there seemed little point in refraining, and if their goodbye were genuinely imminent, he wanted to savor every last inch of her body before she left. But regardless of her resolve, until the door closed behind her, he vowed to remain steadfast in his efforts to change her mind, and tonight, he hoped, might lead him one step closer to that goal. Either way, he intended to offer her the greatest pleasure he was capable of providing, while enjoying her for as long as she would allow.
"Stay," he urged as he gingerly threaded his fingertips up the delicate curve of her thigh and slid her nightgown beyond the contours of her hips.
"Joelle, please stay," pleadingly he whispered, brushing the ivory fabric from her back.
When she offered no response, Lucien traced soft circles around her calves until he reached her ankles, where he stopped to play with her feet. With whispering touches, he caressed her delicate arches, and ran his hands along her slender toes, stopping to admire the way the dark cherry polish popped against her pale skin.
"I implore you Joelle, stay with me," he appealed, moving his mouth across her alabaster shoulder and kissing down the hollow of her spine. "Allow me to atone."
Though her breathing quickened, no words emerged from her lips and so Lucien persisted, tickling his way back up her thighs and slipping his hands around her hips, gently rolling her over. Very tenderly, he swept his mouth across her neck, tasting her skin and breathing in her intoxicating fragrance, taking the opportunity to liberate her from the fetters of her gown.
"Lucien, what happened that night, it..."
"It will never happen again," he asserted as he tugged at the sheet she had deftly maneuvered between them. For a moment, she clutched tightly to its edges, but when his tongue traced lush, fluid belts around the arc of her breast, her grip loosened and he pulled it away.
After revealing the full splendor of her body, he found his mouth heavy with saliva as he took in her scent. Despite his desperation to taste her, to continue his journey and lose himself in the succulent warmth between her thighs, he managed to keep a respectful distance while still enjoying the flavor of her skin. To his amazement, she made no move to thwart his progress. He had expected to be harshly admonished for even attempting such a feat, but instead he felt her body relax beneath him.
Regardless of her simmering rage and feelings of betrayal, Joelle couldn't help but succumb to his touch. What's more, she was shocked that Lucien hadn't attempted to spread her legs. Had she not known better, she might believe he was simply enjoying the feel of her skin. But regardless of his intentions, his touch was nonetheless intoxicating.
By the time he had kissed his way to the curve of her jaw, she was at the point of explosion, and when his mouth reached hers, her steely resolve melted away and she was beyond rescue. With tremendous subtlety and unwavering confidence, his lips traced feathery kisses against hers. Joelle felt her fingertips against his sharp jaw, uncertain how they arrived there but disinclined to remove them, and when their eyes locked in a tacit stare, her mouth parted.
Through desperate lips, the velvety warmth of his tongue twined with hers and produced a warm flutter between her legs. In an act of reckless impetuosity, she raked her nails through his sleek hair and down the taut flesh of his neck, pulling him closer and crushing her mouth against his. Joelle found herself irrevocably lost in the voluptuous feel of his lips and knew that she was powerless to resist.
It was his kiss she had missed the most. There was something magical in the way their mouths melded, as if there were nothing in the world which fit together more perfectly. They were seamless and inseparable, like two halves of a whole reformed into one.
And that's when it happened; her stupid thighs parted and, ever the optimist, Lucien wasted no time sliding his body between them. Still he made no effort to go farther, instead, he kissed nearly every inch of her body, but never strayed into any naughty areas. It was sweet and respectful and absolutely delicious.
Joelle found her body reacting, betraying her brain, tempting him closer and welcoming him in. Violently she yanked at the buttons of his shirt and shoved the soft oyster fabric down his shoulders, exposing the sinuous lines of his chest. And when his bare flesh met hers, she felt the muscles of his abdomen tighten as his breathing quickened.
Her legs folded tightly around the firm muscles of his back as he tasted her neck and, through the confines of his pants, she felt his massive erection against her hip. Forcefully her heels dug into his tight ass, directing him forward, as her hands worked feverishly to remove his trousers.
Stupid hand, she silently reprimanded as she found herself clutching his cock, guiding him toward her and sliding him along the glossy length of her eager, parted lips. Still he made no move to control the situation, letting her choose how much she wanted and when. Joelle clenched her legs around his waist to pull him inside and Lucien responded by very gently nudging the head of his cock between her moist lips, waiting for her next command.
Again his mouth found hers, even more desperately than before, as his ragged breath blew hot against her tongue. "I want you Joelle -- forever."
This time, she was unable to answer. What does one say to a statement like that, especially when they know it to be an absolute impossibility?
"One last time," she finally muttered, using her heels to push him deeper.
Only this time, there was no frenetic thrusting or twisting of bodies, there was no rough play or twinges of pain. This time, when he pushed inside, it was with a quiet, tender motion. And his eyes, burning a passionate, fiery, emerald, stayed locked on hers, as if pleading with her for a different answer.
"Stay," he uttered as he withdrew, just as quietly as when he slid inside.
There were no more words left to say, they had exhausted them all, so Joelle closed her eyes, breaking their stare and blocking the agony of his face, and simply tried to enjoy their final time together. With as much care and concern as before, she felt him push back in, the soft curve of his cock caressing her g-spot. His delicacy was beyond rapturous and her body shuddered as an unexpected orgasm stole her breath.
With her eyes tightly closed, she reached for his mouth, sweet and warm, and regardless of how hard she tried to control them, the tears broke through her sealed lids. First one wave and then another, they stormed across her cheekbones, losing themselves in the tangles of her hair. She felt his strong hands cup her face and the gentle touches of his fingers as he brushed them away. There was no fanfare, no conversation, just a peaceful understanding, followed by a sense of calm.
Lucien studied her face, a blend of ecstasy and heartache, and felt his blood pump faster through his veins, knowing he was solely responsible for both. But in his mind, what most solidified her commitment to leaving were not the words she spoke, but the fact that she could no longer bear to look at him. So, as she requested, he would make love to her one last time, hoping they were both wrong in their assessment of her resolve.
Softly he stroked himself inside, slowing when he felt her body tremble and prolonging her orgasm by easing himself deeper. Every movement was designed with her pleasure in mind. For the first time, he gave of himself fully and without reserve.
Lucien slid his hands beneath her ass, lifting her hips from the bed and letting her legs fall against his arms. He stared transfixed as she consumed him whole, each stroke coating his cock with her arousal. The throbbing of his flesh intensified as he watched her engulf him and, wanting to savor those final moments, he slowed again, desperate for them to remain that way forever.
With a sharp intake of breath, she contracted around him, tightening against his rigid, pulsing cock and bringing him to the very precipice of orgasm. Locked deep inside her, he paused, reclaiming his breath and quieting the building storm of urgency. If this was indeed meant to be their last time together, he wanted it to linger.
A raw, untamed snarl rumbled deep in his chest as Lucien teased the shaft of his dick from her pulsating walls and hastily replaced it with his fingers. He quickly found her g-spot and softly stroked his fingertips against it, watching her body react in a flurry of spasms as her hands grasped the head board, straining to push him deeper. A piercing gasp flooded her throat as her body twisted beneath him. Fighting to conceal her scream, her teeth sank sharply against her lip but she was unable to quell the surge of orgasm and, as she released against his fingers, a cutting trill shattered the air around them.
Joelle's arms flew from the headboard and wrapped around his neck, forcing his fingers from her as he struggled to catch himself. Hungrily, her mouth joined his, reckless and wanton. Lucien felt the raveling of desperation and pain in her very breath, which blew hot and hectic against his tongue. Though sublime, he could not help but notice the feeling of finality in it and found himself hesitating.
"Cum in me, I want to feel you inside me," she gushed, pushing him inside.
"May I taste you?" he asked, not yet prepared for their time to end.
"Yes," she relented, falling against the pillows.
It took boundless effort not to dive between her thighs, so with great restraint he slowly pulled from her and kissed and licked his way down her body, stopping to taste the flesh of her supple breasts. And finally, he felt Joelle's abdomen tremble beneath his hands as his mouth wrapped around her tender clit. Tonight his fingers would remain against her hips, as he had no desire to rush her to orgasm. Instead, he intended to enjoy her slowly.
Very delicately he thrummed his tongue against her engorged flesh, drawing her essence into his mouth and savoring the sweet nectar she readily offered. His lips encapsulated her clit, toying around its swollen edges with short bursts of tickling, vibrating strokes. When he felt the first pulsing waves of orgasm tear across her pelvis, he slowed his rhythm and delayed her release.
When she could abstain no longer, her back twisted in writhing orgasm and, as the muscles of her abdomen quivered beneath his hands, she clawed violently at his arms. But when the fluttering in her pelvis ceased, it was immediately replaced by a different sort of spasm.
"I love you," she eked out through a trammel of tears, "I love you."
"Forgive me," he soothed as he moved beside her and wrapped his arms around her waist. It took a few minutes, but eventually the tears waned and when Joelle was done wiping the remnants from her cheeks, she asked to feel him inside her once more.
Assenting to her request, he returned to her once again and for an hour he rode the line, wanting desperately to please himself, but needing Joelle to have all that she desired. She never spoke again and the only sounds which filled the room were the blending of their heavy breaths.
Lucien knew what Joelle wanted, he'd know all along, but for some reason, before tonight, it simply hadn't occurred to him how truly important it was to her. But during those moments of connection and tenderness, what surprised him most was how important it was to him too. Making love, he thought, must feel exactly like this. And even though he couldn't love her, he almost felt as if he did.
This was how she'd always imagined, how she'd dreamed of making love to Lucien. Not rushed or impatient, not crazy and impulsive, but slow and sensual, drawing out their moments and stringing them together in a blissful harmony. While she loved their frantic dalliances, the ones filled with voracious lust, she had always wanted to know him more intimately. It was heartbreaking to her that it took the decimation of all they had together to realize this fantasy.
With a quiet groan she felt his pace quicken as his cock throbbed inside her, followed by a flood of soothing heat which coursed through her pelvis. Desperately his mouth found hers with a kiss more intense than any he'd ever shared before. His hands returned to her face as his body collapsed against hers. And when the last twitches of his cock reverberated through her pelvis, it elicited a final eruption of orgasm from deep within her loins.
It was only when Lucien pulled from her and withdrew his mouth that her eyes opened. "This doesn't change anything Lucien."
Once again, life was confusing. Everyone she trusted had, in some way, betrayed her, and yet she still wanted to believe that things could be different. But could they really? If the last six months had proven anything, they'd shown her that, despite love, some things simply couldn't be rectified. Like promises. So in desperation, Joelle picked up the phone and dialed the one person who was supposed to have a genetic obligation to be there for her. And even though she knew the response in advance of their conversation, she still prayed for something different.
"Where are the boxes you were supposed to send?"
"That's what I called about Mom, I didn't send them yet. I really need to talk to you."
"I'm confused, I don't want to leave but I don't think things are ever going to..."
"Well let me make this real simple for you then. It ain't love, he's just fucking you. Good lookin', rich guys can get any pussy they want and you're an idiot if you think he's really gonna keep some junkie whore skank around. Make the first move and cut bait before he kicks your sorry ass to the curb. Now ship your damn boxes and get on the plane."