by Naomi Niles
“You’ve done nothing wrong. What you are is a temptation. How would any man in his right mind pass you by? So what does that make me? Does that make me not a man? Does that make me somehow not well-balanced in my thinking? I’m trying to aspire to be a better human being. I don’t want to take advantage of you and of this wonderful place and this precious time. I don’t belong here, Gwyne. I can’t get here on my own, so this is not my world.”
“You’re wrong again, Sean. This is not your world by choice, not because you’re incapable of attaining it. Anyway, what is this? It’s a little bed-and-breakfast in upstate New York. What is so extremely fabulous about that?”
“Because you come with it.”
His words were simple and yet made his point so eloquently. I inhaled as the full meaning of his words sink into me. He was in love with me. If I doubted it before, I did not doubt it then. He was drawn between temptation and a sense of honor to a commitment he made to a boy who was long dead.
“He’s gone, Sean. All your nobility is not going to change that.”
“Don’t you think I know that! Don’t you think I understand what I’m doing?”
“What I think, is this: I think that you were a man who was lost and could not foresee his future. You found an opportunity to make what you did in the future count for something. That makes you extraordinary. But what I also see is a man who is filled with sensitivity and passion and intelligence. That should not end with you. Those are gifts from the Almighty and should not be wasted. You can help people. But there are many ways to help people. It doesn’t always have to be in a fireman’s overalls and helmet. It doesn’t even have to be within the firefighting industry. A man like you has options: hundreds of options. It’s up to you to recognize them.”
“Gwyne, that’s easy for you to say. You went to college. I did not, nor can I. I don’t have your background, your connections. You can’t possibly understand what it is to come out of the middle of nowhere and find yourself in New York City with nothing more to survive with than your wits.”
“Who gave you the right to corner the world on feeling sorry for yourself? Do you think the people in that shelter that I visited have no options? They have options; they simply choose not to exercise them. You are certainly far and away above where they are in life.”
“Is that so? Isn’t your house my shelter?”
I was aghast at his words. He had just vilified the entire concept of a shelter—or at least the shelter that I was offering him.
“I’m offering myself to be a shelter, Sean. I want the same from you. That doesn’t take a degree or money or contacts. It only takes love and commitment and integrity. You’ve got more than enough for the both of us.”
“If only I could believe that what you say is true. I recognize that some of what you say has validity. That’s why I am so torn. You see this fire here on the hearth? I sat down here and realized I was drawn to the flames. I don’t mind telling you that it provoked quite a strong response from within me. At first I thought it was because I got hurt in that apartment fire. But it goes much deeper than that. Fire has always held a fascination for mankind, since the first twig smoldered in the soil. Fire has the ability to sustain us: to protect us from predators, warm our bodies, heat our food, sterilize against infection. These are the qualities about fire that appealed to me. I suppose in some strange sense you could say I want to be fire. I know, that sounds absolutely freaking crazy. I get that. But at the same time, fire can get out of control so easily. One moment it’s where it’s supposed to be, helping you, and in the next moment, an ash blows in the breeze and suddenly the building or the tree or the person next-door is aflame. That’s how I feel. I feel like when I am in control, then I can provide all the positive qualities of warmth, protection, and light. And then I look over at you, lying on that bed, waiting for me to join you. For me to cross those few feet to join you is the same as that spark that flies free of the fireplace and lands on the cover. It spreads and it will burn deeply and all will be lost.”
“That may be so,” I told him. “But you’re forgetting something. You are here. It is your job to keep the flames in the fireplace. It’s also your job to give me all those qualities you describe. You know the difference.” Sean stared at me a few moments, my words sinking in, or at least I like to think that’s what was happening.
In that next, brief second, he made his decision. He sprang from the chair, his movement sudden and with the propulsion that suggested that should he hesitate, all would be lost. Suddenly, he was upon me. His mouth was on mine, his tongue delving deeply into my mouth, sucking my tongue into his. His lips were soft and yet demanding. He had taken me by surprise and I felt as though I needed a deep breath before continuing. With this urge, I pushed my hands briefly against his chest to lift him away from my body so I might catch my breath. Sean knocked my hands aside and growled beneath his breath, “You are my flame. I won’t let you go and I won’t put you out. You have my word.”
With those words, Sean rose above me, pulling me with him. He kicked the pillows and coverlet down to the floor and lowered me onto them before the fire. As the cold of the room met with the heat from the fire, both on the hearth and inside my loins, my nipples responded instantly. Sean knew this instinctively and with one hand, he gathered the fabric of my nightie into a wad against my back so that the shape of my nipples protruded through the soft cloth. With a single fingertip, he traced the outline of my nipples, the result of which was that they emerged like rosebuds straining toward the sun.
Sean’s head lowered and he took the first rosebud into his mouth, his tongue circling it until the fabric was soaked with his saliva. The cool air combined with the wet fabric emphasized the contrast of his mouth and the sensations on my nipples were overwhelming. I moaned and twisted enough so as to feed my other breast to his mouth. He began the same circling movements and then grew frustrated and pulled my gown over my head, leaving me absolutely naked.
His clothes came next and then it was just the two of us, the fire, and an explosion of need that drew us together like opposing magnets. I don’t think that either of us were fully awake or cognizant of what followed for the next two hours. Our mental bodies traveled within the other and then, as the sensations coaxed them back, we went to another level of consciousness. Sean’s hands were all over me, and for every place that he touched me, I wanted to touch two places of his. I wanted to crawl inside his skin. I had read that written in romance novels but didn’t understand what that meant until that very moment. I simply never wanted to be separated from him. I knew my body was not able to produce the same ecstasy, no matter what I was to do. The world was Sean. The world was us.
Sean stopped suddenly and my body felt instantly cold without his heat. I thought he was having second thoughts and tensed, expecting him to stand up. Instead, he sat back on his haunches and said, “My God, you are beautiful!” Using his index finger, he began to trace the curves of my body. It trailed down my forehead and over my nose, which he then bent to kiss. I relaxed then and knew the pleasure of patience.
His touch crept with the speed of a rising sun down my chest and to my breasts. I squirmed, raising my torso to be closer to him—and to make him move faster to where I wanted to be touched the most. He chuckled and pressed me flat, his finger circumventing my breast and travelling downward.
“Ohhh…” I moaned, disappointed.
“There are penalties for rushing the master,” he whispered into my belly button.
I could feel the breath from his words ruffle the tiny hairs of my womanhood and I froze, not wanting to disrupt the current. The fingertip travelled lower still, and his lips followed. My mind left my consciousness at that point and all I knew was sensation. His fingertips gently prodded my woman’s lips, as though testing for ripeness. I felt the heat gush into me then and he drew in his breath as his finger touched dampened flesh.
I parted my legs, yearning for his deeper touch, but he withheld it, making me senseless with ne
ed. I remember opening my eyes only a slit and seeing his penis looming over my hip. It was engorged and standing outward from his body. I had the fleeting impression that it had always been meant for me, that it was simply waiting until this moment to be a part of the rich, moist heat of my tunnel; Sean and his immense cock belonged exclusively to me. I began to pant and with each breath I took, the lips of my labia pulsed as the blood flooded my private flesh.
My mouth opened and I reached for him again, wanting to taste the salt of his precum as I could see it dripping from his tip. He drew back, denying me access. Perhaps he knew once my fingers encircled him, his control would be lost and he could no longer lead me down this torturous journey.
His attention was then turned back to me once more. His finger, although rough as a working man’s should be, felt gentle against the tender flesh of my petals. He parted me, gently pushing his index finger into me, deep into the moist cave that was me. It painted sensations along the cave walls, searching for that spot that would trigger the explosion. I wriggled, trying to match the location with his flesh, but it was all aflame and impossible to pin down. As his finger pushed in and out of me, it made a sucking noise, as if my vagina kissed his finger’s re-entry. He withdrew his finger, touching my juices to his tongue and then to mine. I tasted myself then, and discovered I had a scent that surprisingly stimulated me, as well as him.
His hand rolled me onto my hip and then parted my legs in a scissor fashion. While his finger re-entered my tunnel, his other hand pressed on the soft flesh below my anal canal and his tongue rode the divide between my cheeks. The sensation was over-powering. I wanted to push closer, but lacked a sense of direction, so I laid there and let him manipulate my body.
He murmured soft phrases as he did this, telling me that he loved me and how beautiful I was. He called me his fiery rose, closed to all else except when I bloomed open for him. He kept this steady rhythm and I felt the whirring vibration that signaled I was about to orgasm – but Sean already knew. His fingers understood my body better than I did.
He rolled me onto my back and parted my legs, pulling each upward to lie upon his shoulders. He scooted my bottom toward himself and before he entered me, his fingers rolled my clit in a circular motion. Sounds I never knew I could make came from deep within my throat. He bent low and his lips blew against my fiery bud. He blew a fine current of air upon it and held it between his lips, making bubbles that vibrated me even more. I could feel the nerve endings about to spasm.
“I want you!” I cried and at last he seemed satisfied that I was ready. As his fingers held me open, he slid himself into me. It felt as if my master had come home at last. His entrance commanded me to accept and encase him, and yet it ground into me, deeper and deeper until I felt impaled and conquered.
“Now, you’re mine,” he rasped and his hips pounded his manhood into me. I felt a punishing exultation – the culmination of all the probing and stroking he’d used to raise my suspense was now mine. I opened myself as wide as I could, using my own fingers to part my labia. I wanted nothing between the lightly rippled, veined sword with which he conquered me.
Then came the summit, that split second as you sat upon the peak and understood that the shuddering delight of orgasm was about to launch your consciousness into the stars and it would be a deadfall until the pulsing subsided. I held my breath, thereby lying in the soundless hush before it began. It was a moment to worship the creation of one another’s bodies. When the orgasm broke open, it crested between us at the same time. My hips bucked of their own accord, as did his, but in perfect, interlocked rhythm. I lost control of my limbs as I gave in to the spasms, tears of adoration and climax rolling down my cheeks.
“I love you!” I screamed and pulled his strong chest downward so that my nipples might nest there, against his heart and heat.
His own throat emitted a very raucous, male sound as he found his release, holding me to him. We pulsated together in release and when he could, he rolled to his back, pulling me atop him and encased me with the strength and warmth of his chest, arms, and strong legs over mine. I was sobbing outright at that point, not wanting to let go for fear he would leave forever. If he did, I knew that I would die. The joy of life would be forever stripped from my heart and mind.
We were sated; we were complete.
Chapter 21
New York City, probably the most exciting place in the entire world, seemed blah and colorless when compared to our little bed and breakfast. There was absolutely no question about it: I had fallen inextricably in love with Sean. He seemed to feel the same way and I had to ask myself what we were going to do about it.
I reported back to the paper with the details of what I’d found. It seemed that the orphanage committee had spent a good deal of money making themselves comfy with chic, modern offices and a private dining room. The children were certainly clean and well-fed, but there was little excitement for life in their eyes. I felt something was missing, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I recommended that the orphanage concentrate on building individual character and encouraging the children’s personal abilities. It felt as though they were just simply marking time until they were old enough to leave and while they may know their reading, writing, and arithmetic, they were essentially unprepared for the world that awaited them. I saw no excitement or anticipation for the future. They were treated more like a herd of animals, being processed for slaughter. As dismal of a thought as that may have been, I knew it would take a little effort to improve upon that. Providing computers and vocational training in addition to the basic reading and writing would’ve helped. Just because these kids didn’t have parents didn’t mean that they weren’t capable of becoming very successful individuals on their own. I felt as though the orphanage owed it to them to identify their individual strengths and encourage those.
One little boy, David, was a gifted musician. There was a cheap keyboard in the recreation room and he certainly maximized its potential. I felt as though if there were a small band or orchestra developed with the proper performance room and access to instruments, such as a full piano, that many of the other children might display talents as well. I suggested they go beyond giving them gaming consoles, that they teach them computer programming and web design. These are skills that would allow them to matriculate more easily into the job market when that time came.
The report was well received. John Warner indicated to me that the board saw no reason for me to infiltrate the orphanage more deeply. My reward for having looked into things was a healthy raise, a byline, a small office of my own at the paper if I chose to use it, but more importantly, I was to devise my own assignments. It was this last part that I really loved. While I still needed to have John Warner’s approval, I could be the architect of the topic and location. That gave me enormous sense of freedom.
I waited a day before checking in with Dad. I guess I wanted to enjoy the glow of having been with Sean for one more day before returning to dad’s supervisory attitude. I knew it would be at least another month before Sean returned to firefighting. While he certainly had the stamina to make love to me as he had, firefighting was an arduous job and he would be subjected to smoke and chemicals once again. His lungs would take a beating. In the meantime, he continued to work on my firehouse, but he had moved his sleeping quarters to the other half of my bed, at least for the time being. It had seemed ridiculous, after a weekend together, to have him downstairs.
“Hi, Dad. Just wanted to let you know that I’m back, safe and sound.”
“Good. I’m glad you called me. So was your trip successful?”
I know he had no idea of the context from which I replied, but I said, “Absolutely successful.”
“Well, that’s good. So, how are things going with Bob?”
I froze for a moment, trying to remember the last thing that I told Dad about Bob. “Oh, we’re doing just fine. We meet for lunch or dinner. Gosh, Dad, it’s only been a few days. It’s
not like I’m ready to marry him or anything.”
“You know that you are all I’ve got, Gwyne. I want to stay involved in your life.”
“I get that, Dad, but I’m all grown up now and just maybe there are some things I would like to keep to myself, you know?”
“Whatever,” Dad said, and I knew his feelings were hurt. I realized I truly was the only thing left in his life. “Dad, have you considered maybe dating again?”
There was a sputtering noise at the other end of the line. I wasn’t sure if that meant it was out of the question, or perhaps he had already done so.
“Dad? Have you thought about it?”
“This really isn’t the way I wanted to talk about it, but as a matter of fact, there’s a certain lady I see from time to time.”
“Dad! That’s wonderful. I’m so happy to hear that.”
“Are you comfortable with that idea?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t want your life to be ending. You should go out and enjoy yourself; make new friends. You shouldn’t be alone. It actually makes things easier on me. I don’t feel so guilty that I don’t spend more time with you.”
“Well, she’s a good woman,” he pronounced. “Nothing like your mother, but a good woman nonetheless.”
I could tell the entire conversation was making Dad a bit uncomfortable. “The paper has given me the reward of letting me come up with my own topics from now on. Very excited about this.”
“That’s good. I suppose that represents a sort of promotion?”
Dad had never been terribly enthusiastic about my choice of careers. Perhaps it would have been different had we lived in a small town, but in New York City, making an impact in the journalistic world meant that you had to venture into sensationalistic topics. That usually involves some level of risk, perhaps even danger. It took a lot to impress a New Yorker. “Yes, you could say that. It keeps me in my comfort zone.”