Before very long his hands are scrabbling helplessly at my shoulders, his mouth open and a little sound escaping with every thrust. There are bright, hot tears at the corners of his eyes. Desperation glitters there as I roll my hips again and this time the angle pushed me in a little deeper. A hoarse moan rips out of Sam abruptly. I open my own mouth and a string of words falls into the air between us as I hitch his leg higher and shove in again and again.
‘Want to see you with a gag,’ I bite out, my words gasping out as I pick up the pace of our movement together. There’s no thought of slowing now. ‘Black silk, wet at the corners of your lips because I’ve kept you on edge so long you’re drooling for it. Your mouth watering. But I don’t care how much you want, how much you beg, because all that matters to me is giving you what you need, and what you need is this, isn’t it? My cock filling you up, leaving you helpless and writhing. I’ll tie your wrists as well, with more silk. Or maybe with my lambskin cuffs. They’re so soft, baby. They’ll never hurt your pretty wrists. But they’ve got steel under the sheepskin. You’ll never get free until I let you free. I could leave you trapped on my bed for days, using you like a fucktoy whenever I wanted and then leaving you alone when I’m done. I could blindfold you as well. Leave you helpless, floating in the dark, unable to move or speak, with no idea how long you’ve been there. Would you like that? Do you want that?’
‘Please. Please,’ Sam chokes, blinking. The sparkle of saltwater catches on his lashes, making his eyes shine as he stares up at me. There’s a hectic blush across his smooth, soft face, and I lean in close to kiss that bloom as our movements lose rhythm and become erratic. We race towards orgasm with unstoppable force. My lips smear against his cheek. I’m clumsy with passion and unable to find the finesse for proper kisses now.
The force of my climax whites out my vision, but I’m cognizant enough to wrap a hand around Sam’s dick and jack him quickly. I move my mouth closer to his ear and whisper, ‘Come for me now, baby.’
He does. He comes so I feel his thighs shaking against my sides. His head is tipped back and thrashing on my pillow. I can’t restrain myself from putting my mouth over the pulse in his throat and sucking hard. I’m marking what we both already know is mine.
Lethargy hits us as forcefully as coming, knocking all our energy away and turning our limbs leaden. I curl around Sam, one arm and one leg thrown over his body as he spoons back against me. It’s as if we’re in the wild, and I can protect him from the things waiting in the dark.
‘Thank you,’ one of us whispers to the other, but in my already half-asleep state I’m not sure who. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. There’ll be time enough for us both to say it in the morning, and in the days to come.
FEARLESS
Anders
The morgue: an interesting place to work, never dull. But the last place I thought I’d find true love.
Weekends - my shifts - always meant the nights were busy. Death comes out to play on weekends. A kaleidoscope of corpses would arrive between midnight and dawn.
This routine of death had been mine for two years.
I enjoy it. I like the dead.
All was well, until Rosalie showed up. Trouble with a capital T from the instant I unzipped her body bag.
Fine, red lips made her pale skin glow. Raven black hair hung to her shoulders, saturated from the rain. A simple purple t-shirt stuck to her slim body. Her white shorts were streaked with running dye. Toenails painted inky black made the elegant sliver toe ring shimmer. She was barefoot.
Oh God, she was beautiful. In every way. Her soft curves where those of a young woman not yet exposed to the rigours of life. So delicate. I wanted to hold her, feel the softness of her skin on my face.
Her eyes were wide open. I stared back and fell in.
Time slowed. Light flickered over her on the cold stainless bench top. I brushed wayward stands of hair off her face, fighting the urge to kiss the perfection of her mouth. I removed the black body bag. It was ugly against her. So wrong.
Anger shifted deep in me. Blood surged; my heart pounded and my hands trembled.
Rosalie had done that. Made me feel again, care about someone.
I held her hands in mine, caressing her fingers down to her nails. She had supple fingers: the faint tingle of life energy yet to fade away. No rings, just what she wore on her toe.
I stood in the odd light of the morgue, transfixed by her hands. I’d held thousands of others before. None had been like Rosalie. Warmth flared in my chest and crept downwards like a spider. I couldn’t leave her here, all alone. Not my Rosalie.
She’d come in at 9 o’clock, unusually early for a Saturday night. This meant I only had a few hours before the ordinary dead started to roll in. My time alone with her would be short.
I locked the door and went to work, drying her face with a soft white towel and savouring the feel of fine, scented hair across my fingers. Then I dried the rest of Rosalie’s clothes and skin with a hair dryer. The warmth made her hands mottle as the blood pooled. Good.
By the time I had her dry, an hour had passed. Loathe to leave her, I stretched out and snared the clipboard with her paperwork.
Rosalie had been twenty years old; single, with no record of living relatives in the area.
Fate had snared me.
I pulled a towel out of the microwave and spread it over Rosalie. Time was in short supply, but hurrying was not acceptable. When you love someone you do your very best with the time you have.
Love. There, I felt it. I had never experienced love like this before. It hurt.
I needed music. Forcing myself, I let Rosalie go and raced to the CD player. The morgue’s cold silence flooded with Celtic rhythms; soothing sounds of love and passion I had never truly understood, until now. I ached to share my emotions with her.
Her hand was in mine again and I let the moment fill me. Tears blurred my vision and hot blood pulsed through every part of my body.
Right now, here, with this woman, my life was about change. Time was running out. I had to act.
Butterflies performed bizarre somersaults in my stomach. A thin sheen of sweat covered my face, cooling in the cold air conditioning. Courage and faith fused with the love and blossomed through me. I slipped my hand inside her shirt, palm flat over a cold left breast, right over her heart. When I spoke to her, my words were infused with energy. They were the same words that had awoken me, a decade ago, from my own premature death.
The phrases carried great power - but only if the speaker truly loved the one they wish to reawaken. Love is a powerful emotion, more powerful than I ever dreamed.
My mother’s love had given power to these words, saving me. Now I spoke with the same energy and faith to save the one I loved.
Rosalie trembled under my hand but I didn’t stop. Instead, I drew on the memory of the day my mother gave me life for a second time. Power erupted within me. My love for a girl I did not know, summoned her soul back to its body.
Giving life this way meant you gave part of yourself. This was healing; this was bonding.
Warmth filled Rosalie. A faint, single heartbeat fluttered under my touch. My breath caught. Then I felt another. I removed my hand gently.
Waking from death to find some stranger with their hand down your shirt would not sit well. First impressions count.
Rosalie’s hand slowly filled with warmth. Keeping contact was important while the soul re-entered the body. I had become the grounding connection for the energies now in motion.
Breath filled her lungs once again and steam escaped from between parted red lips.
Nervous energy made me tremble. What if she did not react well to the situation? What if she had wished to die and this was an unwelcome intrusion. Or, even worse, what if Rosalie hated me for this?
Rosalie stirred. Delicate toes wriggled, her legs stretched like she was waking from a deep sleep. I wanted to hold her…
A loud buzzing interrupted the moment.
No!
There was someone at the side door. I took Rosalie into my arms and carried her to the night bed in the crib room. Her hair smelt like roses and vanilla. I didn’t want to let her go but I slipped her under the blanket. She needed to wake slowly, preferably without an audience.
The regular noodle bar delivery guy waited at the side door. I had a standing order every Friday and Saturday night: spicy pork with vegetables and garlic prawn noodles. Filling, but low on the fat. I paid and locked the door behind me, taking the food into the crib room. Hunger was far from my mind tonight. All I wanted was Rosalie.
‘You going to share that?’
Rosalie was awake and sitting up. Her hungry eyes were wide open and focused on my takeaway.
‘Sure.’ I smiled and pointed to the chair beside mine, not really sure what to expect. Stay calm, I warned myself.
Rosalie padded across to the table, and took a seat beside me. It all seemed so normal.
‘Pork or Prawns?’ I asked, trying not to stare at her.
‘Prawns, please.’ Fine fingers broke open the chopsticks’ packet. The food was devoured quickly; Rosalie was ravenous. Every movement she made sent flashes of electricity through me.
‘Where am I?’
‘The morgue,’ I muttered, unprepared for an actual conversation with someone who had been dead a few minutes ago. With every word she spoke I realised how much I loved her. My heart still pounded. So loud. Would she hear it?
‘Why are you blushing like that?’ Rosalie asked.
‘The pork is very spicy tonight.’ I lied, going to the fridge for a cold drink.
I watched as a delicate ear peeked out from Rosalie’s dark hair. The soft curve of her neck was exposed as the blanket slipped down, dragging the t-shirt over her shoulder. A tattoo winked at me before tracing down her back. I wanted so much to kiss her right then. Kiss her soft, warm lips and taste her unique flavour.
Rosalie stopped and looked at me, a blush in her cheeks. Her black eyes stared up at me while her pink tongue slowly licked sauce from the corner of her mouth.
‘I can hear you over there, by the way,’ she said, and popped a prawn slowly into her mouth. So much more blood rushed into my face and chest that I staggered slightly, holding onto the fridge for support.
‘How?’ The word was a hoarse whisper. My mouth was dry and the cold water hadn’t helped.
‘I suppose the same way you can bring the dead back. I can hear thoughts, but only those of people who desire me,’ she explained, as if the situation were normal. Standing, she dropped the blanket and faced me. Her nipples had hardened under her t-shirt and I couldn’t look away. Everything about her fuelled my desire.
‘How did you know-?’
Her fingers touched my lips.
‘I know I died tonight. I was always going die young. An illness I couldn’t beat.’ She stood close to me and raised herself up on tiptoes to look into my eyes. Her hand touched my shoulder. A finger brushed my earlobe ever so gently. A soft tingle rippled across the skin on my neck and chest.
‘Still, how did you know what I did?’ I asked, resisting the compelling urge to wrap my arms around her. Rosalie’s dark eyes glanced at my mouth.
‘I was with my body all the time, watching while you saved me. All the power and emotion you used to draw me back became interlaced within me.’
Her hand slipped around the back of my head, as mine did the same to hers. Our bodies were drawn together by desire. The touch of her skin electrified mine and the hairs on my arms rose up in worship of her touch. Oh God. I want to taste her so much it hurt.
‘Is it the same for you? Do you feel what I have for you?’
Rosalie pulled me towards her slightly open lips. I could feel my mouth respond. I wanted to taste her so much.
‘Yes. It hurts, I want to kiss you so much, but…’ she hesitated, scanning my eyes.
‘But what? Is it because I’m a woman?’ Fear pierced my heart for a cold second. She bit her lip lightly.
‘It’s just that I’ve always wanted to but… never found the right-‘ Her words were lost in the sweet embrace of our lips. Images of Rosalie naked under me burnt bright. Her hand moved to my breast, and I felt her fingers pinch. Teeth I knew to be perfect and white nibbled at my lip for a millisecond.
‘I want you,’ she whispered, and pulled my hand down to her sex, hot under her shorts. ‘Whatever this is, I want it all. Right now. I see your images. See mine.’
I had to swallow hard. Our connection flowed both ways. Slivers of images flickered in me and sharpened as sounds filtered through my thoughts. I watched myself tear her clothes and throw her onto the bunk, exploring every part of her. Rosalie bit me and I her, leaving my mark on the inside of her thigh. Sensations shot through my breasts. Rosalie pushing my bra up, sucking and biting my dark, erect nipples.
‘I like to bite,’ Rosalie muttered. ‘And be bitten, everywhere.’
She winked then pressed her mouth over my breast, applying gentle pressure through my shirt. Her teeth tweaked and rolled my nipple in way I had never felt before. My blood surged.
Her heat scorched my hand and I couldn’t resist any more, unbuttoning her shorts one handed while I pulled at her thin shirt.
‘Tear it off.’
Never had I been with someone like her. The idea of tearing clothes off only fed the desire in me. Blood pounded in my ears and I grabbed her t-shirt with both hands. It tore like a tissue. Small dark erect nipples beckoned to me from pert, sweet breasts.
‘Shit you’re strong,’ Rosalie whispered, jumping up and wrapping he legs tight around me. ‘About now I usually have a rock hard cock pressed against me. What happens next?’
She stopped, biting her lip.
Then I felt her move. Her heat and the shape of her sex were firm on me, and my hands splayed across the small of her back. Could I be myself with her? Oh, yes. I could try.
‘I’ll make you come so hard we’ll need a defibrillator to bring you back. Again.’
Rosalie tipped her head back and laughed in delight. Her body grew hotter. ‘Do it,’ she said levering herself up so her nose touched mine. ‘But first tell me your name.’
‘Petra.’ I grinned letting my old self run free. ‘The Morgue chick.’
‘Well then, Petra,’ she said grinning back. ‘Take me into your lair.’
Her lips crushed onto mine, and I found her hungry tongue. Excited urges I had repressed ripped free of their cage when Rosalie’s small breasts crushed against mine.
I kicked the door open and the cold of the morgue intensified the heat between us. I sat her on the trolley. With her legs still around me, I slipped hands down over small hard nipples and circled her navel, making Rosalie gasp. Sliding fingertips down into her shorts I just brushed the top of her sex. Sweat ran down my back. Rosalie had done that; made me feel again. Clenching both sides of the fly of her shorts I applied pressure, slowly, watching her. A stitch popped, loud in the cold air.
‘Yeah, do it slow,’ she said, leaning back. Like an exotic dancer she spread her legs wide, almost horizontal to the bench. ‘I had a fantasy about this, sitting like this as… you know.’
I had to take a deep breath while her eyes went down my body. Heat teased my fingertips.
‘Take your top off, I want to see you.’
I nearly giggled, torn between leaving my hands on her or peeling off my clothes.
‘You do it, Rosalie. Unbutton me slow.’
She moistened her lips with a small pink tongue and sat up, keeping her legs spread wide as she undid the first button. I flexed and popped another stitch in her shorts, tearing them further. She started and then grinned up at me.
‘You like to unwrap your presents like this?’
‘Only the tasty ones.’
Another stitch in her shorts popped. Her hands worked faster. Cool air washed over my skin then her lips pressed warm against my chest. She ran her hands up my back to the bra clasp and laughed.
‘I�
��m hopeless at this,’ she said. I could feel her lips move on my flesh.
Two stitches popped in her shorts and my fingers moved lower, caressing the top of her folds with a little finger. Rosalie shuddered. I could feel her teeth pressed into my flesh. She fumbled at the bra clasp, her breathe hot.
‘Beside you, look.’
Rosalie came up for air to follow my nod.
‘You serious?’ she reached out and picked up a scalpel, turning it so light flashed across the blade.
‘Cut me free,’ I whispered, keeping the tremor in me under control. ‘You like to bite. I like knives.’
‘Wicked! Where you been all my life?’
‘Here.’
She slid the scalpel between my beasts and the support of the bra fell away. The straps fell and Rosalie ripped my sliced bra free. Small hands cupped my breasts and I couldn’t hold back the sound that welled up now she finally held me.
‘So firm,’ Rosalie said quietly. Her hands moved and thumbs brushed the tip of each nipple. She leaned in to suckle. My legs quivered and Rosalie stopped. ‘I like it rough, Petra. You can bite and squeeze me, but I know you’re not me so-‘
‘Lie back.’
Her shorts ripped until they could no more. They had to come off before I hurt her. She sucked one last time and lowered herself down onto the stainless bench. I lifted her hips up and pulled the remnants of her shorts free.
‘You are a bad girl, my Petra,’ Rosalie muttered, wriggling closer and parting her legs slowly. I couldn’t look a way as she revealed her delicate, smooth sex. The first girl I ever slept with called her quim the most delicate rose I’d ever see. I had agreed, until now.
I had to breathe. My protesting lungs filled with oxygen and the spots vanished from my vision.
‘I’m ready to die coming,’ she said reaching down to spread herself open further. ‘Love you watching me but-‘
She slipped a finger in.
‘I’ve been aching since you saved me. No one has ever made me feel like this. I want you. Now.’
I hooked my office chair with a foot and pulled it over. At a quick slap Rosalie removed her hand as I sat before her. This was no dream. It was real.
Queermance Anthology, Volume 1 Page 6