by Poppet
My eyes instantly pop open with a smile gracing my face. I prop myself onto an elbow and chuckle quietly. A chaise longue in the kitchen? He's Mr Original, that's for sure.
His shirt is off and he seems intent on whatever he's doing at the hob. I died and went to heaven. I did! Except I owe him some pay-back. Mr. Super-alert twists to smile at me, "Welcome back."
I lose the happy smile to glower at him.
Noticing, he moves the pan off the flame and switches it off. He takes two steps toward me and stops. "Go on then."
How do you know?
He arches a cocky brown eyebrow at me. I deliberately dredge up the panic and fear I felt at what shall henceforth be referred to as *The bathroom incident*.
Standing up too quickly, I sway. Ignoring it, I stalk across to stare up at him, then slap him as hard as I can. Every mustered ounce of rage I have ever had stored up unleashes onto a perfect cheek on a flawless face.
It doesn't even change colour. No red hand mark, nothing. My hand, however, is hurting rather severely.
He smiles down at me and yanks my jeans toward him with one hand in the waistband. His heat drives me instantly to the edge. Frenzied pulse flickers like dancing fire at the proximity.
"Feel better?"
Uncertain, confused that it made zero impact whatsoever, I nod.
He hooks hands under my arms and hoists me onto the counter top, pulling me against him as he stands between my thighs. Eye to eye we stare at each other. I swallow nervously, excitement adrenalising me, screwing with my breathing.
"Kiss it better."
I stare at his cheek and smile in mute resistance. I love defiance. He smirks back with obvious bemusement. Sexy arse! One of his arms wraps around me in silent restraint, while his free hand starts tracing my contours with fingertips. His head buries into my neck and my senses are accosted on every level.
With his weight pushing against my pelvis, fingertips arousing me, and that tongue and hot breathing on my neck, I subconsciously draw myself closer by reaching my arms up and squeezing them behind his neck. I turn my face to touch his skin with my lips when he forces us apart abruptly. His smile is so naughty as he points to his cheek.
"I'm waiting."
Honestly I am sorely tempted to slap it again. But I can't prevent the stupid smile spreading over my face at his shameless methods. Pursing my lips and nibbling the inside of my cheek I consider not kissing him.
My desire wins and I lean forward to kiss his cheek. Just as they are about to connect to stubble his head adjusts and my lips connect with his. Pulling me tightly against him again, I drink in the pressure, the exploration, the reconnection. He turns me into a savage with a one track mind.
Ungracefully he scoops me off the counter, walking with me. He slams me into the cold tiles, my body reacting to the unyielding hardness of the wall. I grip him tightly out of instinct, not wanting to fall. His kiss feels close to oral rape, my hair snared by fingers as he forcefully crushes my body with his own.
A decadent voice laughs into my ear, "Still want me to mount you to the wall?"
"Yes." Needy, gushy, breathless.
He walks with me again, I can't see where we're going, captivated as I am with mesmerising silver irises.
"Where are we going?"
"To feed you to the sharks."
Alarm rises, because I can never tell when he's joking seriously, or seriously joking.
"Adrenalin baby, I love it when you breathe it back at me."
I try to twist to see where we're going, he's covering ground fast.
A low chuckle tickles my skin as he holds my head tight again and seductively whispers, "You make me hard."
"Are you really taking me to sharks?"
"This is your last chance to trust me. You either do or you don't. If you do, prove it."
"Seithe I ..."
Help! He's blinded me again and I can't see anything at all. Instantly I'm overly sensitive to the body heat soaking through my clothes, his unique scent permeating my nostrils.
"Seithe, please don't hurt me again."
"Ask yourself why I would choose to hurt you?"
My mind is racing. I've done nothing to you, you have no reason to hurt me. Okay I did slap you but both times you provoked it, you honestly did.
He forces me to stand as we stop, then he begins to strip my clothes off.
"What are you doing?"
"Feeding you to the sharks."
"No you aren't!"
"Prove it baby girl."
My jeans are being yanked off while I struggle to maintain balance, fervently examining my *instinctive feelings*. No matter how hard I try I cannot sense malicious intent or that kind of primal fear. I deduce he's testing me again the way he did with the aloe.
"This time the power of suggestion won't work."
He unclips my bra and yanks it off, leaving me in just pink lace for minimum modesty. He lifts me, and my toes recoil violently from cold water.
"NO! I don't want to get in water!"
"Do you trust me?"
"YES!"
"Why?"
"I don't know why! I just do."
"Why Phoebe?"
"It's not logical Seithe! I can't explain why I trust you! It's just what I feel!"
"Name it! Define it."
"Instinct! My trust is instinctive."
"I'm putting you in the water."
"Why?"
I'm close to tears now. I don't want to get wet.
Hands close over my ears. Now I can't hear and I'm blind. Oh God! Within moments something covers my ears again and I sag when I hear movement. Hands grab my waist and hoist me forward.
SQUEAAAAL!
I'm almost delirious with relief when I experience his body against mine in the water. I hold him tightly as water particles dance icy fingers over my warmth, stealing it. My breath draws in with shock. He pulls me hard against him and I soak in his unnatural heat. Frigidly C.O.L.D!
"Why are you here?"
My teeth are close to chattering. "F.f..for you."
"Do you trust me?"
I nod. Pulling myself in closer to him, the water is freezing.
"Speak Phoebe."
"This is c..c..c..cold."
"How much do you trust me?"
Honestly I've already asked myself this question. The problem is I do trust him with my life. I know that makes me officially insane, but it's how I feel. I know I'm beyond psychiatric help, considering how long I've known him for. But I'd rather die this alive, than not have met him.
"Completely."
"Why?"
I don't want to answer that.
"Seithe no more. P..pl..ease."
It's crazy, but the water instantly warms up around us. He returns my eyesight and I stare over his naked shoulder at a huge indoor swimming pool. Nervously my eyes reengage his blue ones.
"Why baby?"
It's a velvet temptation to trust him. I squeeze tightly around his neck, burying my face, "I don't want to say."
"Whisper it in my ear. I won't tell anyone."
Weightlessly he buoys me. I shake my head.
He pushes me under, closing his mouth over mine, eyes staring blue to blue in the diaphanous liquid surrounding us, like two life forms floating in embryonic fluid.
He kisses me and bubbles escape between us. His hands invasive. I'm feeling intimidated again. He pulls me up to breathe, my hair clinging to my skin.
"Tell me."
"You don't, so I refuse to."
"I wouldn't put this much effort into a female if I didn't consider it a possibility."
I push at him, "Stop bullying me."
"Kiss me."
I kiss him. The way the water moves around us is sensuous, my skin is prickling with sensations.
"Why are we in the pool, Phoebe?"
"To experience water on skin."
"Why Phoebe?"
"Because this is where we left off."
"Why!"
"Bec
ause we are born with fluid."
"WHY PHOEBE?"
"Because I have to trust you in water."
"Why?"
"Life begins in water."
"Why?"
"Rebirth."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
He smiles. "Good girl."
I smile back, relieved I gave the right answer. He puts a hand on my eyes again and I sigh unhappily. Then I experience a very strong man remove my pink lace undies, despite my sightless struggle.
His laughter floats to me, "I want you to stay here alone, forcing yourself to feel water loving every ounce of your body. It will force you to feel alive. I'll be back with your breakfast shortly madam."
"SEITHE, don't leave me blind!"
"Why not?"
"I'll close my eyes."
I hear an odd sound and blink my eyes rapidly as light attacks them again from flickering torches on every wall. I view him walk to his clothes. Oh lordy, that boy is naked! I deliberately watch him as he pulls his jeans back on and wipes his face. Hmmm, highlighting arms, his skin reflecting light wetly, like an oiled gladiator.
He smirks at me and picks up my clothes, "I'm taking these with me."
"Seithe?"
"Hmm?"
"What happened to daylight?"
"I don't have windows."
And with that he disappears through an archway with my clothing. Naked as the day I was born, yet I'm grinning. He's not for the fainthearted, that's for sure.
Chapter 16: Food
I close my eyes and float on my back. Water feels like silk. Every particle caressing sensory receptors. Hair almost invisibly covers the body, the water teases every follicle. It's soft and yielding, but deadly. I quietly swim through it, feeling it pushing back gently. Flip onto back and feel hair float sexily around me.
Making as little noise as possible, I contemplate. The earth is seventy percent water. So are we. Without water every living thing would die. Even crystals wouldn't form. We need it to exist. But it is as destructive as it is nurturing.
Floods, tsunamis, smashing ships trying to traverse it, it's undoubtedly formidable. It's the perfect metaphor for Seithe.
He's like this.
Seductive, languid, rejuvenating and formidable. I need him on a weird level I can't define. But like a crashing wave he could crush me.
I once went surfing and got stuck in a tumbling wave. It was like being stuck inside a washing machine on the spin cycle, and I dislocated my neck. I'm that delicate. Water is that powerful.
Seithe is just like that.
I sigh heavily and swim breast stroke. I stop and start giggling at that. Phoebe is in water doing breast stroke. Man I can't get that man and rude innuendo out of my head for sixty seconds.
"What's so funny?"
A surprised gasp escapes me. I didn't feel the water move to announce him coming. Giggling again at that thought I open my eyes.
"Breast stroke."
He glides up to me. Brown hair and brown eyes.
Mr Fantasy.
"Yes?"
Blushing, I reveal, "I was just contemplating that water is a great metaphor for you. We do the breast stroke in water. I thought it was fitting."
I suck my bottom lip in trying to suppress a smile.
He lifts me up and floats me with my spine just touching the water, one hand traces my left breast. "Oh I think I can manage breast stroke out of water too."
I'm feeling exposed, naked, without water refracting light and cloaking me with swirling veils.
His eyes watch mine perceptively. "You aren't ready yet. Have no fear."
I wriggle to stand again.
He allows it, lacing his fingers into mine tightly, "Time to eat."
I wade with difficulty through the water with him. He's obviously stronger, and he has the height advantage. He pulls me effortlessly onto the overhanging lip at the pool's edge.
Averting his eyes he hands me a robe, shrugging himself into one like a confident naked boxer ready for the ring. I force laboured breath through my teeth trying to think of other things than the two of us naked.
So close. So fucking far apart at the same time.
Closing the fluffy black robe I sit with him at a round mosaic table. He pulls me snugly close to him, his thigh touching mine on the half crescent bench.
"Close your eyes."
I comply. I didn't get a good look at the plates and now I smell a cooked mushroom waft under my nose.
"Mushroom."
I part my lips when I feel it press against my mouth. After chewing and swallowing I object. "I do know how to feed myself. I'm not an infant."
"Eyes open."
Opening them I gaze into his smiling face.
"We have to feed each other blindfolded."
"But then we can't see what we're picking up or where the plate is."
"Touch, smell, presence, baby girl."
I smile and close my eyes again, ready for the blindfold. I am obviously trusting he'll do the same. But then maybe that's the point of this.
Roaming one hand over the food I pick up something mildly squishy and warm. With my left hand I feel for his face.
"No. No hands."
No pressure!
Fumbling I judge where his face is and lift my hand with the squishy thing. Oooooh lordy. His mouth hotly closes over my fingers, sucking whatever it was out of my clasp. Fingers close around my wrist, keeping the hand immobile while he suckles the juices off my fingers.
"Holy cow that's sexy."
His baritone chuckles in response. "My turn."
Something presses against my mouth and I hesitantly open wide. He smears it over my chin before delicately depositing it into my willing mouth.
I chew on fried egg when his tongue begins tickling below my bottom lip and down my chin.
"You make eating undeniably erotic." I have to admire the depth of this man's skill.
His lips cover mine. I part my own searching for his moist heat when he sucks hard on my lip. A moan ripples out from a shiver that begins at the base of my spine.
Fumbling for food I pick up what I assume is a sausage. Then blindly take aim, giggling when my hand meets stubble. I move it around until his mouth closes over my fingers again.
Firm grip as he softly traces a tongue over each finger, hot wet heat pulls over each finger one by one, and it's making me horny.
I lean forward to trace my tongue over scouring stubble, trying to remove traces with nubile lips and a delicately searching tongue. He catches me by surprise when he ensnares it between teeth, flicking the tip of his own tongue on mine.
A low moan escapes with my breath at the suggestive movement. His hand slips inside my robe and I blindly wrap arms over shoulders, climbing into his lap.
"You drive me crazy."
He responds by ducking his head and sucking on the exposed flesh.
"I'm hungry, Seithe."
Breath blows cold air over the trail left by his tongue. "Are you awake yet Phoebe?"
"Very."
"Do you think you're ready?"
"Yes."
"I don't."
I release a whine of frustration.
"After breakfast one more task. Then if I'm satisfied, we'll play."
He pushes the blindfold off me and I grin at the mess I've made of his face.
"Now feed me wench."
I remain in his lap, turning our first breakfast into the most seductive experience I've ever had.
Chapter 17: Texture
I can't say why, but I get the impression his home is a square with the pool in the middle. The pool is round, but the room it's in is a triangle. Yet the passage we traverse, hand in hand, is dead straight, cornering to the right at the end of it.
The passage walls and floor are fashioned from mottled grey stone. It lends itself to medieval themed parties and late night story telling. I'm feeling safe, warm and relaxed, so am content to let him lead me to wherever we are going; when my eye catche
s flickering in a midnight ink room.
"That's your computer!"
Inquisitive, I release his strong fingers and step to the door to stare in at the darkness. His screensaver! I feel as if someone just grabbed my heart and started squeezing it like a stress ball. I watch my private photos scrolling.
I've been trying to capture the perfect nude black and white photo, even tried sepia - it isn't as effective. But ...
"You said I could hack your computer. You gave me full permission to access what you have hidden away in digital format."
I glare up at his profile, "Those are private!"
He quirks a challenging eyebrow. "I've seen it all already, so what's the big deal?" To make his point he slides a hand inside my robe again, looking down at me with noble haughtiness.
"You could have asked."
"I did."
I hate that his logic is so irrefutable. I can't argue with him even if I think this is morally reproachful. I did say he could hack my computer.
He leans against me, pushing me against the stone of the door frame. His voice low in my ear. "Take me to your crypt and embalm me there; Wrapped in fingers and kisses blindfolded to die; So that the haunting in my mind; The erotic provocation of your spirit; The magnetic pulling into one; Slaking arid mental asphyxiation as I accept a new religion; Your breath a sirocco wind breathing in new life; Innocuously manipulating me into a new addict."
Asshole!
"Seithe, that's private!"
He chuckles softly, "My minxy poet."
I feel invaded! He's raped my private thoughts and musings.
"Blind trust, Phoebe. Blind trust."
My eyes stare into the darkness, with my body on display in black and white starkness. Bitterly I whisper back. "This isn't fair, Seithe."
He changes the subject, yanking my hand as he strides away, "Come."
I allow myself to be led into a bedroom off the passage. The texture of the cold stone is replaced with thickly silent, soft carpeting. Sheer curtains cordon off a large bed draped in mocha hues. The carpet taupe. The walls smooth, plastered, painted in reflective suede swirls. I notice what seems to be a hook fastened to the ceiling. The ceiling is much lower in here. The lighting comes from wall torches. Mirrored doors hide what I assume is a closet.