The mill explodes. She is a cascade of autumn leaves scattering under my caresses, dancing before me, slipping from my grasp. I chase her across the marsh back towards the hills. She twists and flickers, she tickles my fingertips, I throw her high and chase her low but cannot seize her. She eludes all but the briefest touch and that tantalises me beyond endurance.
Then I let her go and she sinks to the ground, a drift of auburn and russet and umber in the long blond grass of a summer meadow.
I am wildfire, eating the grass. I will consume her. She incandesces under my flickering tongues. This is going to kill me.
She is the rain, falling from a summer thundercloud, drenching my flames, smothering me in her wetness.
I am the thirsty earth, cracked and dry. I soak up the sweet moisture she pours upon me, drinking her in great gulps. Her being is mingled with mine. I swell and enfold her. I have never held anyone so close, never known such intimacy. She does not struggle but lingers, locked in my heart and I am soaked in her and full of her and it is pure bliss.
She is a mole, velvet-furred, burrowing through my flesh. Her powerful hands tunnel in my earth and she kicks me with clawed feet. She is sculpting me. With a flex of her shoulders she opens me to the air and a molehill erupts on the pale face of the meadow.
I am a grass-snake, every inch muscle. I throw coil after coil around her form and tighten upon her. I feel her warm body quivering under my deadly grip.
She is another grass-snake. What is she doing? We are wrestling together, coils within coils, a knot of writhing flesh. Tongues flicker in a blur of tasting as we wrap around each other, each striving to get on top. She is flexing and moving beneath and above me like living whipcord and it is too much, I want to use hands to hold her down, I want to use legs to pin her, I want …
We change together, without thought, without hesitation, wills united in a common purpose. We are still intertwined, still crushed together in terrible struggle. Her mouth is on my throat. Her thighs are locked around my hips. I am thrusting into her. I am in her. Full length. Yes … I have her, Galiena, moon-pale, soft as wood-ash beneath my fingers, her long hair tangled about my head, her mouth sweet and starving beneath mine, fingers sliding up and down my spine. We are rolling in the crushed meadow grass. She kicks and pushes me over so she is on top, she ends up straddling my hips, holding herself up with one hand on my chest. Her eyes are full of storm-clouds. I cup her face and she whimpers, licking at my fingers. I push her thighs further apart and thrust further into her. She writhes on my iron-hard member. She pushes herself up from her knees and then sinks again, driving herself on to me, sliding her hot, tight, soaking-wet purse up and down my stiff prick, and she does it again, and again, in quickening beat. She arcs her back and pushes her breasts out; I cannot keep my hands off her, I put them on her thighs and stroke her slowly, from hips to slender waist to ribs to breasts, and I cover these with my palms and they are like the Grail raised in my worshipping hands.
And I am still thrusting.
And I see, too late, the trap I have set myself.
Oh no. No. I am lost.
I quicken, and it is like a wave of fire that rises in me and falls upon my head. Ecstasy hits me like a whiplash, flaying my prick raw. I scream, and I keep on screaming because it does not stop. My spine arches and I jam into her yielding body like I would stab her through the heart. I shriek her name. My body is burning. The world is on fire. My vision turns crimson, but I can still feel her under my desperately clenched hands. I hold on to her for my life as the surge of all-annihilating pleasure rips through me.
Then the wave recedes, at last, with a terrible hissing undertow that threatens to drag me into utter blackness. I am left broken in its wake. I can’t see. My eyes are full of blood.
I hear her whisper my name.
I keep blinking, and my vision clears slowly. Galiena sits motionless upon me, her hair hanging around her face like a cowl. My hands still grip her waist; I fear that they may have been digging in very hard.
She has won.
Every muscle in my body hurts. There is a sticky wetness at our joined crotches that I dread to investigate – though I am still rigid, still throbbing with the aftershocks of pleasure. But I feel so weak. The moon has left me and I am empty.
She reaches forwards to brush the red tear-tracks at my temples. Her whole body is faintly luminescent, her eyes wide and very dark. I have never seen anything more beautiful. Why doesn’t she pull away from me? The line of her mouth is soft. I wish – vainly – that she would kiss me, but she sits back again, rocking on my prick. That is not triumph I read in her eyes; for the first time since I met her, she looks afraid. I wonder if I have hurt her.
She swivels her hips, then licks her lips gingerly. I stare in wonder. She begins to describe swirling circles with her groin, her cleft still clasping my prick. Her hair is swept from shoulder to shoulder as she twists her neck. The moon-lines on her skin are writhing. I stroke my fingers softly across the small swell of her belly and into the sweaty tuft of her pubic hair, and she moans at my touch. I don’t quite believe this. Her eyes plead. Her skin is very hot. Gently I begin to match her movements with a counterpoint thrust of my hips. She gasps. My prick is still swollen and willing, filling her tight hole. I start to trace the pulsing silver lines across her skin with my nails and she rewards me with a look so grateful, so terror-stricken, that my heart nearly stops. She is grinding down hard on me now, her teeth bared, hardly breathing. My hands reach her breasts, trace the radiating lines back to the source at her out-thrust nipples. She throws her head back.
She comes, and the orgasm discharges straight down through me into the earth, hitting me with a second climax like a blow. This time I do black out.
I come to, and Galiena is still astride me, crouched low, her hair lying in drifts on my face and chest. She is weeping – silently, but her whole body is shaking. The lines on her skin are just blue scrawl now. She is so small.
I pull her gently down on to my chest and she does not resist, allowing me to slip my arms around her. She feels cold. It is not a very warm night, despite the season; if it were not for the cramps racking my own muscles, I would have noticed already that I too was feeling chilled. There is a sow-thistle or some such crushed under my left buttock which is quite painful. I roll us both over on the flattened grass so that we are lying on our sides, Galiena still in my arms. She slides one hand up around my shoulder-blade to clasp me to her. I kiss the tears from her face.
Her lips are soft.
It is the last hours of the night and we are lying damp and shivering in a Polden haymeadow, two naked people bruised and sore and besmirched with blood. Our clothes and shoes are probably miles away.
It will be a long walk home, my love.
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9780753523414
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Black Lace books contain sexual fantasies.
In real life, always practise safe sex.
This edition published in 2005 by Black Lace
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Originally published 2000
Copyright © Jane Ashbless, 2000
The right of Jane Ashbless to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN 978 0 352 33483 1
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.
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