It has been a long time.
And she was so very tired.
Tired of being used, of being beaten over and over, of having her trust betrayed by too many. She was tired of taking care of everyone, neglecting her own self. She was tired of being a shell of the person she was. So she built her fortress, building walls upon walls, each one equipped with detours and trou-de-loup. She hermiticised herself, watching the hordes and legions from the safety afforded by her sacrarium, and may the gods grant mercy upon anyone who dared to try to get too close, who attempted to chip at her walls. She fought them all, winning every war, no matter the cost, until at long last, quiet and silence reigned at her keep. In her impervious sanctuary, she began her long, arduous process to heal herself, to rebuild who she was, and realised that the repairs were imperfect. And so she continuously refused anyone beyond the outer ring of courtyards that surrounded the walls that she carefully, meticulously built around her own self.
She was exhausted; that utmost control, her impenetrable stronghold, was her last fulcrum, her final stand, her sole anchor.
Her tribe–her friends and her family–noticed her distance but they have encountered her carefully cultivated front and have learnt not to press forward. They knew she would tend them, would keep them safe, would never betray them. All she asked in turn was their distance. In her strained mind, she was protecting them from the cracked self that would shatter at the slightest hint of a breach. She offered them strength without taking any in turn. They didn’t know.
She had lovers whom she allowed to visit her bed for momentary respites, but she never left her guard, never allowed them in. Those who did not notice her walls often left. Those who felt her distance tried to cross it. They tried to find a door, a simple passageway. Most were fooled in thinking that they were able to tear down her enclosure, but in truth they were permitted to rent the outer mock-wall that she had placed as a diversion before they encountered her diligently placed silk-and-velvet covered impassable facade. Those who stepped back became a part of her tribe. Those who tried to be her hero were soundly beaten, tarred and feathered, and sent whimpering back to their disillusioned camp, where the next one waited to ride in the deluded, futile attempt to be her hero. She didn’t need a hero. She slew her own dragons, fought her own battles, and refused to let anyone triumph over her wars. They were hers to fight and to win, and no one else would take that from her. She didn’t want a hero and she could no longer afford to be generous with mercy.
This illusion was wearying, but the maintenance of her thick walls was paramount. One more betrayal, one more loss, one more illness, one more death, one more cold, casual dismissal of her would shatter her. Her solitude provided her with the security to survive. She may be fatigued, yet the alternative was considerably worst.
But she was tired. It has been a long time, and she wouldn’t know how to lower her perfect, thick, infallible defences even if she wanted to.
That is, until he began to wander around her walls and undeterred, began to explore, wondering at this strange, labyrinthian complexity that he stumbled upon. She let him. He was witty and kind and intelligent and she thought he would fit in nicely with her tribe when they were done being lovers. He could not trespass. He would not know how.
However, that was before he found that tiny, inconspicuous, minuscule crack. It was barely perceptible, an oversight on her part, a lapse in her vigilance. She didn’t even know that the infinitesimal fault existed until he had nestled in and began to burrow himself in. He may not have even realised what he had come across. She could only hope that was the case.
Her sole consolation was that she had so many meticulously plotted intricacies, that he would likely be bored and leave, but in the meantime, she would let him range whilst she carefully studied him and his exploration of that microscopic fracture. She would analyse what he would do and when he left, she would take what she had learnt and rebuild and strengthen that tiny, little fissure in her otherwise indestructible walls. After all, he could never breach her walls, never get too close. It was a test, an experiment, and he would leave her fortress alone, as her tribe does, as her past lovers do.
But she had underestimated him and she was idealistic in her calculations, and it was too late when she realised that the experiment would fail spectacularly.
Without isveçbahis yeni giriş either of them knowing how, he suddenly found himself within her inner chambers, where she was. They stood, facing each other, his eyes taking in every detail as the air thickened and dripped with unbridled desire. She waited for him to take in the ugliness of her battle wounds and of her scars, for him to take his pleasure in her, and then leave. She had hoped for that. She didn’t want him to pretend to have an interest. It was easier if they just used and took their release in each other, and he left without the conceit of concern.
She must be careful. He was too close. Much too close. She could scarcely breathe and she did not understand why she did not take her shield and armour and sword and dagger to drive him out. She could not understand how she allowed him into her inner chambers. Her heart pounded and she could feel the stirrings of deep, burning, bare desire deep within her pelvis, born not out of lust but out of care. She took a step closer, her eyes intense, her tongue moistening her suddenly dry lips. In a low voice, she invited him.
She needed to be careful–so very careful.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, the touch tender. She stood still. He didn’t ask if she trusted him. He knew that she trusted no one. He took his own step, closing the gap between them. He stared deep into her eyes and she braced herself for the battle with his gaze that would attempt to pierce her soul. She was prepared to win–and to reluctantly destroy him if she must.
But he didn’t.
Instead, in that look he showed her who he was, his own hurt and scars, his battles, his triumphs and his losses. He asked nothing from her, demanded nothing in return as his eyes shone his epics, hide nothing from her. He threw wide his own doors for her and she walked in.
She slumped, slightly leaning into his hand, feeling his warmth radiating against her skin.
It has been a long time.
But she’s treading in a dangerous trench. She must be cautious; she has not only seen his journey, but he has shown them inside of her refuge. She closed her eyes.
For a moment she thought she should take him to her bed, where she brought her past lovers. There, she would distract him–like she did with the others–with gilt and smooth sheets and lust and her body, leaving her depth unplumbed. Like with the others, she would give him the illusion of being her hero until she sends him back so she can remain in the comfort of her keep, untouched, her walls unscathed, her inner sanctum secure. Like the others, he would only discover that he couldn’t rescue her until back in his camp or joined her tribe.
His smooth voice filled her chambers, the richness of his timber vibrating. “You’ve seen me.” She nodded and the brief entertainment dissipated.
Maybe she could open a little. Maybe she could lower her guard a little, dropping her heavy shield. She still had her other weapons. It would take more courage than she has strength for, but she might be willing to try. She wants to try, even if she does not know how to.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes did not sing of her battles, of her reasons, of her bastions. She is not there yet. Instead, she showed him her rawness.
She waited for his repugnance, for his pity, for him to leave her in disgust. Nothing. She waited for him to take her, to consider that glimpse into her as a triumph. She began to calculate how she will exact her body’s pleasure and usher him out before he would be able to discard her.
What she did not expect is to be gathered into his arms, cradling her head to his chest. The strength of his arms told her that he will not let her go, that whatever indulgences they might find in their bodies and with each other, they were only secondary to him. She sighed and relaxed her shoulders a little.
She must be careful.
He brushed his lips across her forehead and she briefly closed her eyes, allowing herself that brief luxury of calm. They stood long moments in each other’s arms, breathing. She begun to feel a rousing deep within her, the uncovering of a longing that she kept hidden even from herself.
She felt alive. Tired but so very alive. It thrilled her and terrified her.
She lightly kissed him, the tip of her tongue teasing the seam of his lips. She pulled back and looked at him hard. It was her guarded offer and invitation and she would see whether or not he would take it.
He was still. She forced herself to hold the gaze, giving him space to decide. isveçbahis giriş She would not, could not, look away. She bit her lower lip, the first hint of the uncertainty betraying the cool, implacable veneer that she presented to him and to her tribe and to the world.
It was only then he released the pent up breath that he was unconsciously holding. It was only then that he bent his head and kissed her deep. It was only then that he accepted her invitation. He had met her on her terms.
His arms crushed her to him, his lips asking for nothing more than the moment. She swayed into him, her tongue sparring with his. Ripping her mouth from his, she threw her head back and brought his lips to her throat, holding him there. His tongue and teeth traced the column, flicking at the pulsing vein that echoed the rapid tattoo of her heart. She groaned.
He licked her neck, tasting her skin, before placing tiny kisses along her jaw and capturing her lips again. His kiss was deeper, aching. Her fingers began to remove his shirt while he tried to unbutton hers. His hands shook and he wasn’t able to manoeuvre the tiny buttons. She chuckled and stepped back, helping him. She shrugged out of her blouse and reaching back, unclasped her bra, letting the garment drop. She cupped her breasts, enticing his gaze and his touch. He reached out, lightly tweaking her nipples. She closed her eyes, her breathing quickening.
They stood half-naked against each other, her turgid nipples pressing into his chest, his hardening shaft pressing against her thigh, their lips and tongues and teeth and hands and fingers exploring each other’s mouths and skin, their hunger intensifying.
His hands roamed along her ribs, softly mapping her body, committing every curve to memory. He traced her half-healed wounds, his light strokes a searing purification. She felt her heat rise, her arousal strong and her shame overwhelming. His touch was a balm. It frightened her and yet she wanted more. She felt her control slipping, the bile of panic creeping as he soothed her scars, worshipping them as part of her own being rather than blemishes on a figure.
Her own fingers grazed over his naked torso. She dropped to her knees, her lips venerating the battle marks that were etched in his skin as her hands undid his belt and the waistband of his trousers, pulling them down to release his growing hardness.
She must regain control. He almost broke through and reached her. She must be careful.
She leaned forward, and grasping his base, dragged her tongue up his shaft. His hands flew to her head, his fingers tight in her hair. She swirled her tongue over his tip, his loud groan punctuating the silence of her chambers. She breathed a momentarily sigh of relief–the narrative will play out like before. An exquisite pleasure, but he will not be able to reach her, not if she unleashes all her prowess to distract him. She opened her mouth and, with all skills she could muster, launched her sweet campaign on him.
He pulled out of her mouth, his breathing heavy and thick. Tears pricked her eyes, surprising her.
She felt him kneel in front of her and cradled her face in his hands. She looked into his eyes, her gaze shadowed and steady. He gently kissed her and simply whispered “please”. He waited for her response.
She must be careful. The tension in her shoulders dropped and she tilted her consent with a nod of her head.
He sighed in relief and laid her down, gently tugging at her slacks, removing the rest of his clothes before stretching out next to her naked form. Leaning on an elbow, he looked down into her eyes, his hardness pressing against her, running his fingers from her collarbone down to her cleft. He slipped a finger through her folds and her wetness seeped. He groaned at the sensation, her sharp inhale a counterpoint. Lightly opening her thighs, he settled between them, cupping her ass and looked at her, his gaze holding the unasked question.
She must be careful. She was tired. She was alive. She needed to feel him.
She nodded and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. Lifting her hips, he lowered his mouth to her streaming apex and licked her entire slit. She moaned, bucking her hips. He held her tightly, his teeth gently holding her clit in place as he began his honeyed assault.
She moved her hips over his mouth, grinding deep into his face. Her hands held his head, her nails scratching his scalp. His tongue continued to circle and glide over her sensitive bud as a ball of tension quickly build deep in her pelvis and threatened to take her over. Calling out isveçbahis güvenilirmi in warning, pulling his head into her, she arched as her release took over, her juices covering his lips and tongue and chin.
Panting, her skin shivering, she tugged at his head, pulling him up to lie next to her. He obliged, his fingers, stained with her scent, lightly twirling her nipples, his stiff shaft throbbing against her thigh.
She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down for his searing kiss, sucking on his lips and tongue, tasting herself on him. His fingers reached down to tease her nub and her wet folds, his touch light and maddening. She moved her mouth to his ear.
“I need you in me,” she breathed. Her acknowledging of her need surprised her.
He hovered over her, gently swatting away her attempts to guide him in. Taking his hardness, he rubbed the head at her wet entrance. She groaned at the tease and opened her thighs even further, lifting her hips up to welcome him in.
He sank into her slowly, inch by agonising inch. She shifted her body, again trying to control the moment so that they would grind and pound and use each other until they became satisfied heaps of sweaty, quivering flesh, and he would depart, leaving her inner sanctum unscathed and she then could strengthen her walls. That would be safe.
But he would not and she didn’t want him to.
Propping himself onto his hands, he looked at her face, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt his hardness slowly inching forward. He stopped and whispered in reverence, “Please look at me.” Her eyes flew open and found herself looking into his stare. He still demanded nothing from her.
His eyes never leaving hers, he continued to push deep. His eyes darkened with yearning for her: not for the illusion that she presented to her tribe and to the world and to her lovers, but for the whole, exhausted, battle-weary her. Her own stare held nothing but her ache. The intensity of the gaze sent jolts into her pelvis while he bit back a strangled groan.
At long last, he buried himself deep within her, his shaft embedded to the hilt, her wetness enveloping him. They both sighed in relief. She wrapped her legs high around his waist as they began to move together, their rhythms matching, with the slapping of wet skin upon skin and their heavy breathing and groans erotic drumbeats that dictated this ancient dance.
She arched, exposing her neck and he lowered his head, his lips tasting her salty skin before grazing his teeth over the taut column. She moaned and she clenched her walls around his hardness. The ball of tension in her pelvis grew and she swallowed hard.
“Please.”
“Please what?” he asked her, his voice tight with want.
“Please… take. Please.”
He sighed in response. Her quiet supplication unleashed him from any restraints he may have been bound in. He began to thrust deep and hard, encouraged by her rolling hips and her gasps and moans. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she pressed him even deeper into her, burying her face in the crook of his next. She craved to feel him, the complete him, deep in her. She needed it.
His thrusts began to be frantic, his jerks unsteady, his growls louder and louder. She shivered and tightened her legs around him, revelling in the utter bliss of their bodies, her groans low, vibrating the hum of her racing blood.
“Cum with me?” he gasped. She gripped his back in response, her nails digging into his flesh, marking him as she arched against him, pressing her entire body into him, her pulses rising from her clit, snaking through her skin.
With a final growl, he plunged in deep, the tip of his hardness kissing her cervix as she clamped down on him, a low moan ripping from her throat signalling her releasing of the hard ball that was building the moment he entered her, her orgasm overtaking her body like liquid fire. She could feel the twitches of his shaft as he emptied himself, her walls massaging and aching for every drop of his release, his panting hot in her ear as he collapsed onto her.
After long minutes, he slowly withdrew from her, rolling onto his back, and she surprised herself when she pouted at the sudden loss. He smiled, thumbing her lower lip. Her dimple flashed and she gently nipped his digit.
He opened his arms and she settled in, her head on his chest, feeling his breath stir her hair, tickling her damp forehead. He still asked for nothing, demanded nothing more than what she was willing to give. She sighed and briefly closed her eyes, feeling his heartbeat quietening beneath her cheek.
Maybe she can rest a little. Yes, just a little and maybe for a little while longer.
She needs to be careful, but maybe–just maybe–she wouldn’t need to be so guarded.
The thought didn’t terrify her as much as she thought it would.
It has been a long time.