| Subject: Chatper 202 - Part 2 (18 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, August 01, 07:23:18am
In reply to:
KatherineGilbert
's message, "Dreams in the Dark - Chapter 193 and onwards" on Thursday, July 07, 07:06:24am
She turned toward him, moving onto the bed, reaching out--her gaze so loving, hoping to break through his concerns. "I'm not afraid of you, Michael." Her smile was gentle, not certain whether she wanted him to fully understand how much she needed this--not certain whether it would help. "I never have been." And she certainly wasn't now that he was finally her husband for all the world to see.
He pulled away from her a little, afraid of what she was doing--afraid, even more, of himself. Despite his intentions, the rage was beginning to show--the damming up of his need for her about to drive him insane. "Don't humor me, 'Kita." His eyes were almost blazing. "Even I don't know what I'll do."
This was the truth, his mind still spinning. It had been too long a day--too long and furiously sorrowful, every plan awry. His rage at all of it--at the world, at fate, at himself--had been growing for hours, seemed impossible to overcome. More than anything, he had wanted to give her the perfect society wedding he had denied her before, wanted to see her to feted and adored, as she always should be. Instead, they had both been almost ignored, even with every step down the aisle; his hands clenched more tightly, the fury building. The only way toward safety was to just lie here tonight.
He wasn't as dangerous as he feared, of course--never was, with her--even if the torrent of his emotions was every bit as powerful as he had tried to express; the sorrow lingered somewhere in the depth of his eyes. But that wasn't what he wanted for this night, never had been. They had hopefully been given a reprieve from their enemies, however dubious. If he made love to her, for the first, official time, it should be gently, worshipfully--not simply as a man desperate to claim his partner, one looking for some temporary reprieve of his rage. That wasn't the sort of relationship he wanted with her; he had to close his eyes. But there was something in his partner's look which told him that she wasn't understanding this now.
She did, of course, even if he couldn't see it, but she still wasn't backing away. Instead, she was on her knees on the bed before him, her hands gentle on his shirt, as she tried to make him understand, his every reaction showing her the depth of his feelings for her--his need to both protect and devour her only making her want him more. His body was so tense--a panther waiting to spring--but she had never had any fear of him. "You're my husband now, Michael." He opened his eyes, the gaze pleading. "I don't want to run from you."
He couldn't give in, wouldn't allow himself to; his look was certain, serious--his words the truth, as he saw it. "You should." She didn't back away, however, the soft stroking of her hands over his clothed chest about to drive him mad, and he had to take a very deep breath to keep in control--not trusting himself even enough to move her away; his eyes relented only slightly, trying to make her see. "A husband should be tender." His gaze hardened again, warning her. "I'm not, tonight."
Oh, that was a lie. She only smiled, leaning into him a bit more--her proximity clearly winning over his body, at least, to her delight. And, despite his fears, she wasn't simply humoring him, wasn't just placing herself at the disposal of his desires--certainly never had--the day working her. Ever since she had heard the news earlier, she had wanted to go to him, to be held by him. As the ceremony had finally gotten under way, that need had changed, growing deeper--her husband just too beautiful for words. Even their sorrow on the ride home had made her want to beg him to kiss her, to hold her close--letting her know that everything would be alright. But now her desire was deeper, matching his own--both of them yearning for a confirmation of their love that only the most honest union could give; her eyes glowed. All she needed to do was convince him of the truth.
She began where she could, already not thinking very clearly--wanting him so much. Perhaps what she needed--what they both did--wasn't a softly romantic union but more a reaffirmation that they would be together, no matter what, a letting go of every formality. Her smile was teasing, making his look burn. All she needed to do was convince him.
"You're always tender," she whispered. She was leaning in, kissing his face, feeling his whole body tense even further under her touch--loving all it told her. Only she could make him this wild, could make him want to lose all control; he wanted only her this much. Her lips brushed lightly over his, pleased when she heard him almost growl. "Even when you're only thinking of more, you never hurt me." Her look found his, smile goading. "I'm not going to run."
He wasn't moving, had turned to stone in front of her, terrified of what he might do--but she wasn't paying attention. Her hand was traveling down his side, moving toward the part of him which had already given up any battles, beating hard and heatedly for her touch. But he couldn't let her. There was just no telling what he might do tonight.
"Stop," he ordered quietly, but the hoarse sound of his voice only made her moan--her mind running back. Even if he had forgotten, she remembered all his lessons, knew without doubt that he would never hurt her, no matter what his fears. He could be unhinged sometimes, it was true, but there had been no need to learn to love it--body and soul begging for more, from the first. He was always her lover alone; her eyes glowed. And she had no desire to stop at all.
She showed him this, breaking down his will, thrilled at every reaction she gained--whatever his obvious fears. She just smiled, as she sat back on her heels, letting her hair down before taking off the short-sleeved jacket which covered her dress, tossing it behind her, onto the floor. "What will you do to me, Michael?" Her smile deepened, reaching behind her to undo her dress. "What if I don't stop?"
Jesus. Her look was so sweet, tempting, but she had no idea of the fury which burned within him, of the ravenous desire he had for her form. It was always part of him, never went away, but it had yet to blaze so brightly--was quickly fogging over anything like sense. Perhaps he had been rather wild with her before, but he was rapidly approaching the animalistic; his gaze flared. And he wasn't at all certain he wanted to know what he would do.
She had no fears, however, knew him far too well. The dress started to dip forward over her shoulders, as she unfastened it, showing ever more of her skin. Despite the fears of the day, she hadn't bothered to wear a chemise, hoping for this. Well--her smile deepened--she hadn't quite been hoping for *this*; she almost laughed. Her imagination, it seemed, still needed a lot of work.
She was dearly dreaming of such lessons now, her eyes aglow. "Tell me, Michael," she teased, as the dress parted completely; one hand held it up for an instant to cover her form. She couldn't wait for his answer.
She might well get it, too, if he weren't careful--his breathing already shaky with need, with the pent-up desire and fury of the day. She didn't seem to notice, letting the dress slip forward, giving him a view of her very aroused nipples--coming close to making him scream. "I might . . ."
He hadn't finished, but his gaze was growing far more feral, his breaths incredibly shaky. "Say it," she goaded--clearly not understanding her real effect. He began to growl unconsciously, as she sat up further, pulling the dress over her head before discarding it--letting him see that she hadn't been wearing any underwear, either. His whole soul was burning--entirely uncertain how he had failed to notice this wonderful fact before; his eyes glowed, despite himself. If this kept on . . .
He spoke his fear, the terror which lingered somewhere in the darker parts of his soul. "I might rape you," he warned, gaze alight. And, for all he knew, he meant it. He had absolutely no sense of control anymore.
To his surprise, she laughed as though he had said something incredibly funny; he wasn't sure what. She was shaking her head, as she sat back, tossing off her shoes, before beginning to roll away her stockings. "Wrong answer," she smiled, as he watched one, perfect leg revealed completely, his eyes following it down to that place which belonged to him alone--feeling any understanding of right and wrong start to snap somewhere in his soul. Her eyes glowed, as she asked him again. "What will you do to me?"
She thought this was a game, thought he was playing with her--but he wasn't at all certain how to make her understand. His whole body was shaking, the fury about to break him--the part of him which wanted her the least subtly harder than it had been since he was 16, making him grind his teeth. He wasn't entirely certain what to do. Part of him wanted to run, to get away from her--but he couldn't protect her that way, should anything go wrong. Another part realized the sophistry of this argument, but he was quickly beginning not to care; his hand almost moved toward her, before he pulled it back--knowing what would happen if he touched her soft, tempting skin. Her smile only deepened. How could he make her see?
She did, though, far better than he, but she wasn't going to focus on logical arguments now. Practical example was far more effective; she almost laughed. She just couldn't wait to share the lesson.
Something in her burned far more deeply at the look in his eyes, at how totally feral he was becoming, and she had to keep herself from being embarrassed at the feeling of the honey escaping her core, silken on her thighs; she had wanted him for far too long today. She took off the rest of her clothes quickly, tired of them. She had no fear. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she would only enjoy it; he had taught her much too well and often to doubt him now. Her smile was almost tender. But she was beginning to wonder what she would have to do to make him break.
They were at the turning point, Michael ready to either flee or ravage her at any second--quickly losing the ability to decide what was best. She was sitting back on the bed, legs stretched out in front of her, her whole body on display for him, no fear at all in her eyes--only deep desire evident--and that thought alone nearly broke him. But it was the way she held out her hand in invitation, the way her eyes glowed, as she spoke, which finally did it--eliminating sense. "I thought husbands had privileges on their wedding nights?" Her gaze moved down to the part of him which throbbed for her so unrepentantly, her smile growing, as she regained his eyes. "Don't you want to take them, Michel?"
It was the use of his real name, the one he had run from for so damn long, which finally did it--the fury shattering him. Without conscious thought, he was tearing off his clothes, was going to have her, whatever she might have to say about it; his whole body grew even hotter at the thought of taking her, the growl starting deep--his clothes not coming away half fast enough. Soon, he was going to be inside her, was going to feel her sweet body yielding to him without barriers of any sort; he shuddered, kicking off shoes and socks, hands ripping off his belt. And then he would finally have the chance to release his seed deep within her, as she screamed.
It was this thought alone which broke him, making him mad to be inside her. He wasn't thinking clearly--wasn't really thinking at all--as he finally ripped away the last garment, so very ready to touch her. And he would--would teach her to tease him, to be so damn beautiful; his feral smile grew wider. And then she would learn what it really was to be his wife.
She was looking forward to this, loved him so much, wanted him so badly. She was just glad that she had remembered the name--was relieved that it had had the effect she had needed. He was beautifully naked, as he stalked toward her, looking far more dangerous than ever before, and something deep inside her started to tighten, begging--the truth between them so evident. This was clearly a lesson both of them needed completely.
He wasn't seeing this, wasn't seeing anything except her, except his absolute need to devour her. It had simply struck him that she was his--legally, societally, as well as in the most raw sort of fact; his smile burned her, as he moved in. And he was determined that she learn to thank him for this union every day for the rest of their lives.
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