Shoreline

Shoreline

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Summary

Reminiscing about an Autumn Stroll along the shore...

Summary

Reminiscing about an Autumn Stroll along the shore...

Content

Submitted: November 12, 2013

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Content

Submitted: November 12, 2013

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That jagged, graceful bolt of shell on your pillow is called a lightning whelk. You may have felt its horns under your toes last night, when you dug them into the sand. I brought it back with us; it knows our secret. Put it to your ear now, and hear the waves, and remember.

You must have been so cold at first. Deep autumn, and the wind whipping the sea grass behind us; you clutched your arms over your belly as I led you to the rock. You gave me such a look when you felt my fingers curled under the collar of your robe! Uncertain, dark-eyed, and with that wry ghost of a smile, as if to say that for no other man would you stand in the bitter surf, with purple terry flapping about your calves. Did you know what I intended? You indulge me so.

Understand that your bare shoulders are finer than pearl to me. When the cloth fell away from your high, full breasts-- when your breath hissed at the sudden chill-- you seemed to draw the sea in at your lips, as the moon does. Spray from the waves wantoned with your hair, blew back the little ringlets of shadow and tickled my cheek. The ocean touched your naked body and fell in love with you, as I have. On every curve, in every hollow, wherever I've had my fingers, the sea-wind left its prints of cold and prickled flesh.

I've shared you with a frigid lover, miss, but I did so only to chase you back into my arms. Remember how you shivered, exposed to the sea and sky, your nipples pinched up into coral points. You laughed and begged me to cover you with the robe, but I meant to be your only shelter against the descending night. I made you wait for that, on toe-tip with each lick of the waves. Until you were fully ready for me. Until your body yearned for mine with a million nerves and pores.

How much better it was to feel my hands then, shaped to your breasts and blood-warm. The solace of my palms-- the heat, the sharp spider-work of wrinkles-- teased you then as if I were toying with your hardened nipples. I heard it in your sudden whimper. I felt it in the way you arched your back and pushed yourself into my grip. Could you feel my excitement? The steam on the nape of your neck, my stomach knotted into ripples where I drew you back against me? Could you tell that my organ stiffened, pulsed beside your thigh? You must have, for there you were groping up and back, your fingers sunk in my hair; your pale buttocks rolled and broke over my crotch, coaxing the burn you needed so. I couldn't wait to fill you with it.

More arousal, more heat; a simple, animal truth. Friction to feed the flame. When I pressed you down onto the rock you were already falling; your knees buckled. Such ice in that stone! Enough that you cried out and squirmed on your stomach, pleading for me without words. And then the weight of my body blanketing yours, my firm finger-purchase on your breast, your legs stretched and spread over the sand, toes curled in-- you dug up the whelk shell then. I'm sure you didn't notice.

You wanted what I wanted: to be warm, to be loved, to make that ache in you loosen its grip. You wanted to be speared by heat, sharp as the electric point of this shell; I wanted to curl into the damp hollow of you. I filled you with a thrust, and you moaned and jerked your rear up from the stone as if you'd touched a fire. Your broad hips bucked as I worked at you, fervently; you welcomed it with your gasps, your muscles, thrilled to my harsh breath in your ear. We coupled like sea and shore-- rude and stark, relentless, surging and falling back. Listen carefully, my love; you can hear the waves as they broke then, your woman's voice as it broke then, my groan as I swelled and poured my sticky heat into you. I imagine you trembling now, as you trembled then, with raw pleasure. You were warm again. Writing this for you now, I'm warm with the memory.

I'll have some coffee on, miss. When you're ready, come downstairs and join me. Bring the lightning whelk with you. The three of us can reminisce.


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