She remembered.
As she lie awake, alone, in the wee hours of the morning, she thought of him. She remember him.
She remembered his fingers combing through her dark hair as she ran a single manicured nail up the length of his manhood...She could still feel it growing from her smooth touch...She remembered how innocent this gesture, how it allowed her to fall into a sleepless slumber.
And she drank to forget, but it only made her remember. Remember that she was him and he had made her. So she drank, every night, just enough to keep the demons at bay.
But more than all of this, she remembered as she lay in bed, alone or with the rare someone that made it that far, she remembered.
Remembered how his voice sounded the day he called her...Shaky, unsure, not him. How they had talked, making idle chat...He, not sure which way to take the indiscretion, how to make it better. Her, sure of what she wanted...Sure of who she was and who she would have been without him...
She remembered the look in his eyes that first time since the betrayal. The single tear. The tear of truth, remorse...Lifting an unsteady hand to her face...His lip quivered as he leaned to press his lips to hers. She remembered the break down within.
She could still taste the salt of his skin as she made a trail down his body. She could taste the first drop as she pulled him into her mouth...So hard, so smooth. She swirled the head, making it harder than before. He clutched her neck as the moans escaped his mouth.. She remembered how he couldn't take it anymore. He was so strong. He pulled her on top of him. She straddled him, lowering herself onto it, gasping in unison. His hand on her back, struggling to make them one again. She could still feel him throbbing inside of her. His hands moving to her hips, his eyes looking into her soul...Searching for forgiveness. She pushed...She couldn't give him what she needed...The wounds still fresh...He was weak and begging for absolution...A desperate being, fully feeling the weight of his own desperate actions.
And she remembered the second break down, she remembered that with each thrust, his deceptions fell away, freeing her and deftly covering the truth.
3 comments:
Critique-wise... since it was invited...
I think this is a good snippet. But to work as part of a story, it needs to exist within a larger context. The context may end up re-shaping it or it may end up leaving it on its own but framed.
To express what I'm getting at, I think about Bunni's sex/erotica buried within the stories about her French vacations. I'll try to find a link for it later if you don't know the stuff I'm talking about. More the Paris stuff a couple years back, pre-Frehel and pre-Current-Paris.
What I particularly like about her version, which is missing here, is the foreplay and the cuddling after -- in her case the travelogue -- I need to know how our heroine ended up in this bed remembering. And I need to know what she does (or doesn't do) with these night-thoughts the next day. I know. I know. I'm such a chick about this romance stuff.
More? Do write more.
Thank you, 'mouse...I'm going to start working on the bigger picture!
And my heroine doesn't cuddle! lol
Got it: Start here and work your way forward thru the archives. It's the 1/31/05 entry that's stuck with me over the years, for obvious reasons.
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