A walk by the sea (33)

They stepped into the house at the same time; he turned to her apologetically, but she only squeezed his hand. She could not say that she loved the unison between them, the fact that he was by her side, that they were one, together, in that moment. She was unable to speak.

She had a myriad of thoughts circling in her brain, all of which were connected to Joshua. She was still on the verge of mistrust and disbelief: how could she possibly accept the fact that he- that he loved her? That he wanted her? How was it decided by the gods, or heavens, or fate, who received joy, and who received pain? She had had her share of pain, but everything faded into oblivion when he made her face him, look into his eyes, and kiss him.

This time, the kiss felt again different. His lips said, I crave you, body and soul, please let me possess you, his breath said, You are mine, and I will be yours, and it will be heaven, his arms said, I love you, give yourself to me, trust me, as I will not forfeit that trust. She was deafened by the voices that floated to her from him, and from all of them, the voice of his perfection sang to her most clearly. She felt herself surrender, give up all that she used to be, and prepare to metamorphose into someone new, someone who believed in herself, someone who saw not only beauty around her, but also, love, powerful, uncontrollable, instinctive, divine.

-Joshua… –she breathed into the void with her eyes closed, sending a plea to no one in particular, to be given some time. A moment to catch her breath and be able to stay on her feet.

He heard her plea and held her tight, waiting for her to open her eyes.

-Your kisses… bring me to life –she gasped, shaking. She probably sounded ridiculous, but she was past caring about appearances.

He smiled, moving his arms around her back, to her waist, and hips. Pulling her close, so close that she felt his impatience.

-I… will be right back –she said quickly, getting rid of his embrace and locking herself into the bathroom.

oh God help me now make it quick make it painless or painful make him enjoy it and then leave and never come back make me see his face just his face let him be a part of me until I die

She had never prayed too much, not even when she was supposed to feel close to God. But now the words fled her soul and flew up into the skies and she could not stop them, neither did she want to. Her emotions were tight in her chest, and her brain did not function. She did not know anything any more, she only felt things, impossible, wonderful, magical, unearthly things.

Looking into the mirror a terribly fear seized her. Not the fear that he would find her ugly and old, even though she did look like a scarecrow: her hair was ruffled, her facial skin was sagging and red on the cheeks, her eyes were large and she looked like someone who had not slept in ages. But the awareness of it, and also that of not caring about it- that scared her most. Her mind said, she did not belong with him. He needed someone younger, emotionally more stable, someone who could walk on the paths of life with him, grow old with him, bear him children. She was a fruitless tree that stood alone in a vast field, reaching out desperately for sunshine and raindrops and soil to grow her roots into. No one had even looked at her, because everyone preferred the young, blooming ones, full of emerald leaves and garnet fruits and topaz blossoms. He was the first one to sit down in her shade, lean his tired back to her trunk, and gladly receive the rustling of her withering leaves into his soul. It was a miracle- he was a miracle. And through him, she felt like a miracle, too.

Grasping the edge of reality with her trembling fingers, she forced herself to think practically. Why had she come to the bathroom? To- prepare herself, to get ready, but- what was there to do? She was useless, racking her brain what she could do to make herself more presentable, more worthy of his eyes. The more she thought about it, the more pain she felt, and shame, and anger. She was not supposed to meet him now. It should have happened when she was young, beautiful, perfect.

It was in vain, it was too much. She tore the door open and walked into the kitchen without a word. Her shame was resting on her eyes like a black veil, and the maddening thoughts in her brain were muffling every sound, every feeling she could have had.

It was only when she carried the tray in that she realized she had been making tea. The liquid of the British, the pretext for everything. That, and the weather. She had hidden behind one of them, now was the time to bring up the other.

-It is quite warm for this time of year, don’t you think? –she asked, feeling stupid, almost laughing out loud.

He never laughed, and never replied either.

She felt a hand touch hers, fingers lock themselves into hers, and a gentle pull, and before she could think straight, she was sitting on his thighs, her knees pushing into the sofa. Her old legs were protesting, her muscles tense, her bones hurting slightly, but she forgot all of it when it sank in.

She was sitting on him, and his hands were on her hips, and his eyes locking hers. Dark pools of perfection, vortexes of desire, pathways to his soul. She did not dare breathe as she watched his eyes, fascinated, feeling tiny, feeling special.

A hand reached out to hers, gently forcing it to touch his cheek. His stubble felt rough, and the skin above it soft, creamy, and very warm. His hand directed hers, to his cheek, his closed eyes, his forehead, his other cheek, and his lips. His breath moistened her palm, his eyes opening again to stare into her, stripping her of her fears.

His lifeline on his neck pulsated under her hand, and she pressed her hand to it, in awe, feeling his heart beat faster and faster, in synch with her broken breaths. She wanted to swallow, and talk, share her feelings with him, with the universe, but no words formed in her mind, only colours, emotions, sensastions. Crimson. Brooklet. Thunder. Waves. Purple. Silence. Heaven. Peacefulness. Craving. Urgency. Pain.

He took her hand and slowly pushed it under his shirt, to his chest, where his heart was causing minor earthquakes between his ribs. She felt weak as she realized that it was because of her. The tiny nipple felt soft and warm in the nest of his chest hair that covered his skin in abundance, reminding her of a soft meadow of wheat and flowers, shaped into waves by the wind, her fingers.

Her hands moved without her telling them to do things. She watched her own fingers unbutton his shirt, exposing his chest, that heaving perfection of hills and valleys. She couldn’t stop staring at him, stroking him, moulding his perfect hills with her hands, tracing the grooves of skin and bone, watching in awe as his lips parted, unable to contain the power of his breath.

And then, she gasped as he tore her shirt open, sending miniature buttons flying around, to the delight of a very observant Marshmallow. As the cat chased the buttons, making Mary grin and forget her shock, his hands closed on her hips and he pulled her closer, lower, tight against him. A quick click of the bra and skin was pressed to skin, nipple against nipple, creating flames that were preparing to engulf them both.

He seemed to stop, settle, take his time, his lips tantalisingly close to hers, his breath heating her mouth. His eyes were gigantic and searching hers, his hands were slowly tracing the length of her spine, sending shivers, making her shake, making her want to melt into him. And then, his hands ended up on her hips, and he made her move slightly, and as she felt his desire bulge underneath her, she could not hold back and she kissed him.

The moment would last forever if she wanted it to. Time was no threat as all the passion she had been suppressing over the long years erupted from her, into his mouth, around his back, onto his groin. Her kisses were those of a hundred lovers, a dozen storms, volcanoes and hurricanes. She felt alive, she felt wanted, she had a purpose: to make him happy. His moves were urgent and demanding, but beneath it all, she sensed his gentleness, and she loved him even more for it.

And then, she was flying. Kissing him, holding him tight, his arms around her. She was floating, she didn’t care where, and how, and why- his lips on hers and his body pressed into hers was the only thing she had to know of.

When she felt something soft under her back she realized he had taken her into the bedroom. She opened her eyes, dizzy from the flight, looking into his dark pools, receiving his lips and tongue on her lips, then, her neck, her breast. She lost track of time completely, and she had no idea if she was wearing anything, but apparently not, because her skin recognized his when he eased himself down on her.

From somewhere deep within her, another fear emerged- that of not knowing what to do- untouched for so long- what if it would hurt and what if she would be unable to give him pleasure-

He sensed her uncertainty and kissed her gently, tracing his lips on hers, holding her face between his hands, as if to say, don’t be scared, I have everything I need, and I won’t hurt you.

Her legs opened beneath him, by a woman’s ancient instinct, by craving, by love and surrender. She expected him to kiss her, but instead, he made her look at him as he slowly entered her and made her complete.

The warmth she felt was overwhelming her senses, the feeling of completion was the most divine blessing she had ever received. To cradle someone she loved, deep inside her, hold him and protect him and make him feel loved. She wanted to stay like that forever, immobile, connected, whole.

But the urge for satisfaction was greater in both of them, and as he slowly moved his hips, he finally kissed her. The slowness of his lips was following that of his lean body, and she was unable to do anything. It was too much, too perfect, too heavenly. His love was blinding her, deafening her, muting her, and she felt like all things, together, in one, time, space, the universe, she felt like a human, and like animals, and like inanimate objects that craved to be alive. She knew that what she felt could have redeemed all sinners, could have made every miserable soul happy, would have made the world a better place. If only everyone got to feel what she felt.

Colours mingled before her eyes, colours that returned to her to paint the most perfect canvas she had ever imagined, a fusion of rainbows and sensations of abandon and belonging and love. As he started moving faster, his lips groped for hers more clumsily, blindly, not caring if they touched her lips or her face or her neck. His breath grew ragged and hers stopped altogether, feeling some kind of bliss fill her to her brim, warm, soft, safe, immortal bliss, that of the senses, that which knows no end, as time doesn’t exist in a glance of the divine. She stared into it, not grasping what she saw, or felt, only looking, as she slowly sank into the warmth that spread to her whole body.

His moans brought her back to reality, and his urgent thrusts prolongued her pleasure which was now merely earthly pleasure, but even now it felt more wonderful than anything she had ever experienced before. When he tensed, and groaned into her ear, she received his exhausted body onto hers, holding him with gratitude and love.

Behind her closed eyes, memories of the heavens played, morphing into each other, teasing her, promising her more. She was out of the world she knew, only focusing on his closeness, his slowly calming breaths, his soft kisses on her neck.

She knew she had seen God.

(To be continued- yes, continued- if I live)

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