This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction. You may wish to start at the beginning,here.
Alexandra woke, her mind teasing her from the lethargy of slumber. She knew instantly she wasn’t home. The sheets felt crisp, not her silken egyptian cotton, the pillow firmer beneath her cheek, the blanket over her heavier. Her eyes opened into the dark of an unfamiliar room; Alex’s heart lurched. She sat up, letting the layers covering her ripple into her lap, head tilted, listening.
The not-silence of a house asleep wrapped around her. She could hear the electric hum of the refrigerator, an irregular creaking Alex thought might be the shifting of the walls in the lake winds, and, somewhere close, someone’s breathing. The beat of her pulse leapt and she shivered in the warm room. “Victor,” she whispered.
Polished wood chilled the soles of her feet in irregular fashion as she passed from carpet to floor and back to a runner in the hall. Alexandra paused from time to time, head cocked, chest rising and falling as she sipped shallowly at the air. The near absolute darkness; the absence of light polution; left her navigating by touch and sound. Her hand trailed along the wall; she trembled when the contact evaporated.
A gentle blue glow outlined shapes in the room, cast by an alarm clock on the far side of the bed. Some small part of her mind noted the time; 2:16. Alex licked her lips. Her feet carried her towards the bed and the man sleeping there. The clock painted his features in stark contrast and she stopped, fingers casting a shadow on his jaw, a whisper from touching him. Alexandra sucked a breath in, shocked at her lack of control.
Victor moved with lightning speed; one moment she was pulling her hand back the next her wrist was held in an iron grip. “Alexandra.” His voice, coarse and burring with sleep, slithered inside her. She tugged and his grip tightened, holding her immobile. “What’s wrong?”
A shiver traced her spine, sending a quiver through every part of her but what he held still. “I just woke up,” she said, forcing her voice to be something more than a breathy whisper.
“Do you hurt?” He sat up, upper body rising smoothly, planes of his chest revealed by the falling sheet, and her mouth went dry.
“Hurt?” she asked, her mind scattering at his proximity. Alex couldn’t decide whether the darkness was a blessing or a curse. His tattoos seemed to writhe in the shadows, living creatures shifting over his skin. Her fingers reached out, wanting to feel, see if they were truly moving. His left hand snapped around her other wrist, catching it as her fingers brushed the skin of his chest.
“Alexandra.” Her name, delivered in a rasp that wound through her psyche, pulled her closer.
“Victor.” She leaned into his grip and his fingers tightened, making her gasp.
“No,” he said, his voice somehow hard and soft at once. Her lungs expanded, gathering air to protest and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “No, Alexandra, no,” he whispered.
His breath fanned against her lips, her fingers pressed against the skin over his heart, the beat strong and urgent. She could taste him, the sweat on his skin, the musk of his scent.
They teetered there on the edge, lips a breath from touching until he inhaled sharply and pulled back. In silence he tugged her into his bed, guided her down onto her side, spooned against her.
“Sleep, Alexandra, just. . .sleep.”
She laid in the circle of his arms, heart pounding, watching the clock count off five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Finally her eyes drifted shut, her muscles ceased their desperate clenching and she drifted off, not letting herself think about how good he felt, how he smelled, nor the distinct ridge of his cock pressed against her ass.
~*~
Continue reading in part 11 of the New Canvas
April 9, 2010
Categories: erotica, The New Canvas . Tags: erotica, flash fiction, flash fiction erotica, tattoo, The New Canvas . Author: Scarlett Greyson . Comments: 2 Comments