Page 82 of Stoker's Serenity

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed, and I smiled as she rolled the condom down my length.

I shuddered. It felt so damn good already. Her hands on me, the rubber slick and smooth against my flesh. She made rolling on a rubber a damn sensual thing, but I craved the sensuality that was watching her lower herself onto my waiting cock. I craved the silken pleasure of my hands on her warm flesh, guiding her up and down over the top of me, my cock driving deep into her wet heat.

I lay back with anticipation as she lowered herself onto my cock, her hands behind her head, holding her thick dark hair off of her neck in an artful pile as she rolled her hips and took us both on a natural, pleasure filled high.

“That’s it, Orchid. Oh, so good…” I encouraged her softly, my eyes closing as I gave myself over completely to just feeling her body wrapped around mine, weighing me down, a comfortable weight, one I was glad to have in my life.

“Stoker,” she gasped and I smiled up at her, watching her take her pleasure above me.

Such a beautiful sight.

25

Serenity…

I felt like I was on some invisible edge, but not the kind that would send me into the shining fall of orgasm. That was some ways off yet. No, this edge that I rode was made up purely of my own mind playing devilish tricks on me. It was whispers in the dark that made frightened children hide beneath their blankets – though these whispers were of some very adult fears.

He’s lying, he’s going to take you back home and he’s going to make every excuse not to see you again. He can’t love you. You can’t even love yourself… this is over before it even got started.

He felt so good inside me, and all I felt was raw. I was emotionally blasted open, the fragments of my heart still raining down from the violent re-visitation of my worst trauma. I would do anything to erase it, even for just a little while. I was desperate to feel something, anything, other than the angry throbbing hurt of losing my first love and my utter guilt at my inability to stop loving him, even after what he’d done.

I wanted to feel something, anything, other than the fear that, just as I had dared to fall in love again, Stoker might leave me. That fear stung like cold fire against nerves I didn’t even know I possessed.

“That’s it, Orchid. Oh, so good…” He moaned and his eyes fluttered shut. I couldn’t help but smile, my eyes roving his face, his shoulders and chest, memorizing this moment, the sight of him in silent supplication below me, his hands urging me to roll my hips the way that I knew we both liked. The way that touched that spot deep inside me and urged me high enough to reach the stars.

I wasn’t ready to come yet, though. I wanted to make this last. I wanted it to last forever. I never wanted to go back to the girl I was. I wanted so badly to escape the suffocation of my life before Stoker, but I didn’t want to suffocate him in turn. I was so twisted and torn, and I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to think about it – I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Not now, not while I was so emotional, but it was just about impossible to think about anything else.

His hands drifted up my body, cupped my breasts, squeezed my nipples between forefinger and thumb, pulling on them gently, stimulating me further. I dropped my long thick locks and put my hands to his chest and rolled my hips like we both liked. My body felt lit, sparks of light and sexual energy surging, kindled low in my belly, just below my womb and swirling up through me, reaching for the sky.

I rolled my hips again, and my emotions rolled with the motion, roiling and swirling in a somersault, as though they were a drop of ink dripped into a glass of water, slowly dispersing, coloring my insides, becoming less concentrated the more the fire built inside me, seeping out of my pores, slicking my body with sweat, the air cooling my skin, the hurt evaporating with every slow arduous roll, with every deepening thrust of his body into mine.

It was as if the higher I went, the more I came down. Stoker’s touch, his love grounded me, giving me a safe place to stay, encouraging me to stay.

His eyes said ‘Trust me’,his hands told me, ‘I’m here’, and his soft gasp as I loved him begged me not to go anywhere, begged me to stay with him, and lent me the strength and determination to do just that. To stay, to fight, to take a stand, and to believe that my life could get better, that the past could be let go.

“God, Orchid, you feel so good. The things you fucking do to me…” he whispered, and I glowed from the praise. I felt invincible in these moments, impervious, like the love we created between us acted as a shield, and the hurt, the constant sorrowful ache, subsided within me and fell quiescent.

He calmed me. He grounded and centered me, and I only wished that I did something for him in turn, but I could never be certain.

I bent and kissed him, his hands going to my ass, holding me tight as he thrust his hips up and took over for a while, letting me rest but leaving me breathless.

“Don’t stop!” I begged when he paused. He sat up abruptly and I yelped in surprise, but he wasn’t done with me. Not yet. No, he was just getting started. He rolled me onto my back, my thigh bone feeling like it would surely break for just a split second, when he turned me. His arm an iron cable across my lower back, he laid me into the softness of the bed, his hands going to the outsides of my knees, hauling them up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his lean hips.

His fingers found the spaces between mine, curling over the backs of my hands as he played his lips softly against mine. He pressed his palms against mine, my hands into the bed and rolled his hips, carefully withdrawing and surging forward, and I fell.

I fell far, far away, down, down, and further down, dropping from the starlit sky clutching the ethereal stardust that was Stoker to my breast. Stoker, who stroked his long, lean body against mine, into mine. Stoker, who made me hope so dangerously that my life could, would, change and for the better.

“I love you, Serenity,” he whispered in my ear and a new, fresh set of tears sprang to my eyes, but there was no pain where they came from. When I was like this, when we were like this, there was no pain. There was no bad here…

A short time later, after we were both sated and when my tears had dried, we lay quietly in each other’s arms, drowsing under the light of the moon pouring through the bedroom’s window.

He had turned out the light, and come back to bed and I was almost lulled to sleep completely by the comfortable silence when unexpectedly, he asked me, “Why do you always ask me to put on a condom before we have sex?”

I paused and thought about it. I mean, really thought about it. I hadn’t realized I did.

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