Sunday, June 30, 2013

Sparks


Sparks fly as the lamp meets the floor. The preternatural surviving light casts up, not down. We disregard the glittering broken glass, our hunger seeking another shattering force in the cotton-muffled quiet.

We cleave ourselves like twin sets of inverted contrasting shades, poised before blending, paused but a moment, then stirred.

Your breasts are shadows engulfing my face as I search like a babe in the night to suckle. I feast rapaciously upon your inky skin as your nether-mouth makes its meal of my willing flesh.

Fingers clutch evening-ripe fruit as dusk-imbued thrusts churn our pleasure. Shadowed wine melds with savory meat, twain mixed into ebon-hued desserts of desire.

Our palms palpate shaded silk, tongues taste luscious lux, all racing toward a black hole limned by seconds between breaths. Benighted gasps delineate proximity with their ravening pace toward an unlit destination on a darkling horizon.

We launch ourselves finally into blinding honeyed light, an explosion within uniting us at the point where we become brightened breathless one.

Fed and sated, we descend as if from twilight clouds. Though separate once more, we are joined in the glistening darkness of completion where sweet sleep awaits our arrival at night-colored doors.
__________
Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse
Words: 199
Originally submitted to Sinful Sunday—Week 38 via Rebecca Grace Allen
Photo prompt: origin unknown | Word prompt: sparks

Monday, June 24, 2013

Pearl Necklace



They replaced recollections of a food-poisoned wedding night with a do-over: fine dining dressed in wedding attire, a limo ride home.

Tonight he carried her across the threshold instead of joining her at the hospital.

They were needy after recovery, work, and celebratory preparations. By the time he kicked the door closed behind them, they wanted each other—immediately.

She clutched at him, afraid to be parted again, her hunger urging her on.

Her dress fell away as he clawed at her fastenings. No fancy corset this time; she learned the hard way it meant little. In his desperate scrabbling to bare her flesh, he broke her pearl necklace.

“So sorr—”

“No. Don’t apologize.” She pressed her lips to his to stop his words, stepping out of the gown to kneel down upon it.

“But—”

She stopped his words again, with her warm, eager mouth, working his turgid member with her lips and tongue in rapid strokes.

“Love, I’m so close—”

She pulled away, using her hands to finish him. looking into his desire-heavy eyes as he moaned through his release.

“There. A new necklace.” She smiled, craning her neck to the side, to show her now-relaxed husband her handiwork.

________
Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse Words: 199 Originally submitted to Sinful Sunday—Week 37 via Rebecca Grace Allen Photo prompt: origin unknown | Word prompt: pearl necklace

Monday, June 10, 2013

Hollow



Awareness washes over him like the morning light. He is as close to her as he can be without actually inhabiting her skin.

She is fetal-curled, unfurling as his warm hand drifts along her cooler skin. He wants to satisfy his hunger, to complete himself with her, in her. He can feel her wakefulness dawning as she stretches.

"Thompson said sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex," he whispers into the soft shell of her ear before kissing her fully awake.

"You fill the hollow, though. This is so much more than sex." Her eyes flutter as her senses rouse to his voice, feeling the length of his heat pressed along her thigh.

She rolled toward him and wound her arms around his neck, finding his lips with her own.

“I know. You fill me utterly. I love you.” Her leg wrapped around him, his heat found hers.

“I love you, too,” he sighed into her mouth, as she welcomed him within.
_________
Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse 
Words: 167 Originally submitted to Sinful Sunday—Week 36 via Rebecca Grace Allen 
Photo prompt, 2 of 2: origin unknown | Word prompt: Hollow 
Quote attributed to Hunter S. Thompson

Friday, June 7, 2013

Fairy Tales


“...The prince kissed the sleeping princess, who woke up and kissed him back. They declared their love for each other and lived happily ever after.”

The tiny girl hugged her grandfather. “Thank you for my story. But aren’t you too old for fairy tales, Grandpa?”

“We’re never too old for fairy tales, sweetheart. Now go with your mother.”

He eased himself out of the stiff, commercial settee and shuffled into the nearby room filled with muted regular beeping and white noise whirring.

Once blonde, her snow-white hair streamed across the pillow. The delicate nose and pouty lips he kissed for the first time as a strapping teen boy were still as lovely in repose six decades later.

Beneath unmoving parchment-like lids were the bluest eyes, like the lake before sunset. Dark tracery still framed them, her lashes lying against the faded cream of her skin. If only he could look into her calm, liquid gaze once more...

He took her cool hand in one palm as he stroked her hair with the other.

Leaning forward he pressed a kiss on her soft, familiar lips.

“Hello, princess. I still love you. Please wake me on the other side.”
__________

Copyright © 2013 Femme Malheureuse
Words: 197
Originally submitted to fan fic flash fic - Week 19
Photo prompt: origin unknown

Awarded Honorable Mention