by Lola StVil
“While I was happy as hell to be able to touch her, it sucked that I had only a matter of hours. But I knew that I could bitch about not having enough time or I could use that time well. And we did. Believe me, we used every second we had. So stop moaning about the shit you want, and deal with what you’ve been given.
“Pryor wanted to be with you. You dealt her a load of shit and told her to deal. Now she’s doing the same thing. So suck it up and go be with her. Even if she was giving out only five minutes of her time, you need to be on that line, hand out, happy to get the five minutes. You fucked her over; she doesn’t owe you anything. So stop being so prideful and go see her.”
“This isn’t about my pride,” I protest.
“Isn’t it?”
“I can’t hold her knowing I’m going to have to let her go. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m staying away from France.”
“If you can spend the entire weekend and never step foot in that house, then I was wrong; you’re not in love.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Complicated Melody
(PLEASE BE ADVISED THERE IS MATURE CONTENT BELOW. YOUNGER READERS CAN SKIP THIS CHAPTER WITHOUT MISSING ANY PLOT POINTS.)
Friday night comes and I manage to stay away from Europe altogether. I fill my time with charity work like our parents drilled in us. But every free second I have is filled with thoughts of Pryor and what she may or may not be doing at the moment. Time never moves at all in my mind. It feels like it’s been Friday for a month now.
Saturday morning, she’s my first thought when I open my eyes. By noon I’m in France, making my way to her. I’m pissed at myself for going because I know the heartbreak that awaits me. Yet my dad is right, I can’t stay away.
When I find the house she’s staying in, I land a few miles away. There are multiple estates spread throughout the countryside, but they are miles from each other, assuring all the residents have privacy. I walk up the garden path that leads to the large stone house. The trees on the property boast bright fall colors and the stone archway is covered in flowers and vines. I go around to the garden in the backyard and see her through the window. She has no idea that I’m there. She’s talking on the phone.
“No, Randy, I haven’t heard from him. I thought he’d come, but maybe I was just fooling myself…what?…no, I’m not gonna call him…because, I’m just not…I know…okay. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry about me. I can stick it out until Sunday; you don’t need to come. I’m fine…love you too.” She ends her call and puts her cell down on the kitchen counter.
She looks out the window but doesn’t see me thanks to a tree with cascading branches. She looks beautiful. She’s wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt. I always marvel at how amazing she looks with the simplest outfits. Her face looks freshly washed and her hair is pinned up and away from her face.
She keeps herself busy by cleaning up although the house is already spotless. She keeps looking at her cell and silently cursing me. It really screws with me to see her so upset. Many times I go to knock on the door, but at the last moment, I stop myself. I keep playing out that moment when I will have to let her go, and I can’t seem to get past it.
Saturday night she reads one of her mom’s favorite books in bed. But she stops every few pages to look at her watch or out the window. I’m in the air, too far away for her to see me. When midnight hits, she’s given up on looking at the time and falls asleep with the book in her hand.
I quietly enter the bedroom and stand over her. She is so fucking beautiful. Her hair falls around her face and she’s curled up in a ball as her wings wrap around her to keep her warm. I brush a stray hair from her face and quietly fly away.
It’s now Sunday night and I am officially unable to stay away from her any longer. Yet I would have held out had I not seen her through the window, crying. She’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, with her head in the palm of her hand. She’s wearing a scoop neck, white peasant dress (Key and Diana’s obsession with fashion is the only reason I know that). Her bright red hair falls down onto her bare shoulders. Her soft cries complement the dark, brooding grey sky looming above.
I don’t think I fully appreciated her struggle to be a woman and a leader until now. In the corner of the room, she has packed her things. That is the leader part of her. She knows whether or not I come see her, she will still need to go back home and do her job. I can’t help but be proud of her.
Dear Omnis, how do I do this? How do I let her go?
This is what she wants, Aaden. This is what she needs from you. Give her what she asked for even if that shit hurts. There is nothing more important in this world but the girl sitting on the bed, weeping at the thought of never being with you again. If she asked for your wings, you’d hand them over. She asked for one last night, so give her what she wants…
I make my way over to her and kneel before her. She lifts her head up and finds me looking back at her. Her eyes brighten instantly as I wipe the tears from her face. She smiles sadly, and all I want at this moment is to make her happy. I take out a vial of Tam, the liquid that ensures she doesn’t get pregnant, and put it to her lips. She drinks; I take her hand in mine and walk her up the stone steps and into the master bedroom.
We stand facing each other, a few feet from the four-poster bed. A cold breeze makes its way over to us from the window. It blows her hair gently away from her face and makes her breasts perk up beneath her dress; she isn’t wearing a bra.
I crave this woman like a Tic craves his drug, like a demon craves power. Or an angel craves the light. My need to be inside her is so overwhelming if I don’t put my hands on her right now, I will lose my fucking mind. I slide my hand behind her head and bring her towards me. Our faces touch, but our lips have yet to meet. The heated gaze between us is bound to set the house on fire if we don’t pacify it with a kiss.
I wrap my hand around her throat and press her against my body. I drink from her lips as if they are the only thing that stand between certain death and me. She pulls my shirt off and puts her warm silky tongue to work, skimming across my chest. I swear under my breath as her touch brings about an all-consuming yearning in me.
I slide her dress off her shoulders and expose her plump, full mounds. I knead and mold them with my hands; she leans her head back and closes her eyes. I focus on her nipples, moving my tongue over and around them. When she least expects it, I pop one into my mouth. She gasps as her nipples go from soft, small mounds of sand to perfectly pink, hardened pebbles.
She yanks me closer, unfastens my belt, and unzips me. Having her fingers make contact with my member makes it go from firm to granite. She removes my boxers and lightly slides her fingers along the length of the rock. It remembers her. And responds as if it’s been waiting for her touch all this time.
Shit! If I get any harder, I’m going to die. This woman will kill me.
I close my eyes and try to regain control, but then I feel her warm mouth around the tip of my hardness. Control is out of the question. She’s gliding her tongue across the surface of my member like a highly trained ballerina gliding across the stage. She forms a circle with her mouth and takes me in, all of me. Her rhythm? Hypnotic. Her technique? Unmatched. Her stamina? Lethal.
“Pry, baby…shit!” I call out.
I cannot stand it. I have to be inside her. Right now. I pick her up from the floor, slide the rest of her dress off, and lay her down on the bed. There is no underwear to remove; she isn’t wearing any. I’m so damn aroused now it hurts.
I glide my lips along her inner thighs as she trembles in anticipation. I wedge my face between the folds of her sex. I don’t enter. I “knock” first—with my tongue. My need to enter her is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. The only thing greater is my desire to please her. So when she begs me to enter, my lips and I do as she wishes.
She cries out in ecstasy as I explore her from wall to wall. The sweetness, the warmth, the slickness—all serve to make this the only place I wan
t to be. I find her swollen tip and introduce it to my tongue. They become fast friends. So I give the engorged peak my undivided attention.
“OhmyOmnisohmyOmnisohmyOmnisohmyOmnisohmyOmnis,” she pleads, no longer able to keep her hips on the bed.
“It’s okay, I got you,” I vow.
“No, not like this; I want you inside me, please,” she says breathlessly.
I sit up in the middle of the bed next to her. She comes over and gradually impales herself onto me. The orgasm we have been seeking gets closer with every inch of me she takes in. Our arms and legs are wrapped tightly around each other.
Her breasts bounce in perfect rhythm along with her. Unable to pass up the chance to suckle on them once again, I whisk my tongue over her distended nipple. I coil around it, trap it between my lips, and suck vigorously. I use one hand to fondle her other nipple. My other hand slides between her thighs and rubs along the tip of her slippery folds. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she emits a low growl.
As the passion builds, we interlock our fingers; she continues grinding her hips into me. She rides me so slow, it’s torture, sweet torture. Her walls release and contract around me in patterns that make it impossible to keep my grip on reality. She holds me captive and takes me deeper than I’ve ever been with anyone.
I’m deep-sea diving; the further down I go, the more mind-blowing it gets. I’m seeing colors I didn’t know existed. Taking in sensations too wondrous to be described. Being inside her is so intoxicating the world goes away. Everything that ever existed vanishes—the world outside, the bed beneath us, and the sky above. The world has dimmed down to us.
We want to be locked in the throes of passion for as long as we can stand it, so we do our best to delay, but eventually, the orgasm is too big to fight off. The Inner Arc, the human orgasm, happens first.
“Ahhhhhhhh…” she cries out sharply.
The ecstasy coursing through Pryor’s body is paralyzing. When it finally releases her from its grip, her eyes glaze over as she whimpers and shivers helplessly in my arms. When it hits me, I swear, clutch at her bare thighs, and grunt. I then fall back onto the bed, drained by the rippling sensations that engulf me.
Soon after, the Outer Arc, the angel orgasm, occurs. It forms a massive orb that surrounds us. It’s so powerful it moves the building off its foundation. It then forms a surge of energy and divides itself. One half enters Pryor and the other enters me. It shows us what the other was feeling before the orgasm. We hold to each other tightly, fearing we will both cease to exist if we let go.
She lies naked and still on my chest. I run my fingers through her hair as I look out at the sky. There’s no need for Pryor to cry anymore, the night is doing that for her; the rain has broken through and now taps steadily on the window. She lightly taps on my abs with her index finger, trying to get my attention.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Always.”
“How are you?” she wonders.
“I was fine before, but just now some hot redhead almost drained the life out of me. I was lying here hoping she’s willing to do it again,” I reply with a smirk.
“Aaden, how are you?” she asks again.
Her tone tells me she’s looking for more than a quick-witted reply. She genuinely wants to know what’s going on with me. That’s one of the differences between other girls and Pryor. It’s not enough that I look fine; she will push to make sure I’m actually fine.
“It’s been rough, but it’s getting better,” I reply.
“I miss her too,” she confesses.
“I know,” I assure her.
She falls silent again while I travel in my mind’s eye and revisit moments I know better than to recall, moments that will make saying good-bye that much harder.
I see her standing by me at my father’s bedside in the clinic. I fell apart as the monitors indicated my dad was dead. Pryor took my hand, held it firmly, and said, “Hey, don’t look at the Life-Scan. Look at me; look at me…”
I watched her roar with laughter as we trip and land in a pool of mud while helping a human family stuck on the side of a mountain in Ireland. She could have made a fuss because her clothes and hair got dirty, but instead she started a mud fight with me to keep the human kids entertained.
I remember her coming to my room and having to be up-front with her about how I felt. I tried to think of something to say, but in the end, I just blurted out, “I lied before when I said I didn’t know what I wanted. Just don’t know if it’s what—fuck it.” Then I leaned in and kissed her for the first time. That’s when I realized she was walking around with half of me and that I was incomplete without her.
That’s followed by my favorite memory: The first night we made love. She was afraid and uncertain. She did a good job hiding it, but I knew she needed to be reassured. I held her and told her the truth. “Pry, when I’m inside you, I’m only there to do one thing: love you. That’s it, Pry; for the rest of my life I only have one job: love you.”
Just when I think it’s over, I flash back to her holding me after the root forced me to relive my days at the Center. She called out to me and said, “Bishop didn’t break you; no one can. I won’t let them. You’re mine to protect. You’re mine to save. And I will. I will always save you.”
“You okay?” she asks, pulling me back to the present.
“Aaden, are you all right?” she asks again as she lifts her head from my chest.
No, I’m not. This is my fault. How could I fuck this up? I didn’t do my job. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. And I’m so sorry that the biggest attack on your heart was from me…
“Aaden!” she says, growing concerned.
“Oh, guess I was drifting,” I reply as I smile at her.
“It’s okay. I drifted too,” she admits.
“Where’d you go?” I ask.
“Back to first grade. When you convinced me we could sneak into the teacher’s classroom and raid her candy drawer. You swore we would not get caught,” she reminds me.
“It’s your fault—you told me to try the giggle-flavor Snaps.”
“I said to try one, not fourteen!” she counters playfully.
“I have no regrets,” I reply proudly as we share a laugh.
“Speaking of which, I want you to know I don’t have any,” she says in a now serious tone.
“Any what?”
“Regrets,” she says.
I turn away from her and look out at the drops gathering on the window; she sits up and takes my face into the palm of her hands and makes me look at her.
“Aaden, I would never trade what we had—ever. So please stop being so hard on yourself. Forgive yourself. You lost so much. You deserve a little kindness.”
“It’s not that simple, Pry.”
“Look, I said some awful things to you since you’ve been back; that was just anger. Yes, it hurt when you left me, but loving you has been worth every moment. I didn’t start living until you loved me. You believed in me. You made me feel things I will never feel with anyone else. Being with you hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been worth it.”
I don’t reply. She studies me closely, trying to figure out what’s going on with me. I smile, but she’s not buying it. It’s hard to hide from a woman who knows both your mind and body so well.
“Can you talk to me?” she whispers as she straddles me and runs her hand through my hair gently.
“When I was in Rio, every day on my way home from work, I’d see this elderly human couple. They had to be in their nineties. They’d sit on the same damn bench every day, just watching the world go by. The last day I was there, a young couple walked by them and started a conversation.
“The young couple had been married only three weeks before. They asked the older couple how long they were married. The old woman said, ‘Seventy-two years.’ The newlyweds asked what the secret to staying together was. The old man squeezed his wife’s hand and said, ‘It’s easy. When you fi
nd her, you just don’t let go.’ Pry, I’m sorry I let go of your hand.”
She promised herself that she’d be gone by sunrise, so she silently begs the darkness to stay with us. She dreads the moments that are slipping away from us. We have no more power over the sun than we do over Omnis. We are victims of time just like the humans. And once the sun breaks through the window, death will follow. Not the kind of death that comes at the hands of an enemy. But rather the kind that comes when love is over, truly over.
While I can’t stop time, I try to remove the clock ticking in her mind. I pick her up and place her bare body on my lap so that her back is facing me. I kiss the nape of her neck and trail down to her shoulder. She reaches back and rakes her hand through my hair.
I lightly sweep my thumbs over the tips of her breasts. She inhales sharply, indicating they are sore from earlier. I go to take my hand away, but she moans in protest. I smile. While the soreness makes her wince slightly, the pain also arouses her. I place her puckered flesh between my fingers. They stand erect and eager for attention. I slip my free hand between her legs; she is dripping wet.
“Why do you feel so fucking good?” I swear in her ear.
She pushes my hand deeper inside her. I move my fingers like a pianist lightly tapping the keys as he plays a fast, complicated melody. She writhes and moans in my arms. The melody goes faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
She bucks her hips back and forth uncontrollably as she milks my hand. I find the tip of her center. It’s smooth, warm, and pulsating. I capture it between my fingers and tap on it. She arches her back and screams.
“Aa-Aaden, again! Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase!”
I “play” the same key again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“YES! YES! YES! YESYESYESYESYESYESYES!” she screams.
The surge is too much for her; she can’t stand it. Her body has no idea what to do with the amount of euphoria rushing through her. First Noru or not, this wave is too much. Her wings expand, her eyes blur, her head falls to the side. The rest of her catapults forward. I pin her down in my arms and hold her as the orgasm rips through her. It’s several minutes before she regains control. She bursts into tears in my arms. I press her up against my chest and rock her back and forth.
