Divine Liaisons

by Poppet

  “Who are you?”

  Dipping, he holds my chin, tugging my mouth open to slip his tongue over mine. Still deep in me, his hips start to move. Scorching satin runs over slippery muscles, grazing my body's lips, already so taut and hot.

  Imprisoned inside his arms again, his body slants back over mine, slowly rubbing his chest over my nipples with excruciating delicacy. Gliding his hips side to side, he twitches and skims until he's arcing my body back into oblivion.

  Running palms over etched arms bulging with coiled strength, I curl my fingers in his hair, pulling his lips hard against mine to trace my tongue against his, running around his bottom lip and pulling him into my mouth the way he's inside my body.

  Riding me the way he is, I'm losing control, my body trickling languid poison through me, intoxicating my senses, until it's shuddering, quivering, gripping my body around his erection, and I'm crying out into his mouth.

  A javelin of intense tension holds mine hostage. With my head off the floor, holding tight to his shoulders, his body inhales out of mine before exhaling in a knife sharp punch, breaking me with pleasure and pain, branding my core, skin, folds, with his widening orgasm. It's such a shock, so horrifically painful, but simultaneously pumping pleasure into my g-spot. I'm simpering delight, and fear.

  Slumping, closing my eyes and snuffing out the room, it's uncomfortable when he withdraws to lie against my side.

  Worming his arm under me, he gets my head onto his bicep, pulling my shoulder up, so I'm lying skin to skin, facing him.

  “Open your eyes.”

  “You just love ordering people around.”

  I deliberately keep them closed.

  “Open your eyes, or suffer the consequences.”

  I answer him by sticking my tongue out, keeping my eyes closed.

  The arm under my head hinges up, holding my shoulders tight, and in a flash he has fingers deep inside me, the heat of his hand claiming my pelvis.

  My eyes are wide open now.

  “Arrogant ass.”

  Chuckling, he leaves his hand there, pressing lazy circles into an already overworked sensitive spot.

  “You like to learn your lessons the hard way too.” He raises one of his eyebrows, humor and mockery sparking happiness in his gaze.

  Intending to react in kind, I bolt my hand between us, wrapping it around him.

  My ears start gonging, the blood in my head rushing over membranes in deafening whooshes.

  I'm going to faint. My sight is black with dancing spots.

  Jiggling me with his laugh, he mumbles, “Surprise.”

  Giving me a tender kiss, he sits up, running an owner's eye over his merchandise.

  “Worth every second of heartache. I'll do this for eternity if I have to.”

  “I'm afraid to move. I think you may have destroyed me.”

  His mouth twitches, tugging into a smile. “Princess, you are the only woman I can be with. You're the only one who won't break.”

  Ha! Riiight.

  “That won't fly with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look at you. You've got the body of a god, and the face of a heartbreaker. Women must lay themselves down for you to walk all over. And you're trying to tell me you didn't screw any of them?”

  “Have you been drinking out the toilet again?”

  “I never said I was a lady.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject.”

  Looking away at the fire, I watch his incredible chest expand when he inhales for a sigh.

  “Take it or leave it. It's the fucking truth.”

  Darting his focus back at me, it penetrates my soul, overwhelming me with affection.

  Sitting up, I can't resist running my hand over his ripped arm, my attention drawn back to the mark above his bicep.

  “What is this?”

  It could be a tattoo, but it's raised. Which means it's not. It's the same symbol on Dustin's helmets. Three lines, slightly curved, gothic in design, and almost like the arms of a windmill.

  “Rank.”

  “What rank?”

  “Supreme rank. I'm a commander.”

  This makes me smile. “Yes, you are. You command people all the time, forgetting to say please.”

  Thunder rumbles, shaking the windows. Distracted, staring at the crying windows, it's comforting when he braces his arm around me, resting me against his shoulder, skin touching skin all the way down.

  “It's good to have you home, baby.”

  How do men do this? How do they bypass everything you have, to inject love directly into your heart? It's so soul touching, it brings tears to my eyes.

  “You're such a soul whisperer.”

  His smile is indulgent; mesmerizing eyes swirling their moody adoration at me, “That I am. You are finally getting to know me.”

  “No kidding.”

  Leaning forward, he hooks his shirt, offering it to me.

  Taking it, I close my eyes when I pull it over my head, inhaling his piano and desert syrup smell. My body sings her response with clammy desire, drumming a primal ache back into me.

  “I love that. Just one touch of my shirt and your lips are parted, pouting their sheen at me.”

  Opening my eyes, I push my arms into the sleeves, so loose on me yet so tight on him.

  He pulls me back against him, kissing my forehead. “I won't let you fall. I promise.”

  Twisting, still too afraid to try standing, I examine his body with brazen openness. Running my hands from the veins in his neck, that crisscross over his muscular shoulders and chest, down to his torso. Looking into his eyes, I trace the perfectly straight nose, brushing his cupid's bow and silky cushioned lips.

  “May I touch them?”

  His eyes never leave my face, placing a possessive heavy hand on my inner thigh.

  But he answers me anyway, wings raising behind his shoulders to wrap around us.

  I'm fascinated by them. They're velvet soft, warm like a hot blooded furry mammal, but ever so translucent. Sitting here surrounded with them, I can see the glow from the fire in the hearth, backlighting the veins running through them.

  “They're so soft.”

  “When you speak like that, it sounds like a celestial sigh.”

  My cheeks prickle with the praise. “Stop it.”

  “Do you finally want that cup of coffee?”

  Nodding, I keep my fingertips wide as he withdraws the wings, running them over my fingers. It's a wingtip caress.

  “I'm awed by your body.”

  Shifting, his answer is closer than I expected, “And I, yours.”

  The windows rattle again, shaking as if demons are trying to break in.

  “Now what?” It's a loaded question, and I don't know how he's going to answer it.

  “It's time for the magic of midnight. After coffee, this soul whisperer is taking you to his bedroom.”

  “What? You mean you don't feed your slaves?”

  Laughing against my lips, he kisses me as if I'd break.

  “I'd better get back into those jeans before I'm tempted to lay you down in front of that fire.”

  Turning, he blurs into standing and buttoning his jeans, offering me his hand.

  “Come slave, tonight you shall be master.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, drawn off the floor and into his embrace.

  “It means, tonight, I cook for you.”

  Chapter 18

  Walking to the window with my beer, I watch lightning turning the night into heaven's disco. He pretty much cheated with dinner. All he had to do was sprinkle cheese over the quesilladas and put them in the oven to warm up; loaded with chicken, chili, and tomato.

  At least he knows what I like. I guess stalking has its upside.

  He comes to stand behind me, pulling me back against his chest with a heavy arm over my shoulders, under my chin.

  “I should have known you'd drink Arrogant Bastard.”

 
“You gotta love the irony.”

  My Arrogant Bastard beer is lifted out of my hand, and placed on the table next to the telescope. My body is still buzzing with a sated hum. Turned by insistent hands, he walks me back against the window, running his thumb over my mouth, hooking my bottom lip down.

  Popping my pulse into my ears, he lowers his head, kissing me as he lifts me off the floor in a hug. With him wrapping my legs around his waist, he walks away from the pyrotechnics outdoors, into the darkness of a passage.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Trust me, Sarah. It won't kill you to try. I've yet to lie to you.”

  “Why do you have to be so condescending?”

  It's dark down here, I'm afraid he's going to chain me in the cellar so I can never leave.

  Slammed against the wall, his hand bunches my hair, pulling my head back. His eyes are glimmering at me.

  “I've waited a long time. I'm not finished with you yet.”

  It's disturbing the way I find this erotic. Mr Cool is losing his cool.

  Biting his lip, I whisper into his mouth, “I have my strength back. Sure you can handle me?”

  Sinking his teeth into my lip, he bites hard enough to make me let go. “The stupid challenge the ruthless.”

  “Are you ruthless?”

  Walking again, faster, blurring us down the passage, his voice is raptor vivid. “What do you think?”

  Setting me down on something, the room instantly flares when candles all over the place burst into life with synchronized precision.

  “How do you do that?”

  But it's swallowed when he yanks his shirt off me, scooping me up and walking into an adjoining room. Set down on tiles, water blasts me.

  “Hey!”

  In a blink he's next to me, shoving my hands against the wall.

  “Brace your arms.”

  “Erra, your abrasive manner is beginning to piss me off.”

  I regret my complaint when strong warm hands slide down my back, lathering, kneading, pushing my tired body to instant relaxation.

  It's dimmer than twilight in here, and ethereal. Turned, his hands roam over me, commanding his puppet, and I'm awestruck by his shimmery glow.

  “I get it.”

  Kneading fingertips into my hair, he stands chest to nose, “What do you get?”

  “You glow when you're turned on.”

  His laugh cloaks me with its deep thunder.

  “I knew you weren't stupid. So why do you try so hard to pretend you are?”

  Winding my wet hair in his hand, he tilts my head back, sending water running between us, his eyes fluctuating above a derisive smirk.

  “I don't pretend I'm stupid.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I'm pelted with spray when he blurs into warp speed, switching the water off and picking me up, wrapping a towel around both of us, tenting us into intimate darkness.

  I'm being distracted with the way the fluffy towel is rubbing all over me, jiggling, and tickling.

  “I think I'm tired. I'll fight you tomorrow.”

  “I bet you will.”

  He's rubbing the strength from my muscles.

  “What happens if I say your name now?”

  Laughing, he picks me up, walking back to his candlelit crypt. “You'll find out.”

  “Erra.”

  “Yes?”

  He's laying me out on soft sheets.

  “I was trying your name to see what would happen.”

  “Now - nothing, while you're with me. When you're not with me, you will be reminded of this night.”

  “How?”

  Pushing my legs up, he holds my ankles apart.

  “I'm your soul mate, and I don't like competition. You'll find out.”

  “Who's your competition?”

  I'm thinking back over my life, and there was never anyone special enough to captivate me. Dustin's curious combination of soul and poet, wrapped in pique fitness, appealed to every side of me. He is perfect in every way, from the food he likes, to the music he played. But now I've ruined my nirvana by daring Erra to kiss me.

  He's not moving.

  “You are making me self-conscious. Stop staring.”

  Fingertips trace my sex, and it's about as appealing as visiting the gynae.

  “You are perfect.”

  “And don't you forget it.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Fuck it.”

  The room snuffs black and I'm ripped off the bed faster than acrobatic wind, shoved up against something soft.

  Alarmed, my breath heaving along with my chest, my scream is swallowed in his mouth when his wings shut, riding me hard up against the wall. Gripping his shoulders, it's the cocktail of pleasure and pain that freaks me out.

  I also hate the way this man I want to keep hating, soars my blood, rocketing my heart into immediate euphoria, as if he's holding my heart and soul in either hand, massaging them and giving them fairy kisses.

  The dome lights up with a rainbow before detonating into brilliant white light when he orgasms. Resting his forehead heavy against mine, his voice is shaky, “I'm sorry. I – I've waited so long.”

  Pulling away from the wall, he curls the wings around me, soft and fluffy like a blanket, moving and laying me back on the bed, snuggling me against his side.

  Exhausted, shaken, a puddle of jello, I flop, resting my head on his chest, my leg over his.

  Brutal heat scorches my thigh when he rests his hand on top of my leg, holding me to him, his loud heart pounding methodically under my ear, lulling me into a womb of serenity. I am so drained now, it's an effort to breathe.

  Daylight has a way of ruining sanity. Driving my car home, two helmets on the backseat are like angry ghouls hissing hateful accusations at me.

  It's Monday, and I'm bloody grateful I don't have to go to work today.

  Worry and guilt are weeds springing up in my soul. And to top it off, I am so tired, all I want to do is sleep.

  Parking, I get out and take the steps to my unlocked front door. Last night was crazy, how can Dustin ever forgive me?

  Leaning heavily against the door to close it, I drag myself to bed. Flopping on top of the covers, closing my eyes, I pass out like a drunk.

  I'm floating. Weightless. This is better than crowd surfing, and I open my arms wide, tilting my head back as if I am on a swing.

  Awareness scratches at my mind, prompting me to open my eyes.

  Holy cow! I'm hovering above my bed! Then I notice the glowing hands. Lava hands.

  Lucierne?

  I sense laughter, rather than hear it.

  Lowered, he makes me lie on top of him.

  I thought I'd slip into him, I didn't realise he could also be solid.

  I'm not solid, I am living, just like you. I am invincible, indestructible, and able to manipulate the tangible world. I can hold and move things, even if I don't belong in this material world.

  “Why are you here?”

  To show you something.

  “What?”

  Lifting me back up as if I was a surfboard, he flips me over to look into his face. Lowering his gaze, he urges me to look down.

  Oh god.

  He laughs again.

  It's non physical. Unlike them, I won't hurt you.

  “No! I can't.”

  You can, and you will.

  “Why?!”

  He will explain it to you. He says you are his soul mate. But you are also mine. And you are also Dustin's. He has stolen you from us.

  “Wait. What?”

  Shhh, Sarah. Let me show you.

  I have an unholy scream pounding through my head, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Bracing for ruin, hot citrine light slips into me.

  Immediately, I have hug-warm sifting down my legs and arms, so delicious and wonderful, it's like the lazy heat you get when you're snuggled under a duvet with hot chocolate.

  Close your eyes.

  With all my fear gone
, I trust, and close my eyes.

  I see it. The light from his body running through mine, as if he was my own Spirit.

  It's so gentle, and lethargic, I feel as if I'm floating again.

  I am floating again. Both of us off my bed, hovering in stasis.

  He is not the only one. I came to show you. You had to know the truth.

  It's an effort to open my eyes, to think, when I am so peaceful, so happy.

  “Lucierne, what do I do?”

  You make it right. You challenge him. You are the only one who can.

  “What about you and Dustin? Why's it me? I'm half his size.”

  His soul is your strength. He cannot dictate to you, Sarah. You are as powerful as he is. Your will is his will. You are two halves of the same whole. He created you using himself. But you complete all three of us. You chose him, blind. Kept ignorant.

  Lowered gently, Lucierne dissolves. I'm left alone on my bed, having just had sex with a firefly-being.

  And it was every bit as delicious as Dustin and Erra.

  Why me? Why have three complete whacko's plummeted into my life at the same time?

  You must go. Go before it's too late to soothe the hurt.

  Diving off my bed, I head to the closet.

  I owe Dustin a visit anyway. And then Erra's going to know what I'm like when I'm mightily angry.

  Chapter 19

  Trepidation weighs my body down as I pull up in Dustin's drive.

  I've made a 'pretty' effort. Wearing a skirt, and button down white cardigan which hugs curves.

  It's a damn good thing my name's not chastity, because I've made up for my good girl ways in three days. I'm reformed into the type of girl I used to sneer at.

  Getting out with both helmets, I walk to the open front door.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Dustin?! Hello?”

  Still no answer.

  Walking in, I feel like a thief. I haven't seen all of his home and am uncomfortable snooping for him.

  Placing the helmets down on the hall table, I move to the open basement door. Faint music drifts up. Maybe he's asleep down there? I guess when you're built like a meteor and faster than whiplash, you can sleep with your door wide open.