29. Vapas
29
VAPAS
S he jumps and I barely get my arms up in time to catch her as her lips smash against mine. All the twisting worries disappear. Her warmth and intensity leaves no room for doubts.
Desire taking over, I jerk her the rest of the way across the table and onto my lap. She twists and turns until her legs are gripping my hips. Both of us groan, moaning into the kiss.
My cock aches and throbs. Need pulsing in time with the beating of our hearts. As I run my hands over her back, up and down, she grinds against me. I will not lose control again. I am going to pleasure her. There is no more holding back.
She takes a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck and jerks back while biting my lower lip. She pulls until my lip breaks free of her teeth and then she softly kisses it, peppering her way across my cheek and down my neck.
“Vapas,” she whispers.
The warmth of her breath passing over the skin damp from her tongue causes a shiver of delight. I cannot wait any longer.
Rising too quick, I knock the chair over. It clatters to the floor and I kick it back and away. I clear the table with a sweep of one arm and then lay her down. She smiles, eyes half-lidded, a soft moan on her lips.
Grabbing her pants, I jerk them over her hips and down. The scent of her sex fills my head, driving me wild. Her anatomy looks the same as what I know, though the colorations are different and the smell is different, yet still arousing and pleasing.
The hair over her feminine mound is short and curly, but the opening is in the right place. I slide my hands up her pale, bare thighs and she groans, wiggling. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, her eyes bore into mine.
I don’t break eye contact as I slide my hands closer and closer to my intended goal. My need and my desire. Her lips tremble as I pass my thumbs across the delicate flower of her opening.
She bites her lower lip and I feel her uncertainty. The hesitation is palpable and I immediately pull back. No matter my desire and intention, I will not take that which she is not freely offering and ready for.
“Phoebe?” I ask.
She shakes her head but a tremor passes over her.
“Nothing… it’s fine,” she says.
But it’s not. She is… scared? I don’t understand what is happening but I sense it and it is wrong. This is not the two of us coming together, this is her giving me what she thinks she must.
Shaking my head I take my hands off of her. Unsure what the right thing to do is, but doing the one thing that seems to make sense. I grab her pants and slide them back up until they are at her butt and I cannot bring them further up without her participation.
“Wha…” she trails off, clears her throat then tries again. “What?”
“You are not ready,” I say, turning my back to let her finish dressing without my eyes on her.
I pick up the chair and set it right, keeping my back to her until I hear the shuffle of her pulling her pants up and her feet touching onto the floor. Silent, she comes to stand behind me and places her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I turn and take her into my arms.
“Never,” I order.
“Never?”
“No. Never. You will never be sorry, not for this. Not for anything if it is in my power to prevent it.”
She blinks, moisture filling her eyes. Her lower lip trembles until she grips it between her teeth. I brush her hair back into place so that it frames her delicate, perfect face.
When this happened I do not know, but the certainty of it hits now. I do not know if she is my dragoste returned, but it doesn’t matter. I am no philosopher. Debating the possibility of esoteric spirituality isn’t important. What is important is this moment. The way I feel and the way I know she feels.
What matters is us. That there is an us. That, no matter how it came to be, she is my dragoste now. It does not lessen my love for my former dragoste. If anything it expands it because I still have love in my heart to give and to share. My former dragoste would never want me to live as I have been. Waiting to die so I could find her again. That is not life or living.
“Vapas… I…”
“It is okay,” I say.
My cock is slowly softening and while it is protesting, a cock has no mind and only fulfills its purpose. I am not a slave to its needs or desire nor to anything but my own mind, my own heart, and my own decisions. And this is my decision.
“But—”
“You feel it, don’t you?” I ask, cutting her off.
She is taken aback, pulling apart and looking away. I don’t take away my touch on her sides, but I ease my grip so she can step away if she wants. She doesn’t though, she stares down at the floor.
A soft sob is her first response and it feels as if my heart shatters. I say nothing, though. This is for her to work through and though I want to help, want to guide her through it, that is not something I can do.
“I… do,” she says, hesitant.
I wait, giving her time to say more but the moment stretches and she remains silent. She’s shivering though. Gently I pull her closer and she doesn’t resist. I wrap her in my arms, holding her to my chest.
Unexpectedly, she sobs. She convulsively wraps her arms around me and then the moisture from her eyes is soaking my shirt.