Prose Piece

Decided to stretch my limits with this one. Not my typical stuff, and still needs work, but trying to branch out just a bit...

The evening news fizzles like white noise in the background as I immerse myself in the fantasy world of the sci-fi book I’m reading. I tied my hair out of my face, but yours is splayed across my lap. Absentmindedly, I pull my fingers through your locs, massaging your scalp from time to time. This is our nightly ritual. You demand a place made of flesh to rest your head and I need a break from my work. I hate the news and you aren’t fond of fiction; this is our compromise.

“Babe, raise up for me.” I wiggle the thigh beneath your head.

“Where are you going? The news isn’t over.” You don’t move.

“Well, my bladder doesn’t care. While you finish watching the horrors of the world, I’m gonna start my shower.” I slide off the couch as I talk.

“No you won’t.”

Your objection stops me mid-stride.

“Go ahead and use the bathroom, but bring my pillow back.”

I pick up the conversation again from the doorway a few minutes later. “Your pillow, huh? I could have sworn it was connected to my body, sir.” I smirk at you from my place, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Woman, did I not claim you as you claimed me? That damn body is mine as much as mine is yours. Now quit playing and come here so I can get comfortable.

Well damn. I can’t argue with that, even though I want to. So I rebel by lying down in front of you the sofa, instead of propping your head up as before.

“You must think you’re cute.”

“My man tells me I am, “ I counter, snuggling deeper against your body and adding a giggle.

“Nah, your man is wrong.”

I jerk my head toward you, smacking both of us with my hair. “Excuse me?”

“I said—“

“I heard what you said.” A fake pout graces my lips and I playfully nudge you in the ribs with my elbow.

Your hips rise as you rotate me to my back with my face to yours. One of your legs nestles between mine and your top half looms over me seductively. Goose bumps form a trail on my skin after your finger traces along the hem of my shirt thoughtfully.

My previously pursed lips can’t help but twist into a lazy smile and my eyes lower by at least fifty percent. “So my man doesn’t think I’m cute?”

“Nope. You’re absolutely breathtaking. You’re beautiful.”

My laughter interrupts your declarations.

“Hey, look at me.” Your voice takes a serious tone, accompanied by furrowed brows and fingers tipping my chin so that our eyes meet. “Listen to me and listen to me good…well.”

I smile at you correcting your grammar before I can and deliver a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m listening.”

“You are amazingly beautiful. I don’t have all of the words to paint the picture the right way, but know that I mean that with everything inside of me. Both as a wonderful soul and an attractive body, you are to be cherished.”

And with that, tears well in my eyes. Before they can fall and before I can verbally respond, your lips assault mine in a spine tingling, passionate kiss. Your mouth’s pursuit increases from convincing to punishing, revealing your hunger for me.

I answer bite for bite, moan for moan, and thirst for unyielding thirst as we both indulge in each other.

I am yours, you are mine, and we claim one another multiple times, each orgasm planting a flag on pieces of our souls. We not only claim, but tend to and take responsibility for every part we capture. Silent promises to love and protect conquered territories are issued by decree from the only ones who matter: the king and queen in attendance, ordained by the love shared between them.

Copyright © 2014 Natasha Guy