The bed was soft against my bare skin, a contrast to the hardwood floor where I spent so much of the evening kneeling on. I should have felt comfortable knowing our nightly ritual had concluded, but I couldn't. The delicate white sheet was pulled anxiously over my nude silhouette, and it felt like a straight jacket binding us together. In reality, I was trapped only by my inability to tell her how much I hated her.
But I was feeling trapped because that wasn't true. What was killing me really, is that I love Villanelle. Fuck, I love her so much. And I hated myself for that.
I was my ritual after our "sessions," to lie there with my eyes squeezed shut so tightly that I felt they might deform, knowing I needed to hold back the tears, silent because she could not know of my feelings. And the anger and sadness weren't for her anyway, it was focused on my weaknesses and my incapacity to stay away from her.
In the stillness of the night, under that silence, I hated her.
Fuck, I hated her so much. because I can't stop admiring her delicate features illuminated so beautifully by the warm light from the bedside lamp. And I wanted to hold on to it for a while. Why did she want from me? What pleasure could she possibly derive from having me into submission? (I know, what kind of pleasure she finds)...but it's enough for her, for me, for us?
They were the same questions I asked myself every night.
Clenching the sheets to my chest, my breathing increased as I mustered the courage to tell her I needed her to stop. Tonight was the night. I was disgusted at the burning arousal I would feel overpowering the physical pleasure.
I inhaled sharply preparing to force the words out when I felt a pull at the sheet I held tightly in my grip.
Oksana sat up and grasped the top and in one motion, she threw it aside and revealed my body to her eyes. Legs crossed tightly, my hands at my chest as though the sheet were still in my hands, I stared at the ceiling confused by what she did. Slowly I turned to look at her, needing to know what she was feeling.
I closed my eyes as I turned my head, opening them all at once, afraid of what I might see. But she was smiling. A genuine smile of affection and love. I watched closely as she ran her widened eyes up and down my body. Frozen in place, I winced slightly when I felt her fingertips extend and trace over my body. The softness of her touch warmed me, and I involuntarily pressed into her fingers as she moved over me. It was so gentle and loving and it disappeared my anger.
As my eyes followed hers I saw her pupils dilate and her tongue run across her lips. Her mouth parted slightly and a red flush started to bloom over her cheeks. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto my right ribcage. The anger was overshadowed by tenderness. More kisses followed, each placed on every part of me, each gentle and loving.
I arched slightly, wanting nothing more than to meet her lips. She gently laid a hand on my belly and guided me back to the bed, letting her fingers rest on my stomach. No words were spoken, and none were needed.
That hand stayed flat on my skin, warming me in the cool room, keeping goosebumps and shivers at bay. We stayed still, the patterned sounds of laboured breaths increasing with each exhale. I considered saying something before eventually changing my mind.
The moment was damn near perfect, and I wanted nothing to spoil it. So we remained connected by her hand, the blush in her cheeks darkening another shade further until her idle hand moved to the front of her pyjama bottoms. Eyes locked on my body, her fingers began tracing marks as her other hand found its way down and under her body.
A soft moan escaped her mouth, and I watched the dance of fingers through the fabric as they moved back and forth over her clit. She sat up some and leaned into my body, hand caressing me, still gentle, but so insistent. Villanelle kept her eyes on me, one hand pleasuring herself, one hand probing, examining, admiring me.
My arousal blossomed from my wet sex, radiating ripples of arousal through my body. Those fingers against my skin threatened to send me over the edge.
She was so beautiful to watch, her face aglow with her impending orgasm, her smile, so perfect and carefree, and the way her eyebrows knit as I saw the first wave start to build. I have seen her come more times than I could count, and it's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Instead of throwing her head back as she came, she curled inwards, squeezing her thighs around her fingers, her hips rocking into her hand. Moans of satisfaction caught her, low, and rubbing, each stopping where the next began. Fingers kept working her clit, quickly forming her into a second orgasm, and she brought her head low, pressed her forehead into my stomach, and squeezed my thigh tightly as she thrust finally into her fingers.
I laid still, my chest tight with the fulfilment of that seeing me had moved her so, staring as the after-quakes of her orgasm rolled through and her tightly coiled body relaxed, listening her breath was broken by words I hadn't expected to hear.
"Don't leave me, Eve," she breathed in my stomach, "I love you".