Crossing the line

Drunk

And now we're circling back to the beginning.

He was buried in her slender thighs, fingers tightly woven around her soft skin, thrusting in and out without any ounce of control. His face pressed into her collarbone, her scent surrounded him, her arms roaming his back, digging into his hair, her head thrown back as she took him.

And God, it had been a long time since he had known such pleasure, such passion. His mind had fled through the window, his body driving him like a wild animal. More, more, more. He just couldn't stop. Pleasure was building up fast, and he wondered how long until he exploded altogether. She deserved better, but he was desperate to have her at least once. Regrets, remorse and shame would come later, albeit they already lingered at the back of his mind. For the moment, her muffled moans filled his senses, her touch alighting his body with trails of fire, her hips meeting his with as much fervour. She was a goddess to take, a delight to lick and nibble at, a safe haven for a lost man.

Her balance slightly shifted as she caressed his shoulder, climbing across his collarbone, all the way up to his nape. A tender gesture, shaking for his frenetic movements caused her whole frame to buck. Fingers cupped his cheek, calling him, coaxing him into lifting his face. Tristan paused, mesmerised, as her eyes trapped him into a gaze darkened with desire and ... something else. Her swollen lips caught his, giving him the sweetest of kisses, causing his hips to stutter.

— "I love you", she whispered, caressing his cheekbone tenderly.

Tristan's eyes widened; fear, awe, heartache mingling in his chest.

I have to divorce.

For a moment, he thought he was going to drown in the realisation until Frances' body arched into his, calling him in; the answer was instinctive. His movements slowed then, as he set one of her legs down to the ground. A different position where he towered over her once again, the full length of his body in contact with hers. Her chest rose and fell in anticipation, her breath short as she watched him in the barely lit room. There was fear, too, in her eyes when he dipped his head to kiss her languorously. Their tongues danced once again as his manhood buried itself deep inside. Her arms circled him, tightening as he worked her body.

The frenzy gone, a slow, sensual dance took over. Deeper, stronger, a connexion that caused him to bury himself to the hilt while he watched her hooded eyes respond to his passion. She loved him... loved him. One of his hands trapped hers against the wall, fingers burying in between her long, elegant ones. Sweat mingling as they enclosed her tightly; she held on to him with such strength.

This wasn't fucking anymore. This was making love to a beautiful, tender woman whose body welcomed him heartily, with such passion that the build up nearly caused his heart to stop. God. He was going to...

Frances's head suddenly shot backwards, banging on the wall with a thud, her lips slightly parted. A deep, heavy moan bubbled in her chest, her pleasure reverberating into his. She bit her lip, whimpering, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her anew when his muscles started to spasm. Pleasure shot up from his lower belly to his spine, unmistakable, unstoppable. No time to blink, or think of the consequences before she tumbled over the edge in his wake.

— "Oh my... Tristan !"

The sound of his name on such lovely lips caused his loins to clench, pleasure so intense that he felt faint. Dizzy. His conscience fled; it was painful to keep his hips from tearing her apart. Tristan grunted, his fingers tightened their hold on hers just as much as her walls clenched around him. Her body shook and arched, thighs tightening as he clung to her, sound of pleasure mingled as he buried his face in her neck. Again and again, slow and deep thrusts, relentless. Tristan tried to ride the massive peak that took his breath away. She welcomed him to the very end, unwilling to let go until, at last, he stilled. They both remained against the wall, panting and trembling, breaths mingling, his forehead resting against hers. For a long time, he relished in the soft caress upon his nape, deft fingers dancing with the fine hairs and sensitive skin.