the moonlight,
a cold ******
shines through the lace curtains
frustration simmered beneath her skin
between her legs
it's always him, although
she knows it shouldn't be
the center of her forbidden fantasies
her first love--
her father.
clutched in her trembling hands,
his worn out t-shirt
smelling faintly of warm vanilla and musk
was a pathetic substitute
for the reality she craved.
her fingers, tracing the swell of her breast
felt like a betrayal.
a clumsy imitation of
the rougher, more demanding touch she yearned for.
this wasn't him.
ever the imaginative little girl she was
her mind conjured him with chilling clarity.
he stood over her
a shadow over the pale moonlight
his dark eyes holding their predatory gleam.
"little sinner," he'd snarl, his voice a low rasp
the endearment twisted into a cruel accusation
he'd reprimand her
sending her into a thrill
a prelude to the dominion she desired
her breath hitched
her fingers slipping lower
mimicking the pressure she fantasized
his hand, firm and possessive, forcing her thighs apart.
"open for me."
piece two
WHERE ANGELS FALL.
piece : SATIN SINS
(this is my work, based on a coarse and heavy hearted narrative i wrote. based on true events ! ha.. haha...)
[it's also why the dude in my banner photo is sitting in the gothic cathedral. you're welcome for that visual.]
--- EXCERPT FROM : SATIN SINS
"That's it, sweetheart… keep quiet. Come for me,” He said, a sibilant whisper of dominance, filled her head. The forbidden intimacy of his imagined words, the possessive and degrading tone, intensified the pleasure, a dangerous dance with discovery just beyond the thin wall.
And then, the tension snapped. A raw cry, completely swallowed by the fiercely bitten fabric, tore through her as a violent shudder convulsed her body. Her ****** hit her with brutal, breathtaking speed, a series of sharp, involuntary contractions that wracked her frame, each spasm a silent scream.
Her grip on the t-shirt tightened, her knuckles white as she rode the intense waves of release, the muffled sounds against the cotton the only evidence of her shattering pleasure.
When the final tremors subsided, she lay utterly spent, breathless and slick with sweat, the sweet scent of his t-shirt lingering in the air, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the silence, the knowledge of Yunho sleeping just beyond the wall a chilling undercurrent to her shameful, intense release.