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Friday, February 26, 2010

An exerpt from Ronin

I'm revising a story I wrote a few years ago about an event that happened a few years before that. I had a one night stand with Ronin, an Irish Man I never saw. So here's a bit of it, enjoy!

He lays back down on the blanket, fully exposed to the dark. He shudders as my short but sharp fingernails brush lightly over his soft skin. A gentle touch on his shoulder and he is a leaf. My fingers whisper across his neck, up his rounded jaw and explore the slightly sweaty skin of his face as if I were blind. His cheeks are hollows with pronounced bones. His brow is strong and bushy and his eyes wide set. The ears are delicate and small while the hair is wiry and thick. He moans when I pull at it. I travel my fingers to the top of his head, then cascade them down a sloping nose to trace wide, full lips. When his lips close on my index finger, I remove my hand. One breath, two, my fingers return, but he allows them to glide along his lips, pull them apart and slide over his crooked but well tended teeth. My other hand begins to roam down his chest with the lightest brush of nails. I lean over him, my face inches from his. “Cinnamon,” he sighs. I wonder if he actually spoke or if I imagined it as once again a licorice scent caresses my nostrils. I swing a leg over to straddle him. He quakes as the soft fabric of my dress brushes over his chest. I exhale cool air along his skin. I bury my hands in the jungle of his twisted hair. I sigh and run a moist tongue along the side of his face.

“You taste like a garden of herbs,” my voice is husky, thick with the surprise of my discovery. “Rosemary, garlic, sage and a hint of mint.” I smile against his skin. Planting a kiss on his cheek, then sucking at his lips as my hands massage his scalp. I feel him resisting the urge to grab me and pull me into a kiss. I grin as I press my lips lightly against his.

“Good boy,” I whisper into his mouth, causing his lips to tremble. As my lips embrace his, I slide my tongue into his mouth. I suck the air from him as I explore the soft meaty texture of him. His mouth tastes only faintly of whiskey but more strongly of mint and, there’s that tint of licorice. Suddenly overwhelmed, he drives his tongue into my mouth. I bite it, causing his eyes to pop open. “Uh-uh-uh-uh. Bad boy.”

“But...” he mutters, trying to prop himself up to his elbows.

My hand is to his mouth and I lean into his chest. “No buts about it. Either I explore you without interruption, or you leave. Your choice.”

“Remember,” I speak with lips inches from his right ear, “you agreed to my terms.” I gently graze teeth over his lobe as I add, “if you were going to negotiate, you should have done so before we began. Now, it’s too late.” I pull my head away and move off him. I’m inches from him, but no longer touching. I can feel he wants to say something, but instead, he becomes a granite statue. “Better,” I murmur as my hands stroke his face. With my cheek against his hair, I breathe in and sigh. “You smell of jasmine.” I lean into him, my lips press against his throat as I lightly tongue the hardness of his larynx. I lick my way around his neck and suck at the base by the delicate collarbone. I pull the fragile flesh between my teeth and bite. He gasps, but lays still. Leaving a ring of small wet bites along the collarbone, I glide down his chest with gentle kisses all over the skin, pausing only to graze teeth across each nipple sending chills through his body.

I walk my hands over his belly, and he giggles. “Ticklish?” I ask, my grin is in the word as I play with his lack of control for a bit. I can feel he’s right on the verge of calling it quits, when I stop tickling. I suck my finger and slide a path through the thin trail of hair from his belly button to his cock. A series of fondling strokes followed by wet caresses from my mouth causes him to inhale the room as his organ rises. He is thick and longer than I can hold in my mouth. I use one hand to stroke the base of the shaft as my other hand massages his balls and inner thighs. A strange grazing sound reaches my ears. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s his fingernails clawing into the blanket. I gently touch one of the hands and he relaxes. But, as his body teeters on the brink, the clawing starts again.

I stop just short of causing him to explode. My hands slide down over his thighs, caress each of his knobby knees, nuzzle his calves and massage his feet. I feel him tense as I reach his feet, but as I rub them, he relaxes. I work my way back up his body to take his mouth into mine as I lower my hips and grind him through my dress.

Sliding off him, I punch the trembling boy’s shoulder with the heel of my hand. “Your turn.”

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