Quiver

Literature -

Empty Words

Some mornings she is clinging to me, as a child does to her mother, and sometimes she is on the other side of the bed, except for one hand brushing mine. We always wake touching. I always wake first.

I like watching her sleep. I memorize her body at times like this, though I already know it better than my own. I stare at her lips, so relaxed in sleep. I am tempted to trace them with my finger, but that would wake her. So instead I softly caress her hair.

She has beautiful hair, though of course she doesn't like it. It is a rich shade of brown and curls softly about her face. It always smells of spring and the outdoors, even when it is tangled and sweaty when we cling together after making love.

I rise up on one elbow to see her better. She never sleeps covered up, as if she doesn't feel the cold, or is daring it to touch her. This morning she is sprawled across half of the bed, utterly abandoned. I love her body. She complains that she should lose weight, but I secretly hope she doesn't. She is soft all over, feminine. She is all curves; full breasts,generous hips, a gently sloping stomach. She is a painter's dream, and mine.

Slowly, I kiss her palm. It does not wake her, but now I want to have her wake by my kisses. I kiss the little circular scars on her arm that look like cigarette burns. She refuses to tell me what they are from, but I know. I kiss the little crescent scar on her left breast. I whisper her name as I blow air over her, making her shiver just slightly. Slowly, I take one of her nipples into my mouth, beginning to suck gently, watching her face for any sign of consciousness.

Her brows draw together as I continue, as if she is fighting wakefulness. My hand comes up to caress her other breast, my nails drawing light circles on her skin. Ever so slowly, I let my hand drift downward, tracing little circles on its path. A moan escapes her lips and I know she is awake, but she stays still.

I draw myself up to kiss her on the mouth. Her tongue seeks mine, her eyes never opening. Her hands begin to explore my body tentatively, as if she doesn't want to scare me. I draw a line to her ear with my tongue, sucking on her earlobe, making her softly shudder. Her hand takes my own, drawing it downward. I slip a finger inside her, making her writhe before I move my fingertip to where she wants me, where she is most sensitive.

I rub her so slowly, and she whimpers until I speed up a little. She pulls me against her, her breasts crushing against mine as her nails dig into my back. I let my hand move faster, until her hips thrust against me and her face is flushed. She breathes my name and I kiss her deeply as she begins to lose control. When I feel her first spasm I slip one finger inside her to feel her contract around me. She clings to me, her face buried in my shoulder, her hair blinding us both.

She kisses my neck as her body goes limp. Gathering her to me, I hold her close, the closeness more important than anything else. I want to protect her forever like this. I wish I could shelter her from memories of the people who hurt her, but I can't. So for now closeness is enough. --s.o.