Narcissus in Chains

The bedroom was empty when he kicked the door shut behind us. I didn't know if the living room had been empty or not. I couldn't remember anything but Richard's eyes from the kitchen to the bedroom. Every room might have been empty for all I'd seen. We kissed just inside the door; my hands were full of the rich thickness of his hair, the firm warmth of his neck. I explored his face with my hands, my mouth, tasted, teased, caressed, just his face. He drew back from my mouth enough to say, "If I don't sit down, I'm going to fall down, my knees are weak." I laughed, full-throated, and said, "Then put me down." He half-walked, half-staggered to the bed, laying me on it, going to his knees beside it. He was laughing as he crawled onto the bed. He lay beside me, his knees hanging over the side of the bed, though since he was tall enough that his feet actually touched the floor when he lay like that, maybe hanging wasn't the right word. We lay beside each other on the bed, laughing softly, not touching. We turned our heads to look at each other at the same moment. His eyes sparkled with the laughter, his whole face almost shining with it. I reached out and traced the lines of laughter around his mouth. The laughter began to fade as soon as I touched him, his eyes filling up with something darker, more serious, but no less precious. He rolled onto his side. The movement put my hand along the side of his face. He rubbed his face into my hand, eyes closed, lips half-parted. I rolled onto my stomach and moved toward him, my hand still on his face. He opened his eyes, watching me crawl toward him. I propped myself up on hands and knees and watched his eyes as I leaned in toward his mouth. There was eagerness there, but there was also something else, something fragile. Did my eyes mirror that look, half-eager, half-fearful, wanting, afraid to want, needing, and afraid to need? My mouth hovered over his, our lips touching, delicate as butterflies blown by a warm summer wind, touching, not touching, sliding along each other, gliding away. His hand grabbed the back of my neck, forced my mouth to press against his, hard, firm. He used tongue and lips to force my mouth open. I opened to him and we took turns exploring each other's mouth. He came to his knees, hand still pressed to the back of my neck, our mouths still locked together. He drew back, crawling backward to the head of the bed, leaving me kneeling alone in the center of the bed. He reached under the covers, drew out pillows, propped himself up, watching me. There was something almost decadent with him naked, propped up, watching me. I knelt looking back at him, having a little trouble focusing, thinking. I finally managed to say, "What's wrong?" "Nothing," he said, voice deep, lower than normal. It wasn't the growl of his beast; it was a peculiarly male sound. "I want to run my beast through you, Anita." For a split second, I thought it was a euphemism, then I realized he meant exactly what he'd said. "Richard, I don't know." "I know you don't like otherworldly stuff during sex, but Anita..." He settled into the pillows in a strange smoothing motion that somehow reminded me that he wasn't human, "I felt your beast. It rolled through me." Just hearing it out loud took a little of the glow off for me. I slumped back against the bed, still on my knees, but no longer upright, hands limp in my lap. "Richard, I haven't had time to think this through. I don't know how I feel about it yet." "It's not all bad, Anita. Some of it can be wondrous." This from the man who had hated his beast for the entire time I'd known him; but I didn't say it out loud, I just looked at him. He smiled. "I know how strange that sounds coming from me." I looked at him harder. He laughed, settling lower on the pillows until he was sprawled in front of me. One leg bent up so he wouldn't touch me, but clHamilton, Laurell K. is the author of 'Narcissus in Chains' with ISBN 9780425181683 and ISBN 0425181685.