***500 Words***
{Rough draft scene of something in a future work. Warning for language and adult scenario}
He drank up the graceful curves of her body, up her long, long legs encased in the form fitting black leather of her uniform. “So, you wanna fuck?”
He didn’t know what possessed him, only that he wanted to see what she would say, to see if what he did, if anything, could touch her–break through that unflappable exterior.
She looked at him, gaze raking over him so thoroughly he swore he could feel his skin give way. “I’m not in the mood to fuck. I’m in the mood to kill.” Her voice lashed out, lethal as her sword.
“That’s like the same thing.”
She lifted an eyebrow, as if to say “And you would know?” An elegant question without saying a word.
That look. Fuck, that made him hard as hell.
He shrugged a nonchalance he didn’t feel, his body taut as a bow string. “Regardless, I said I’d help you. Up to you to choose how I do it.”
She peered at him over the rim of her dark sunglasses. Without a word, she turned away from the precipice, wind whipping up her short hair. She walked toward him, and for a moment, he could believe that she was coming to him. Willingly.
He held his breath as she neared him; without pausing, she walked past him toward the front door.
He exhaled slowly, releasing the tension he hadn’t known he held on to. She was ever the untouchable goddess. And she would always keep him at bay.
Then, she paused at the doorway. Looked back at him over her shoulder. Tilted her head in a “Coming?” gesture. Then disappeared.
He stalked after her. Didn’t need to be asked twice.
She hung up her coat on a hook in the sparring room, so that all she wore was a black halter showing her midsection, toned planes of her perfect stomach. Low slung form fitting leather pants that were deceptively useless though he knew they were made to withstand the heat of battle.
She removed her sunglasses slowly. That was his only warning.
She came at him with all she had.
Fighting her was like trying to capture water.
No, not water. Fire.
And that’s what she was. Brilliant. Radiant. And fucking hot.
She could burn him up and he’d be the douche bag begging for more.
He landed a lucky punch, a right cross that caught her square in the jaw.
For a quiet moment, it was like everything stopped. All noise, breath, sweat…even the planet stopped spinning.
And then sound and energy poured into that momentary vacuum again.
Which was when he realized she had been holding back.
Soon, he was on his back, and her blade found a home next to his face.
They both were breathing heavily. He on his back, she straddled over him, a knee pinning down one arm.
One breath to the next, he didn’t know if he had willed her down on him or if he rose up to meet her, but they came at each other. She was his sun, and he burned beneath her.
Their kiss was a maddened frenzy, a duel of tongues and teeth as dangerous as their sparring match.
Clothes tore.
Limbs wrestled.
Breaths hitched.
Until they were finally joined together.
And the dance changed.
And they were no longer fighting against each other but fighting together, spurring each other on toward a common goal.
He clung to as much of her as she would let him, grasping her hips tight, hoping he wasn’t hurting her while at the same time reveling in how he was marking her as his.
Even as he knew this wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, he set aside all thoughts of his past and his future, and gave himself over to the now, to the thrusting, to the feel of her and only
her, filled with her as he filled her.
He burst apart.