New, fanfic-y thing that is as yet untitled

Hello, hello again. Shaboom shaboom. So I'm back with a new... whatever this is I think I'm doing. A new, slow-starting piece that I'm pretty sure will be a cheesey piece of fanfic by the end of it. Meh. Such is life. So here goes hoping I don't offend, fuck shit up or make the true fangirls/fanboys mad...
~~~***~~~

Solange Lloyd sang into the broom handle, not caring who heard. She was home alone, anyway, and on a Saturday night at that. Her neighbors were probably all out. Being somewhat introverted, no matter how good she got at hiding it, had stunted her social life. So she stuck to singing as she swept up in her tiny coffehouse, just a few minutes after closing. The rest of her night would consist of getting in some time on the boards before she took a few hours to practice her instruments. That's what she had planned, at least.

Her voice faltered in the near dim light as she looked up to see a very tall figure at the storefront window. Her cheeks tingled crimson as her vision adjusted to the shadowed reflections on the inside and the night cloaked reality outside.

"Can I help you, sir?" Solé walked closer to the window, praying he hadn't seen or heard her personal concert. She thought she had an okay voice, but was certain she'd not be in the top 8 of American Idol in this lifetime, regardless what her close knit circle said.

"You have a lovely voice," the man purred. His voice sounded so close, deep and rich and clear, even given the thickness of the shatter-resistant glass, as if he were just beside her sharing the quiet of her little Chestnut Hill corner.

"Uh-hoh, you saw that...," she trailed off, her voice a nervous laugh.

"Yes, I did." He smiled at her then, and Solé felt her heart tumble into her stomach. He seemed aware of his effect on her, and mercifully continued. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find South Broad Street, my driver seems a bit," he paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to find the right word, "...new."

It was at the mention of a driver that Solé thought to get a good look at something other than his face. He was, in her opinion at least, the best example of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. She couldn't venture a precise guess at his height, but he seemed to dwarf her 5'6" frame. His slightly long dark hair was slicked back and he was elegantly dressed, which made her wonder what was on Broad Street that he was going to. His cerulean gaze narrowed as she blatantly appraised him from the other side of the window before belatedly remembering herself.

"Sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean to stare," Solé blurted as she set her broom aside and unlocked the door to him.

He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her as she stepped aside to let him in, which made him more appealing, if that were possible. More appealing in a dangerous way. 'Dangerous to my battery stock,' she thought to herself. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of derision, as if he'd heard her.

"If you've got a minute I can write down directions. Please, come in."

"Thank you. That would be very generous."

Solé shut the door behind him as he walked a few feet past her, leaving a thin veil of designer cologne in his wake. She turned to the bar and leaned forward to hop up and grab some paper and a pen. She settled her feet back on the floor, blowing at a few loose strands of her hair as she wrote out a list of directions. When she was done, she turned to find him looking at her oddly which made her realize how she must look: ratty Spider Man Chucks, black tights, an oversized green sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder and covered by a Holy Star Trinity (-Gate, Trek, Wars) apron and her hair in a complete shitshow of disarray. Figured she'd be looking like Cinderella's understudy when in the presence of another grown up of exceeding aesthetic proclivity. 'Dah well,' she thought to herself again. 'He's out of my league anyway'.

"Okay, here ya go, directions to South Broad. Not sure if you'll need to park, but there's plenty of lots and street space if you do."

He smiled again and took the paper from her, their fingers grazing just slightly with a tinge of static electricity. He read through the directions before he spoke again.

"'Solé's Little Coffee Shop'. Cute. So you must be Solé?"

Solange nodded and blushed, so transfixed by his elegance that she didn't realize until she looked away from him and down at her feet that she was backpedaling as he advanced, slowly crowding her into the bar. There must have been fear in her eyes when their gazes met again, as he stopped, a sheepish grin on his face that allayed suspicion. He gave a slight bow, something that seemed an out of place action for him, stepped back and reached for her right hand.

"Good lady, thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."

His fingertips were cool where they rested beneath her palm. He lifted her hand to his lips, tilting down slightly and placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Solange don't know how she stayed upright or kept her hands to herself. His lips were so soft and warm, and all she wanted to do was shove her fingers through his hair to see and hear him moan as her fingertips caressed his scalp. His hair looked like warm espresso, and she now had an urgent need to know if the strands would pour as easily over her fingers.

He straightened, returning her arm and hand, with that odd look again that she was starting to find not so troubling. His smile took its time appearing, and Solé knew she'd have no trouble finding inspiration tonight.

He took a step back and she realized she knew nothing about this seemingly refined and sophisticated stranger she had let into her bar so late. Not even a name. She found herself trying to guess at one as she smiled graciously herself and accepted his thanks. Judging by his accent, cadence and vocabulary, he probably didn't have a name that smoothly followed 'oh, god, fuck me', like Trent or Mark.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts again, and she had to wonder if she had said any of that last bit out loud. His voice, now slightly more upbeat than necessary, broke her from her thoughts.

"Well, I should get going if we wish to arrive on time. Thank you again, Solange."

He stepped back and let her pass to open the door. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave a slight nod, with the hint of a knowing glance and telling smile, before pulling the door closed and telling her to lock up against the dangers of nighttime in Philadelphia. Then he strolled over to the open car door and got in. Solé watched and sighed as the taillights disappeared down the street. A few awkward and bittersweet moments and back to being a pumpkin.

"Story of my life," she shrugged as she took broom in hand again and began singing the Leeann Womack tune. "Insanely hot dude stops for directions and of course, he's probably got some trophy waiting for him in the car. Asi es la vida, Mama."

She took no notice of the fact that he used her full name without her having mentioned it, or the faint cerulean-green orbs seemingly watching her from just beyond the farthest window...

The 8:27 - Chapter 1

*So I started working on this piece a few months ago. It is indeed inspired by some... slightly indulged true events, as most of my stories are. This is part/chapter/installment or whatever one. There will be more, as the muse visits me. But for now, enjoy!*

I catch the last rush hour train in to work every day.  It’s become sort of a ritual.  Not that I’m always late, or a certified procrastinator, not at all.  It’s just that in the mornings, parting from my bed has become quite frankly loathsome.  I have this queen sized slice of heaven that is my only luxury in this life so far.  Sumptuous linens, gorgeous merlot finished cherry wood and a high profile box spring.  My own brother said Saturday mornings were like trying to pry a junkie from their dealer.  Until he himself tried it, then all bets were off.  I had to threaten him with bodily harm and embarrassment before he got up.

But that’s not all there is to my morning commute.  By the time I’m showered, appropriately dressed, have come to some tenuous truce with my hair and run back into the house at least twice for some forgotten necessity, the crowded 8:27 ‘Last Hope Express’ is literally just that if I want to keep my reputation for punctuality in check.  I’m as meticulous as I can be with my appearance out of sheer habit.  Being a geeky nerdgirl most of my life I’ve developed a pattern that has over the years been adapted to maintain the same result.  No one ever tells you growing up is shit.

But there is one silver lining to my mornings in purgatory.  On a few fortuitous occasions, I have had the pleasure of being sardine-packed flush up against the loveliest piece of man-candy on the face of the earth, at least in my opinion.  We’ve never spoken, but he’s always been kind enough to look sheepish when our eyes met after the final herd of corporate drones pressed us together, his occasionally blatant morning wood crushed into my middle.  The first time it happened, he seemed slightly embarrassed, and the second time, nearly relieved it was me.  Kind of like ‘thank god you’re fat’. 

Now, about that; I’ve been described with varyingly unique terms in regards to my proportions; soft, plump, voluptuous, billowy, curvaceous, Rubenesque, fluffy, and nearly Zaftig, because there are men out there like my Uncle Charlie who prefer women with some “good grippin’ for the rippin’”.  Nice.

Actually, getting back to my story, it is kind of nice.  The opportunity for the anonymity of being pressed up against this gorgeous man first thing in the morning, like sort of a karmic gimmie for getting out of bed.  That first contact is always startling; kind of warm and surreal.  In the winter, with the blustery cold of the outdoors and the train tunnel it’s so welcome I have often had to tamp down the intent to shuck off my heavy parka and just press up against him, skin to suit.  And he wears the nicest suits.  Gorgeous colors that compliment his lightly toasted almond tan and fluctuatingly green eyes.  Which leads me to believe he has a girlfriend.  No one that naturally attractive can be that styled.  Laws of nature.  I told you, I’m a nerdgirl. 

What’s really fascinating is that in the summer, with his jacket over his arm or hanging from his briefcase, his skin is actually quite cool.  I found this out first hand one day, when he had to make a grab for me as the train reeled to a sudden stop due to signal troubles. 

The feel of that massive hand splayed over my arm was what I can only imagine cold fusion to be like.  His grip wasn’t forceful, but he held me trapped to him nonetheless.  Pressed intimately flush against him all the way down; head to shoulder, back to chest…  I could feel his body shift as he looked down at me.  I quickly caught hold of the grab pole in front of me to get my balance and keep my weight off him.  Who wants to start their day with the chubby chick pressed sweaty up against what could only be described as fabric on sin?  I felt him chuckle behind me, a weird little thing that reminded me how much I wasn’t the benchmark of idealism.  At that point, I didn’t really care.  I was late to work.  And I couldn’t call in on account of being underground.  Fuck.

The train p.a. system warbled on and transit personnel informed us that we would be back underway in literally a few moments.  I breathed a sigh of relief as I switched hands on the pole to glance at my watch. 

“Nearly ten to. You’ll make it,” I heard him say behind me. 

You’d think people would be a bit more considerate than to just melt a girl’s panties on a delayed rush hour express train.  With his hand still on my arm and the rest of him still nearly touching the rest of me, I could only nod.  I knew if I looked back at him I would definitely lose my balance, and it looked unlikely that I could rely on the train lurching back to life as a cover. 

“Thanks,” I mumbled over my shoulder. 

In the next instant, the train did lurch back to life, barreling forward with more than its usual speed.  The motion slung me forward, collapsing my arms between my body and the pole and pulling Mr. Sin-in-Silver along with me.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge the grunt I heard from him as we made contact, but if I did, I was fairly certain it was one of discomfort.  Minimal discomfort, as I’m sure I’m much nicer to be propelled into than a spun steel rod, but discomfort nonetheless.

When the train finally slowed, he pulled away from me, leaving me with a not so unusual tingle.  I was barely aware of someone shouting something over the din of bodies trying to make an exit as I straightened away from the grab pole.  His hand, to my alarm, slid under my short blouse sleeve and over my shoulder, squeezing gently and pressing against ‘that’ spot just above my shoulder blade. 

“Fun riding. Gotta go. Nice tat. Good morning.”  His breath was still in my ear moments after he’d gone, a mixture of the cool menthol and eucalyptus I recognized as a cough drop and the warmth I knew was body heat. 

Who the hell says good morning when they’re leaving, I wondered.  Then, ever so slowly, confusion set in.  Somewhere in those eight words was a coherent message. I stood there, in the midst of the express train, trying to figure it out.  Fun riding?  That had to be a joke.  Sort of a ‘no hard feelings’ type of thing.  The whole good morning deal pressed its way to the forefront of my mind again, and I tried unsuccessfully to shake it off.  It wasn’t until my cube mate Tara caught me puzzling that I even realized what it was. 

“Jeez, Seffie!  What the hell are you doing?  We’re gonna be late!  And I hope you have a jacket to cover the back of that shirt.”

SHIT! 

“Nice tattoo!  FUCK ME!” 

I could have sworn that was all shouted riotously in my head, but the smattering of cat calls that flew our way told me otherwise.  There was even a shout of ‘It’s gon’ be a good day, Tater!’  Some were even close enough to catch a vague glimpse of said tattoo; a hand, flexed over my left shoulder, four fingers on my collar, thumb behind, pressing into ‘that’ spot on my shoulder.  The intent was to represent someone reaching out, having my back, so to speak.  But what it more than often got confused for was someone restraining me into a rather lurid position.  And the only reason my train fantasy had seen it this morning, after nearly a year of riding the same train to nearly the same destination, was because my brain chose comfort over conformity this ridiculously warm morning and went with the tastefully fashionable, yet still not work appropriate sheer back camisole shirt set, but I forgot my blazer on the arm of the sofa. 

Shitty fuck shit.  Well, at least my day started off well.  Really well, if I’m honest.  I’d have to ask Tara if she had anything to remedy sodden undergarments when we got to the office.  Stepping off the train and into the early morning swelter, my shirt began to cling to my skin as we ran up the stairs to the street level.  And I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched…

Monday Morning

Many thanks to my editor, LaRascasse.

♦♦♦♦♦

　

It had been a crazy weekend. I'd barely made it to bed before three am Monday morning with all the scurrying and prep I needed to get done. Of course, he'd crashed out hours before, lucky bastard. In his defense, though, he had been working all week and weekend, and we missed greeting each other when he got home.

So when my hand did its usual 6 am snooze bar slam dance, I just turned on my side and tried to get back to catch a few more winks. It wasn't unusual for him to turn with me and spoon me into his arms; I just never thought he was awake before.

I thrilled to the warmth of his body and the possessive way his arms slid around me. Nothing makes a woman feel better than being held by her lover. And the sound of the city coming to life under a blanket of rain was all the more relaxing.

I felt his substantial morning wood nestle in the cleft of my thighs and smiled to myself a bit. To this day I still wonder how I got so lucky. He pressed a tiny kiss to the nearly invisible initials at the base of my neck and then rested his head on my shoulder. He did this quite often in his sleep. But I knew something was different when his thumb began to stroke my nipple lightly through my tank top.

I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against my back, and his breathing seemed conducive to him being asleep. But that damn thumb was working magic, and that low, rumbling groan against my back made me uncertain. His hand encased as much of my breast as it could, then, giving a light squeeze that got me tingling all over. God bless this man, he knows how to sleep. Another kiss to my tatt, and a quiet, groggy whisper, "Mara."

I smiled to myself as I tried to imagine what we were doing in his dream. He and I have that sort of razor's edge relationship that neither of us can find a strong enough reason to quit. We know each other well enough to needle, taunt, and goad just so to get just beneath the surface before we back off and the chase begins. It’s not done with outright malicious intent, but rather, simply because it’s so satisfying to agitate each other. Some people would call that a 'volatile codependency'.

I could feel his length getting harder behind me, thoroughly wedging further between my legs as he continued to palm my tit. I closed my eyes and yielded to the subtle waves of sensation coursing through my body at his touch. The stupid alarm blared again.

I stretched to the snooze bar, barely grazing it in my effort to not wake him with my movements. His hand squeezed possessively, hips thrust slightly, and I melted back into his arms. I'd take this wake up over an electronic one ten times out of ten, and gleefully begin my days. But the morning waits for none to get their pre-daybreak fix, save for a favored few.

"Where you goin'?" he mumbled into the gap between my shoulder blade and the pillow, squeezing hard enough to be just this side of painful and pulling me back flush against him. His now blatantly hard shaft slid further between my now askew legs, the passage made easier by the slickness his hands were practically wringing from me.

"It's Monday, baby," I whispered. As much as I hated to, I tapped his hand to get him to let go. He just grunted and shifted his position, putting the pillow of my shoulder underneath him again.

"Come on, Tey. I gotta get up, babe." To anyone it would have been obvious by the laughter, and if I'm honest the reluctant whine, in my voice that I didn't want to get up.

Matthieu, 'Tey', was one of the most beautifully created men I ever saw. Not my usual 'type', if only in coloring, I would be hard pressed not to admit just hearing his voice got me all wet and sticky. My best friend and I have a top ten list of people (of either gender, we're heteroflexible and appreciate all forms of beauty) we'd nail if the opportunity arose. Shan was all about the blonds, gingers, and the Tyson Beckford types. I'm much more for the dark, broodingly intimidating type. Guys like Oded Fehr, Henry Rollins... While I do have a blonds list, it is admittedly female heavy. But my top two are guys, and will not be unseated. Suffice it to say that no one expected me to give Tey more than a passing, lustful glance. To borrow a Tosh phrase, "He's what Hitler had in mind". And I will cop to giving him a hard time at first. But damn if I don't love 'persistence' of any variety. Especially wrapped in a tall, broad, gritty baritone.

I'll never understand the appeal of these rail thin grown men. Some of them are lovely, but in that 'art exhibit' sort of way. I just like guys who look like they could easily toss me across a room intoxicated. It doesn't hurt that Tey's numbers are impressive: 6'6", 275, 9" by 3", and the most important number, 189. The man is wicked brains. And nothing is sexier to me than well wielded intelligence. Well, maybe well wielded intelligence with a hint of the barbaric tactician... But that's in a perfect world.

I tried again to wiggle from his embrace, but was only successful in shifting his grip from my sensitive nipple to my waist. My movements stilled as he pressed flesh into bone at my hip. That's when I knew he was awake. The delicious pain radiated through me as he loosened his grip enough to caress the curve of my thigh, pulling my body ever closer to his.

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily. I could feel and hear the sly smile in his voice. And whether I had time to or not, my morning was starting with roll in the sheets, not that I minded in the least. With Tey, my irritation is only ever for show.

"Hey, you. Eggs and bakey. Gotta get up dude. Come on, I'll make you a late breakfast."

"Yeah, you will." He sounds so sexy when he's half sleep.

I was mentally going to go through my laundry list of reasons why I couldn't stay and play when his hand slid into the leg of the boy shorts I was wearing. He kneaded my thigh with a delicious forcefulness that sent a moan through me before I could stop it. He knew he had me now.

I almost pouted aloud when he shifted his hand. Next thing I knew, my second favorite pair of panties, the 'kiss the baker' pair, lay ripped on the left hem, thankfully not completely ruined. I scoffed, only partially affronted as he was still sending jolts of pleasure through me with his touch.

"Mmmm. Sorry babe," he said into my neck. I barely had a chance to get a good telling off ready before he was sliding into me. His left hand anchored me to the bed as he thrust into me with agonizing leisure. My chest rose and fell as his muscular arm snaked around my hip and down between my thighs. Only an innocent or an imbecile would assume him anything less than fully awake and executing a coup of my Monday morning. Fucker!

"Do you have any idea," he whispered hotly in my ear, "how many ways I imagined ripping you apart?"

I was beginning to tremble from the feel of him so deep in me but yet not deep enough, the strain in his voice from his just barely leashed control exciting me further, and his fingers perilously close to my clit, unmoving. I could feel the tiny pulses of the steel band of his arm around me, matching his heartbeat and mine succinctly. The breath I'd been holding came out in a panting moan as he began to tunnel the rest of his masterful cock into me. Apparently he could brook finesse no longer as he force fed my cunt the rest of his length in one savage upstroke.

"FUCK!" He growled in my ear at his complete possession of me, nipping my earlobe and flicking it with his tongue between his teeth. I screamed and came as his thick fingers slid through my folds and trapped my clit between them.

"Shut the fuck up!" Tey ordered dangerously. I could only comply, having been reduced to a whimpering, near viscous, puddle in his arms. My eyes drifted closed as he withdrew from me just as excruciatingly slowly.

"So fucking tight for me, Mara. Did you miss me, baby? Did you miss me holding you down and making you take all this cock inside you till you scream?"

"God, Tey." He could always get me so wet and turned on that I'd moan like an alley cat in heat. I leaned my head back against his neck as he settled into a methodical rhythm, his fingers scissoring my clit deliciously in cadence with his slow, strong-arming thrusts.

His tongue snaked out behind my ear as he used my body like a fist on his dick. My mouth hung open soundlessly as he whispered dirty, nasty things to me mingled with inane, everyday quips to keep me just this side of euphoric ecstasy.

"I'm gonna... mmmm... fuck you slow while you... mmmm... make me pancakes, Mar. I'll fuckin' sneak up on you in your garden and ram this cock in your ass and make the neighbors call the cops again. You can tell them why you're taking my fuckin' cock in all your holes while you're trimmin' the hibiscus and screaming bloody fuckin' murder, ok, babe? Yeah."

Then he just stopped. Buried balls deep and on the brink, he just fucking stops. I absolutely seethed in that moment and I let him know. My eyes shot open, short blunt nails digging pink tinted crescents into his forearm. I stared burning daggers at him as he flexed inside me.

"Aww. Kittenface, you look upset babe. What's wrong?"

"Fuck you!" I spat at him with all the half indignation I could muster with his cock doing a tight dance along my walls. I got a sound slap to my aching clit for my outburst. "FUCKING JESUS!"

"Filthy mouth, Mara. You've become a very dirty girl since I been gone. I'm gonna have to scrub your mouth out." Tey leaned in and nipped the side of my neck, the pinch of his teeth ripping a yelp from my upper register and making me tense and ripple around him, pulling him even deeper.

"You scream so good for me, though, so I forgive you." See what I meant by 'razor's edge relationship'?

"Go straight to hell, Matthieu," I managed to grit out before he rolled onto his back with me still gored on his dick. He anchored me to his hips as his fingers danced nimbly on my clit. My arms flashed out to the mattress, my fingers barely gaining purchase on the sheets around his massive torso. He pulled out a fraction; let the threat hang for a minute.

"Take it back, babygirl. You know you love me." To emphasize his point he rained light kisses on my neck and shoulder as his hand moved from my hip to my throat, daring me to contest him.

"DAMMIT, TEY!" I whined loudly, almost in tears. I was on a magnificent multifaceted precipice, just on the verge of hating him, loving him, and wanting to torture him barbarically. He tilted his hips just slightly, raising my ire even more. He tormented me with scant inches, moving nearly all the way out and only just barely in; a cruel gibe.

"You want me to fuck you hard and fast or slow and deep, Kittenface? Hmmm? Tell me baby. Ask me nicely or I'll stop." He accentuated his last word with another painfully thrilling slap to my clit. By now I was dripping sweat, oozing lust and all but delirious. I yanked his hand away in a frenzied attempt at the now morning derailing orgasm that Tey dangled frustratingly out of reach.

I pressed down hard and squeezed my thighs together with enough force to cramp and bruise. The pleasure slammed through me and I nearly sat bolt upright as he surged up into me again, completely engulfed by my more than ravenous snatch. I could hear Tey under me fighting the losing battle for his control and smiled a little to myself. However, my victory of will was short-lived.

I took advantage of his hands releasing me to my own devices in his distraction and got four deep strokes off before he knocked my right arm out from under me, trapping both my wrists within one massive hand between my thighs and slammed me down on his hips, stabbing savagely at my cervix. His sturdy thighs lifted us off the bed as his legs slid between mine, prying them apart with his knees and throwing his calves over my ankles. My ensuing wail was autonomic as he sent us crashing back into the mattress, slamming in and out of me with rapid fire accuracy. Apparently he'd had just enough of the niceties as I.

"Thief," he whispered hotly in my ear. "Who said... you could... fuck... this... dick... huh?"

We both were past pride's fall. I wept openly and begged and pleaded to every deity I'd ever heard of as Tey moved with sleek savagery deep within me. My fingers flew over my folds of their own reactionary accord, confined as they were. I could feel his tense, high-wrought breathing as he demolished me from the inside out. His straining torso tensed and flexed over and over. I knew then he was just as ready to let go as I was. Even moreso, maybe. I was too far gone to be philosophical.

And when my own massive release was as imminent as my next breath, he thrashed into me once more before yanking out of my well beaten cunt and tossing me on my back underneath him.

"Not yet baby. Not yet." I could feel his pulse hammering through his body as he slid gently back into me, with such determined tenderness my tears began anew in earnest. He leaned in, whispering my name as he kissed my tears away.

"Stay with me, Mara. Right here babe."

My hands flew to his shoulders, my fingers tangling in his hair and gripping his rotator. He gave a satisfying hiss as my nails broke skin somewhere over his shoulder. His jaw clenched and he growled low as I thrust my hips up to collide with his. In that moment, with my fingers clenched in his hair and warm beads of sweat drizzling my neck from his brow, I seriously doubted if he ever had, or would, look sexier to me. There was a purposefulness in the depths of his gaze I failed to recognize.

"Show me," he whispered.

"Yes." Yes.

I pulled him to me, my hand going to his neck as our lips met. I surrendered everything I am to that kiss, that moment. The heartache and fear, pride and hard-knocks strength, honor and willfulness, need and love; all laid bare to him as I unraveled completely under his touch. He ran a hand down my left side, hooking my leg around his waist. I could feel the swell of him stretching me beautifully as he rolled us once more, and with one final thrust froze under my quivering body, eyes closed, head thrown back, delightfully strained in his own ecstasy.

Tey held me there, pinned to his loins like a badge of honor as I shook and trembled, as much from crying as from the bliss of the moment. He ran his fingers through my unruly curls as he spent himself deep into me. From what sounded like far away I heard him whispering to me.

"Gi melin. Sevig i veleth nîn." I could only nod as I wept into the hollow of his left shoulder. The beauty of those words from his voice undid me.
"Do you love me, angel?" I nodded wordlessly. I had never loved any man more. He ran his hands over my still trembling form as he soothed me. "Good." I pressed kisses to his neck and shoulders as my tears ebbed. He turned to his side and gathered me in his arms slowly sliding out of me wetly, making my sensitive flesh sing a lament of his absence. It still amazed me how he could fill me so completely and still be at least semi erect.

As I settled into his arms and got comfortable - Monday would definitely have to wait - I felt a discomfort in my left hand. I pulled my arm out from under me, staring stunned and wondering when he found the time to slip the bold ring on me unnoticed.

Tey gave me a little squeeze.

"Forever, Xiomara. Marry me." He must have felt the tension I tried to hide. We’d had this discussion before. He refused to accept that I just was not the marrying kind. He grazed calloused fingertips over my arm. "Come on, the Elvish counts for something, right?" he laughed. "Save my tarnished reputation in society and make an honest man of me."

I couldn't hide my ginormous smile. "Maybe. It's a risky affair. You know what you would gain, but what would you bring to this union?" I was goading him simply for getting one over on me with that ring. We would discuss dialing it back a bit when we were both coherent.

He looked down at me with mock indignation. "You've forgotten already, huh?" His hand slid down and pinched my ass sharply, making me squeal and wiggle in his arms. "Guess I'll have to... remind you. Later...," he yawned. Settling me firmly in his arms, the last thing either of us remembered before sleep claimed us was the rumble of his sexily groggy voice.

"Happy birthday, Mara."

"Happy birthday, Tey."