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Throb.
You were spinning, spinning, spinning. He was holding your hips in place, tightly, but not roughly. His grasp was steady and you felt safe in his embrace, safe on his lips, safe as he was devouring you with his intense gaze. He licked you along the neckline and you slowly rocked hips in response, your legs - wrapped around him - pulling him even closer.
Throb.
You didn't remember anymore whose idea it had been anymore, yours or his. Nor who had poured the herbal mixture you had got from the market into the beverage you had been enjoying this evening. Its taste was still tingling on your tongue, the bitter tang of desire and yearning. Everytime Jean kissed you and your breaths melted the taste was renewing, as if the aphrodisiac flowing in your veins was becoming alive when your lips were meeting.
Throb.
There had been a man. A nameless no one. He once had a name but you didn't wish to remember anymore. Not when Jean was holding you, not when he took you and placed you on his lap, not with him inside you, so deep, so good, so warm, so full. And your head was spinning, spinning. And your heart was racing, racing. And your breath was needy, so needy of air he was breathing with, of the taste of his lips, of him, just him, oh god, oh fate, oh Jean.
Throb.
You were plunging together, two lonely souls, two broken hearts, two people starved of love and touch, so close and so far, so intimate and so distant. Your warmth, his warmth, your question, his promise. His hand was kneading your flesh and your fingers were tracing his scars, the touch full of words, silence full of breathing, air full of desire.
Throb.
He was inside you and it was good. He belonged there and you didn't want anyone else besides him. The more lust was pooling in you, the more warmth was heating you red, the less you wanted to move, to break the balance, to wreck the unspoken rule, to break the non-existing law. You wrapped your arms around him as well, pulling him as close as you could, tears involuntary falling down your cheeks, down his chest. He was kissing them away whenever he could catch one. His lips gained a salty taste, like the sea from which he had come to your life.
Throb.
His hand, his only hand, moved up your spine to meet your chin and lift it. His eyes were clouded, dark as never, serious as never yet so calm and loving. You wanted to stare at them forever, you wanted to let him devour you even if he wasn't asking. You willingly gave and he willingly took. You were talking and he was listening. You were crying and he was comforting. You were seeking and he was letting you find. The yin and the yang, the wind and the sea.
Throb.
"Could he make you feel as good as I do?" Those were the first words he said since you both agreed on drinking the mixture.
"He couldn't." You said the truth. "He never could. No one could."
"Forget him. He never deserved you."
When your lips met yet once again, it exploded. The tension, the lust, the hesitation holding you both in place: it mixed, cumulated and erupted. His hips moved and you answered, warmth spilled and the dam broke. You were screaming and crying and begging, but none of the words said carried meaning besides the need and emotions. You came for him and for him only. The rest didn't matter anymore.
Jean loved you. Jean desired you. Jean was with you and the world could end.
The warmth of his seed was overwhelming. You sighed as it filled you, as it spilled down your thighs as he withdrew, suddenly feeling so empty after gods of the sea knew how long you stayed connected, together, as the one. Jean scooped you into a tight embrace, pulled you so close you felt his powerful yet calm heartbeat through his skin and muscles.
"(Name)." He was tasting the sound of your name on his lips, with face buried into the crown of your hair. "(Name), (Name), (Name)."
