The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

Inside Brahms - Part 46

Acknowledgement to https://heelshire-mansion.tumblr.com/ for creating the above image

Water beats down, soaking us both. I feel it thrashing the back of my neck; watch it run over her body, crystal and sparkling, coursing over breasts and belly, down between her legs.   I need to cleanse her.   Not just her lovely body, but her mind and soul.  For me, Melinda was never an issue.   Never a threat.   And I knew that I'd kill her if she tried to hurt us.   But it's Y/N's first time. A time I never thought would come.   And so I feel her hurt even though I don't understand it; and I understand her horror even though I can't feel it.   I can't explain that all this will pass.  She has to learn this in her own way. I'm here for her while she does. I'm her Brahms.

I lean down and cover her mouth with mine. My body starts to respond, and I want her so badly it's all I can do to restrain myself.  This person; this woman; has taught me the art of prolong.  I feel her tongue probing, and the pleasure sends thrills through me that only her touch can provoke.  I reach around her waist and pull her closer. The soft crush of her breasts is one of the most erotic things I've experienced.  Because of her, the chains of my isolation are broken and I can finally know a woman. She's completed me.

In all my fantasies before she came, I'd dream of sex and what it would be like; punishing, fucking, owning.  I'd dream of how I'd use and abuse to serve my own twisted lust. But I never knew what it was to share.   I never knew what it was to love.   My understanding of love might be different to hers.   She shows affection where I feel the need to possess.   If love is being unable to live without someone, to die for them...then I love her more than I can express.  Sometimes, I'm afraid of breaking her.   She's fragile, like a bird.  Yet, in those times when she's on top and I'm beneath her, I'm the one who yields.  The one who's broken.  Her slave.

I break the kiss to stare down into her face.  In an effort to stop the urge to take her, I reach out to place both hands on the cold tiled shower cubicle, pushing, flexing.  Water courses over my face and into my eyes, but I don't blink. All I can do is drink her in.

Yes...I'd die for her. I've killed for her. And she for me.

She's kissing me again, trying her best to help me let go.  But I won't.  Not yet.  I need this to last. I know she loves every facet of me.  All my strengths and weaknesses.  I know what she wants, what she needs.  I've watched her passion grow with each part of me I show her.   I've watched her love blossom with each part of me I give her.  I can be the tenderest lover she ever dreamed of.   The fiercest fuck she ever wanted.   Every fantasy she ever needs.  I can be everyone to her.  I can be her dream; or her nightmare. I'm her soul mate.

She's murmuring my name, and I deepen the kiss, the slide my hand over her body, down between her thighs.   She's hot and wet and moves against my fingers.   I could make her come right now, like I have a hundred times, leaving her gasping for more.  But I'm content to tease her, see how far I can go before she breaks.  And she will. Unless I show her some mercy. She's panting now, but the desire in her eyes breaks me first.

There's always a sweet moment in those seconds as I slid home where I marvel at how close one person can be with another, where I feel I'm not deserving.   So many years were denied to me of this vital human contact.  Too many lost nights that I slept alone.  So much loneliness.  I groan into her neck as she takes me, circling my body with her legs.  Nothing matters to me now but my own lust, and in the taking of her.  I stare into her eyes, because that's where the real turn on is...on watching her face as she comes...because in those special moments she's mine, all of her; mind, body and soul.

Afterwards, I take her to the bedroom and lay her down.  Her body is glorious to me.  I use a towel to dry her, then lie down next to her and close my eyes. I always feel so sleepy afterwards; a mix of exhaustion and content.   I hold her close, breathing into her wet hair.  She doesn't speak and I'm glad.  Sometimes, I don't want to talk.  I don't feel the need and she seems to understand this.  For a long while we lay, naked, pressed together in mutual silence; no words exchanged.  No words needed.