Fragments 4

There was something familiar about her. In the way that she dipped her head as she brushed back a stray lock of hair, before looking up and catching his eye.

It made him ache with a strange combination of lust and longing. And guiltily he looked away.

But he couldn't help it.

Something about her drew his gaze. And when he thought she wasn't watching, he'd steal long, searching looks at her. Drinking in the image of her before him. Uncertain why this was so important to him.

Turning back to his newspaper, he waited as, in the corner of his vision he saw her glance up. At him?

She lowered her eyes to her book again. One delicate hand turning the pages whilst the other held the coffee mug. Not by the handle, but with her whole hand clasped around the centre, like a beggar on a cold night.

Turning away, he resolved to stare no more. The paper in front of him failing miserably to hold his attention.

Then a small tap on his shoulder. He shrugged, thinking it in his imagination but it came again and harder.

His head craned round and his breath caught in his throat. She was there, so close, so alive.

"You were staring at me!" She said in a matter of fact tone. "Why?"

He froze, uncertain how to reply. The truth of course, always the truth. But how? Simplicity is the best option she'd always said.

"You remind me of someone."

There, all done, that wasn't so hard was it?

He watches as her face clouds over. Her eyes shut and then open again, they glitter like rain on marble.

"I'm not her," she says flatly. "I'm not her."

Then she turns and walks away. Not hurrying. But firm, resolute, her spine taut and her book clasped tightly to her side.

"Wait," he calls, "wait!"

He doesn't expect her to stop. But she does. Doesn't turn, doesn't look at him, just waits. And so he continues, unwisely perhaps.

"I know you're not her," he mutters, "but who are you?"

"I'm me," she replies quietly. "And that's all you need to know."

"Wait!" He cries again, but she's already off, slinking into the shadows like a cat, blending in, vanishing, as if she had truly been a figment of his imagination.

A fragment of the past.

***

It was hot, too hot for clothes, and sweat glistened on skin as they fell onto the bed.

Their laughter echoed up through the open window as piece by piece they removed all barriers between them.

Together now, they touched, stroked. Drew lines in the moisture on their bodies and followed beads of sweat that ran down like salty tears, collecting on the sheet beneath them.

The darkness outside was soft like velvet, cocooning them in warmth and secrecy as he raised himself above her, clasping her hands above her head, their fingers intertwined.

He teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, slick and hot and wet against him.

Her nipples, raised in hard points, slid against his chest, and he heard her sharp intake of breath as he slowly pushed into her.

Watching as her eyes fell shut and her small white teeth bit softly on her lower lip, tugging slightly on the delicate skin as she struggled to remain silent.

Bending his head, he took a nipple between his lips, teasing it with his mouth, sucking slightly, enjoying the way he could feel her breath catch with each considered movement of his hips, his tongue, his teeth.

He moved slowly, in time with the wind in the trees, not rushing, not fighting for completion, just savouring the feel of her around him.

The tightness that quivered with every tug of his mouth at her breast, the soft dampness of her skin, the breathy sighs that greeted each small change of his body within hers.

A moan was plucked from her lips and he glanced up. Her eyes were wide and glassy, suffused with lust. He couldn't look away.

He watched as the sensations flitted across her face. Each thrust causing an expression of almost pain to appear, followed instantly by a look of loss and a begging light in her eyes as she showed him she wanted more. Needed more.

His breathing was heavy too now, her slick wetness welcoming him in with each thrust and unwilling to let him go.

Her hands gripped his tightly as he watched her chest and face become flushed with pleasure. In a few more seconds it would be over...

***

For many nights he returned to the cafe. He sat in the corner, newspaper untouched, waiting.

And for many nights, the owner shuffled him out into the street at midnight, paper in hand, drink reheated and poured into a paper cup to keep his fingers warm as he walked.

He held it in one hand, fingers wrapped around the cardboard tube, unconsciously mimicking, or consciously perhaps. What did it matter.

It ended the same way, all warmth gone, left on the wall outside his apartment building, with him locked away inside. The sound of birds singing their morning song taunting him through the open window as he lay, staring at the ceiling. Figments and fragments and memories swirling around his head.

***

This was not supposed to happen!

He, who had never done an impulsive thing in his life, lured by the whimsical charms of a siren.

A siren who was currently curled with her head in his lap like a contented cat, absentmindedly stroking his thigh as they gazed up at the stars.

The night was peaceful around them, the waves lapping against the shore lulling him into relaxation.

He stroked her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft warmth as she smiled up at him, her eyes glowing green in the moonlight.

Lowering his head, he tasted her lips, their mouths teasing and withdrawing as deftly, she unfastened his trousers.

Releasing him, she ran one pointed finger up his length, making him twitch and shudder in anticipation.

He tried to reach for her, but she gave him a warning glance and he reluctantly lay back in the sand, his head pillowed on his arms, slightly raised so that he could still see her.

Dipping her head, she smiled as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, exposing her neck.

Her skin shone white in the moonlight and he watched as she poked out her tongue and licked her lips greedily. The moisture glinting on her skin.

Again, she stroked him from base to tip, tip to base, with just the lightest pressure, watching him tense and squirm beneath her touch.

When her tongue replaced her finger he sucked in a deep breath, his hips unconsciously thrusting up to meet her mouth.

He watched helplessly as she lapped away the small bead of moisture forming at the tip and then took him deep into her mouth, tilting her head to one side and brushing her hair back over her shoulder.

He groaned as he watched her eyes fall shut and she lightly gripped him around the base of his shaft. Soft vibrations flowed from her throat as she moved up and down, sending shivers through his body.

She sucked gently and he dug his nails into the palm of his hands, willing himself to stay still, scared that if he moved this would end...

***

She was waiting for him as he placed the cooling coffee cup on the wall outside his apartment building.

"Who am I?" She whispered into the night air.

"I don't know," he replied wearily.

"But you want to."

She stated it bluntly, as if it was a forgone conclusion.

"Yes," he answered. "And you want it too."

He didn't know where the words had come from. Somewhere deep inside perhaps, a place of secrets and memories. The place that knowledge is stored.

Stepping out of the shadows, she raised her head, staring at him unafraid.

Her green eyes sparkled with mischief in the light of the street lamp and her pale skin glowed.

"Come then," she said calmly. "We have a lot of learning to do."

***

"Everything ends," he whispered, as they lay entwined, the sweat drying on their skin.

"Do you really believe that?" She asked, pushing her hair back from her face to look up at him.

Looking down at her, he sighed.

"What other explanation could there be?"

"None, of course," she replied breezily, "don't know what I was thinking of."

But he wondered, what if she was right. What then?