You Are Mine

A tear fell from her eye and slid ever so slowly across the curve of her cheek, pooling in the downturned corner of her mouth. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed the tear away.

“Are you so very disappointed in me?” she asked, gazing up into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts there.

“Do I seem disappointed?”

She thought about everything that had just happened, turning it over in her mind. She had been so absorbed in her own experience of events, so focused on her own feelings, that she hadn’t really paid attention to how he seemed during it all, what he might be getting from it. She was mostly aware of what he was doing, of how it impacted her — and how those impacts felt — and not so much of how he might be feeling. Now she recalled the intense concentration on his face, the firm yet gentle touch of his other hand, and she realized he had been fully present in the moment, completely focused upon her, while she had selfishly spared thoughts only for herself. A fresh sense of unworthiness and selfishness washed over her, and once again she could not understand his interest in her, despite the evidence of his caring embrace, his soothing touch, his loving kiss. She sniffled softly before replying.

“No. No, you don’t, but I don’t understand why you put up with me. I’m so selfish! You are so good to me, and I don’t do anything for you, and, and… and no wonder I needed this, deserved this, what you just did, when you… I didn’t pay any attention to you! I should have been thinking about you, but all I could think about was what was happening to me, and when your hand… when it would…”

“Hush.” He put a finger to her lips, quieting her, cradling her on his lap. He kissed her brow and slowly her breathing calmed. “You were perfect. You gave me everything I could possibly desire. You lost yourself in the experience, gave yourself over to me completely, and that, my darling, is more beautiful to me than you could imagine.”

Again she found herself lost in his eyes, looking for what he wasn’t saying but finding only honesty there. With a start she realized that she trusted him completely, knew with every fiber of her being that he would always take care of her. She wanted to wrap her arms about him and hold on tight, never let go, but of course that wasn’t possible yet. She lay her head against his chest, curling herself in his lap, and he held her more tightly. She could feel his heart beating strongly beneath her cheek, and she marveled at the power he wielded over her. With a single word he could calm her fears. With a single touch he could inflame her passions. With a single glance he could hold her soul.

She wriggled against him, settling in comfortably, and she felt his heart race within his ribcage. Experimentally, she wiggled again, and again his pulse rate shot up. She smiled to herself, marveling at the power she apparently held over him, too, her doubts evaporating like summer rain steaming under the hot southern sun.

“Careful, pet, or you’re liable to get me started all over again,” he said with a soft chuckle, and that thought only made her want to wriggle more. She turned her face up toward his, and he leaned down to kiss her lips, long, languorous, and slow. Now she really wished she could wrap her fingers in his hair, twining them in its silky black length, caressing the touch of grey just beginning to show at his temples, but she contented herself with inhaling his breath, tasting his mouth, parting her lips to tease the tip of his tongue with her own.

She felt just a twinge of discomfort from her sore bottom, but that reminder only served to ignite further flames within her. The twinge and her reaction didn’t escape his notice, and he responded by taking her mouth even more fiercely, crushing her lips with his kiss, taking her lower lip between his teeth and biting to just the edge of pain. Briefly she wondered if afterwards her lips would also be bruised, sore, and red, but then she ceased all thought as he renewed his advance, crushing her thin body against his with the ferocity of his embrace.

After an eternity that flashed by in an instant, he withdrew and they both caught their breaths, panting from aroused passions. He kept her gaze locked on his eyes, lifting a hand to push back a strand of hair falling across her face.

“Do you still wonder if I’m disappointed with you, my pet?”

She smiled, all fears laid to rest. “No. No, I don’t.”

“And are you disappointed with me?”

“No, I am not.”

“Good, because I plan to keep you for a very long time.”

She squirmed again in his lap, happiness settling over her, suffusing her through and through.

“Ok, I don’t think we need these any longer,” he said, reaching around behind her. “But first, pet, what are you?”

She knew this game. She liked this game, and now she knew it wasn’t actually a game.

“I am yours.”

“That’s right,” he said, as he unlocked the cuffs from her wrists.

“You are mine.”

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11 thoughts on “You Are Mine

    • Oh yes… Do you want a youthful Adonis who looks great but is still finding his way, or a seasoned veteran, confident in his experience and actions, who knows without having to wonder about just what you need and just what will rev your engine? 🙂

      I’ve always preferred my heroes to be just a bit older, and easily relatable. I’ve never been drawn to the 23-year-old billionaire playboy as a leading man. If my hero is wealthy (and he’s actually not likely to be — I like them accessible), he needs to have earned that wealth for himself, not had it handed to him. Everything he has, he has to have struggled to obtain by the sweat of his brow and the sum of his wits.

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  1. You showcased some tremendous use of language here. “With a single glance he could hold her soul.” WHAT A LINE! I also loved the expression, “her doubts evaporating like summer rain steaming under the hot southern sun.” It’s always tough to come up with similies that don’t sound like clichés; this one is really original. It’s even harder to work alliteration into them. You’ve got a gift for expressing yourself.

    I also liked the internal conflict within the unnamed female character. Most authors resort to external conflicts to drive the story. (Let’s face it, it’s much easier to do.) I enjoyed this welcome departure.

    One final thing: I really applaud you for is your honesty in advertising. Your tag line is, “Romance Novels with an Erotic Edge.” You delivered exactly what you promised. The piece was romantic and edgy. It’s not easy to write either style. You did it very well and combined the two seamlessly.

    Thank you for posting such a unique piece.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ok, I’m bouncing up and down now. I think I’m mainlining these beautiful compliments, and I’ll have to guard against overdose.

      I strongly believe that a story needs both internal (character-driven) and external (plot-driven) conflict in order to be complete, though in this little vignette the external issues are only hinted at, and have occurred before the reader enters the scene. Really, all the best stories, in any genre, are ultimately character-driven at their core, even if they follow a classic hero’s journey plot line. We want to see how they struggle to overcome obstacles that are initially completely beyond them, and how they deal with being thrust outside the comfort zone of their ordinary world.

      I love to read good erotica, but it moves me the most when I experience the emotional highs and lows of the central characters, not just the physical aspects of getting it on. I like my smut spiced with romance and salted with suspense.

      “Summer rain steaming under the hot southern sun.” I actually did rewrite that line a few times — it’s almost the only line in the piece I struggled with. I had a definite image in mind (one Serena will recognize, as we were just talking about it in a different comment thread), born from my experience of living briefly in south Georgia and then later visiting Ft Lauderdale in Florida. I remember summer squalls that would appear as if out of nowhere, darkening a previously bright sunny day with the sheer quantity of water filling the air. The rain would pound the scorching hot pavement, steaming in the grey gloom, and in the span of half an hour flood the streets to impassable depths. Then, as quickly as it came on, the storm would pass, the sun would once again beat remorselessly down upon the dampened world, and the flood would evaporate as quickly as it appeared, leaving wet streets sizzling and steaming, and gleaming in the sunshine, until they were dry again. Soon there would be no evidence of the downpour at all. This is how I imagined the female lead’s doubts resolving, and the trick was to capture that entire paragraph I just wrote in a few simple words.

      Again, thank you for you very kind words! I hope I do not disappoint with my future writing. 🙂

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      • I reread my comment above after sleeping on it, and wow, do I sound pompous! I must have been hungry, as I hadn’t had dinner yet and was waiting to go out. Here’s the reality: I had an image and an emotion in mind, and the title, and I just wrote what I felt and hoped for the best. I wasn’t consciously thinking about conflict and ordinary worlds and other writing “best practice” buzzwords, though I’m sure all those things buzz around in my subliminal brain from having read too many writing “how-to” books. I DID struggle over that one sentence, though.

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