The Mansion

[DarkWarrioress]

Journal Entry

Contemplation abounds this morning as I sit staring out of a window, looking into the clouded over skies of the real world. A soft smile on my lips as I remember the lion nudging me last night as he came in from his celebrations, briefly waking me from my slumbers as he slid into bed. He was under the illusion I was still awake, I didn't enlighten him because he would have ordered me back to sleep and I rather speak with him, since I do not know when the next chance will arise. Talk was short before he grew quiet and I knew without looking that he slept. Then this morning, he rolled over and was awake, but briefly so. What was it he said? Ah yes, jet lag kicks ass. I was, am, amused and so he sleeps in the master bedroom while I sit here and work or try to.

The images of his strong, well muscled, naked chest exposed as the sheet covers him from waist down. Yet I know what lies under that sheet, intimately so. I know what those amber brown eyes of his do to me when he looks at me and when he does smile my way? I think my heart and my breathing stops for a moment.... and those calloused, firm hands of his.......

Dear gods, I am only flesh and blood. Time to banish such imagery to the back of my mind and get on with it or I shall have accomplished little except to sit here and grin like a fool.

Will I have him teasingly accuse me, yet again, of not securing the gazelle he will obvious crave when he awakens? I wonder if I wink out again to Africa, if I can find that safari guy again. Or shall I try and hunt, letting my blood soar as I chase down prey, kill it and bring it back for the pride? *sighs* I fear I am an unworthy lioness. He keeps me tied to our bed, making me purr. I have not heart for the hunt.

I must be firm of mind and quiet resolve of soul and focus on what must be seen to. So, to begin.......

 

[Light Ice]

A solitary iris lays upon the hearth. Beneath it a note in a man's shorthand, blocky letters that are as neat as they are inelegant. The words are meant for her. The diction is short.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

A solitary iris lays upon the hearth. Beneath it a note in a man's shorthand, blocky letters that are as neat as they are inelegant. The words are meant for her. The diction is short.

Traversing a path from study to front door to collect the day's mail, she moved with a distracted grace as she sorted the envelopes in her hand. it was only by chance she glanced around the Great Room and noticed the iris lying upon the hearth. Curious as ever, she went to pick it up. Other than the red roses from the lion, she didn't get flowers or in this case a flower. A note, lying on the hearth, caught her eye and picking it up she quickly read the wording there.

The blocky letters, the crisp precise words, led her to believe she knew who it was from. One did not play with this one. One could entice, but eventually, one paid the piper when he came calling. Tapping the note on her wrist, she turned and made way into the kitchen for a single crystal cut vase, filling it with water before placing the iris inside. Taking the vase back to the Great Room, she set it on one of the coffee tables, note beside it before she let herself out back, into the garden....

 

[Light Ice]

He waited and he was not impatient.

So many, so frequently, believed him to be. The strength of his hands and the certainty of his movements were so often misinterpreted that he often wondered if anyone beyond the certain few understood anything of him. So, he waited. The day's light faded and the evening's dark descending to blanket the garden. He'd drank a bottle of Pinot Noir while the sun set in its cascade of passionate purples and dark, blushing reds.

And so when she came he rose up and passed her the bottle, bottle angled towards her lazily. The offer clear.

"Hello." He said. She was beautiful. She knew it.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He waited and he was not impatient.

So many, so frequently, believed him to be. The strength of his hands and the certainty of his movements were so often misinterpreted that he often wondered if anyone beyond the certain few understood anything of him. So, he waited. The day's light faded and the evening's dark descending to blanket the garden. He'd drank a bottle of Pinot Noir while the sun set in its cascade of passionate purples and dark, blushing reds.

And so when she came he rose up and passed her the bottle, bottle angled towards her lazily. The offer clear.

"Hello." He said. She was beautiful. She knew it.

She drew closer as she found him and smiled in genuine welcome. "Hello. Thank you for the iris," she offered as she reached for the bottle, her eyes going from it to him, "No glass? Surely you could have found your way into my kitchen. The house is open to visitors. Care to come inside? It's getting dark out here."

 

[Light Ice]

She drew closer as she found him and smiled in genuine welcome. "Hello. Thank you for the iris," she offered as she reached for the bottle, her eyes going from it to him, "No glass? Surely you could have found your way into my kitchen. The house is open to visitors. Care to come inside? It's getting dark out here."

Kitchens were intimate places. They were the hearts of a home. Regardless, she was right. He could have found himself a glass. Two. There could have been a more classical arrangement. He'd preferred otherwise. She beckoned and he came, drew up to her until his strong hand could drift its way to the delicate arch of her hip. The warmth of her through her dress, the lean strength and femininity beneath his fingers.

Kissing her jawline, he offered her the stretch of his arm. His eyes cutting briefly along the elegant lines of her face as he made to walk them inside. "Alright."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Kitchens were intimate places. They were the hearts of a home. Regardless, she was right. He could have found himself a glass. Two. There could have been a more classical arrangement. He'd preferred otherwise. She beckoned and he came, drew up to her until his strong hand could drift its way to the delicate arch of her hip. The warmth of her through her dress, the lean strength and femininity beneath his fingers.

Kissing her jawline, he offered her the stretch of his arm. His eyes cutting briefly along the elegant lines of her face as he made to walk them inside. "Alright."

It was simple really. She never assumed a thing. She never had expectations of anyone, except herself. She slipped her hand under the arm he offered her, letting her fingers delicately rest on his forearm as they walked. His lips on her jaw were warm. She accepted the gesture graciously. She didn't have to ask him why he was here, she already knew that answer.

"So, why now?" Her words were simple. Direct.

 

[Light Ice]

He smiled. It was a small thing, scarcely reaching his eyes. It failed to truly warm the hard lines of his face. He was not a typically handsome man. The angles were too sharp. The structure too strong. He was, however, certain. They walked together and his eyes cut from her own and down her figure, shameless in their appreciation of soft curves and gentler lines.

She was beautiful and with her strength, a quiet thing that lingered beneath her girlish exterior and was called on frequently by the confidence of her manner. Still, it wasn't simple. There was experience in her eyes. Knowing.

"I was gone." He started. They crossed the threshold of her home and he released her long enough to draw the door open. As she stepped through it his eyes followed. "I'm back."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He smiled. It was a small thing, scarcely reaching his eyes. It failed to truly warm the hard lines of his face. He was not a typically handsome man. The angles were too sharp. The structure too strong. He was, however, certain. They walked together and his eyes cut from her own and down her figure, shameless in their appreciation of soft curves and gentler lines.

She was beautiful and with her strength, a quiet thing that lingered beneath her girlish exterior and was called on frequently by the confidence of her manner. Still, it wasn't simple. There was experience in her eyes. Knowing.

"I was gone." He started. They crossed the threshold of her home and he released her long enough to draw the door open. As she stepped through it his eyes followed. "I'm back."

She stepped through the door he held open, just inside, off to one side as she waited for him to join her. She waited until he closed the door. She was lightly amused by the obvious.

"So, I'm the first place you stopped at upon your return?" Her tone was lightly teasing and something in it expressed the fact she wouldn't have believed him if he tried to say it was so.

"I find that hard to believe, considering your usual haunts." Her chin lifted as she regarded him with quiet, calm eyes.

"Why me? There's nothing here you can't find there, if you wait long enough and you seem to be a patient man. You've been out in my garden for awhile, I suspect. "

There wasn't one thought of flattery in her, merely honest curiosity. She knew he was drawn to her strength, many men were. She had learned that some time ago. She wasn't looking to be flattered either or charmed.

 

[Light Ice]

"You seem intent on convincing me this was a mistake."

But he knew it was not. The words came as he took the time to secure the door behind them, to turn the lock with his fingers until he heard the tell-tale click. No, she was not fishing for compliments. He knew the look of a line being laid out and knew to beware the inevitable hook. The danger here was in her uncertainty, sudden; it was a consequence of being surprised.

She'd not anticipated his company and it meant that she'd no time to prepare for him, no time to prepare herself. It'd been his intention to throw her into the moment without those luxuries. There was something pure and beautiful in a woman forced to react on feeling and instinct. He looked for that now as he returned to her, this time using his strong hands to brace her hips and trap her there.

As he bent to kiss her jawline, to drag his lips across the line of her cheek and beyond to the softness of her throat, he made certain to answer so she'd feel the warmth of his words on her skin. "I told you that I wanted you, Cait. A long time ago."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Her hands settled on his arms as his head bent closer and she felt his lips across her jaw, felt them find her throat; felt his words on her skin with a warmth breath. Her head, of its own accord, tipped slightly to one side. She could feel her fingers pressing into his skin in response to his words, his actions.

"So you did." Her voice took on a husky hue, "You've been away so perhaps you don't know, but there is another man."

He had a right to know. If it made a difference to him, she wasn't sure. It did and it didn't with her. She bore her lion's mark, below and behind one ear.

 

[Light Ice]

"Should I go?" A simple question.

She'd taken him to that place where his hands were stilled, his intentions deflected by the cold shield of principle. The cut of his eyes found her own, intent now. He had never understood the claims that people made in this place and had seldom cared to. For her, though, he'd tread the line she laid for him.

He would give her that.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

His words took her by surprise, if she were truthful. She knew how he felt about certain things and the very fact that he had asked, would abide by whatever she decided now, spoke of respect for one. She turned her head slightly toward his, their lips so close, her warm breath feathered across his. She refused to live in regret for something she wanted. She had done it before, never again. She lifted a hand sliding it across the side of his face until his cheek rested against her palm. Her eyes met his, held. Her words, softly spoken, surrounded them.

"No. Don't go."

 

[Light Ice]

He kissed her then. And hard.

He was a patient man. The certainty of his actions, the strength in him, was so frequently misinterpreted. He was a patient man.

But his patience was not without limit.

Beneath his fingers her hips were soft arches, delicate and strong. The curl of his digits allowed their calloused tips to sink through the fabric that kept her from him as he tightened his grasp, trapped her there. She was a lissome thing and he brought her into him, crushed her against the broad stretch of his chest.

And he kissed her hard. He crushed his thin lips to her own, plundered them. He drank up her sweetness until they were a tangle of tongues and lips and they drank up one another's heat in the little breaths, desperate and sharp, that came between. Desire was a ferocious thing. Unrelenting. It arched through him now as certainly as it had then, weeks past, when they'd first spoken and laid the foundation for the moment that found them now.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She had expected it, hard on the heel of her words. He didn't disappoint. Whatever had been holding either of them back, now fell away. Passion. Desire. Want, were that quick to ignite as his kiss came to her hard. She kissed him back in the same way. This had been some time in coming. It was time to take what she wanted, without regret, without compromise.

Pressed tightly against his chest, she could feel his heart beating strongly against his chest wall. Some would say he had no heart as coldly as they had heard him speak before, but it was there, beating against her own chest.

Clothing was fast becoming a deterrence she wanted well rid of. They kept her from his hands. Her own slid across his chest, touching, absorbing the feel of him even through material.

 

[Light Ice]

Thoughts drifted. Thoughts faded.

For a man as hard-tied to logic it was surprisingly easy to shrug it off and drift into the realm of feeling. Passion arced through him, lit up every synapse. He came alive against her, a sudden rush of movement as he broke their kiss under the insistence of tireless hands. He tugged at her attire, too hasty to be skillful. The strength of his fingers threatening to tear sheer fabric and to ruin her attire.

"Get it off." He said against her mouth. The rush of his words coming in a low rumble.

But his intentions were betrayed by his intensity; the roll of his hips that trapped his hard prick against the softness of her belly. The ache of his flesh, the power of his want, revealed as he fought to keep the warmth of her against him. Outside, the darkness grew heavy. The clouds fell across the moon and smothered its pale light. They were veiled in the shadows, wrapped up in one another. It suited their promise to one another. Silent and swift. They were certain.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

It was hard to think coherently when faced with demand of his desire. Fuck polite little words, his need. So basic. As primal as it can be without all the pretty little ribbons and bows people want to wrap it in. She was already reaching for the hem of her dress, impatiently pulling it over her head and tossing it somewhere. Anywhere, as his words came to her. She hadn't been wearing a bra with that dress either. The hard points of her breasts pushed against his chest.

Her teeth tugged on his bottom lip. They weren't being gentle or kind either. Once free of her dress, her hands went to work on his shirt. She wanted it off. Now. She wanted his skin against hers. A low growl issued from her throat.

 

[Light Ice]

His hands tightened on her hips and he lifted her. She'd find herself briefly weightless as his sinuous arms bunched, exploded, and the power surged from his rugged frame as he tossed her effortlessly from her place against him. Her rounded, gorgeous backside would clear the arm of that nearest couch effortlessly and she'd be left to sprawl across its cushions. Bare to him. A flash of slender, shapely legs and lean sexuality.

Still, for it all, she'd see his fingers work the buttons of his shirt. The fabric parting, revealing the hard stretch of his belly and broad chest. A few thin scars here and there, hap-hazard, without clear cause or necessity. He stripped for her quickly, left his clothes in a pile. The jerk of his pants down left his hard length to sway into view, skin shaven smooth and the column of flesh prominent and proud as it stood from his corded thighs.

The approach that he took flanked round, gave her a moment by herself upon the lounge and under his eyes. They cut across her in masculine appreciation, fed his desires. She'd find the length of his cock twitching hard as the ache for her surged through him, watch as the crown's wide slit filled with pre-cum and dripped it down the veined column of his prick and onto her floor.

Unapologetic, when he found her, he did not sink down to her like a lover. She was beautiful. Her breasts had been no small pleasure crushed to him. And soon, very soon, he'd have her softness stretched across him again. For now, though, the man reached until his strong fingers found her hair and wound it up in his fist. The tug of his arm meant to bring her full lips to his leaking crown. He meant to force her mouth around him, to fill her with the masculine taste of his spongy cockhead.

His eyes, unwavering, as they looked down to her.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Slammed against a wall, pinned there by his brute strength she had half expected or against the glass door he had closed so softly and locked earlier, perhaps. Tossed to the couch to land with a small jump that almost landed her against the far arm, was not what had half floated through her mind. Her eyes turned a darker green as she watched silently as he got out of his clothing. She had barely any time to enjoy the pure masculine view of planes and angles before his hands were on his pants, clearing the material of his hardened cock that sprang free to her eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip as she watched him approach the couch as she hastily drew up and back against the arm, her eyes still upon him.

His hand trapped her hair, winding it around his fist before he tugged. He need not have bothered. She was already leaning that way, lips parting, her tongue darting out to swipe up and take upon her tongue the pre-cum he leaked because of her. No sooner had she raked across the swollen head of his cock, then she was lowering her lips around him, taking him in, her tongue swirling around him the whole time.

 

[Light Ice]

He did not fuck her mouth. He would not ruin this.

His eyes cut for her own, sought them out. Pleasure arced through him, sharply, as her lips closed about his spongy flesh and those beautiful cheeks drew inward. Already, unhindered, she'd find his length flexing hard against her little tongue. The soft feeling of her muscle gliding along his flesh provoking it to tighten, to pulse hotly, and his knees to give a tremble of tension.

He did not fuck her mouth.

He could have. The strength of the hand in her hair promised he was capable. He could have braced her pretty face and ravaged it with hard thrusts of his hips. Despite his length, his tremendous girth, he could have forced himself into the tight channel of her throat. But he did not.

Instead, he indulged in the vision of her taking him at her pace. At her pleasure. She'd find the flesh at the base of his length shaven smooth. She'd find his fingers spreading in her scalp, appreciating the tremors of sensation she provoked in him. His eyes unyielding in their quest for her own because she was beautiful and there was, unappreciated by most, something sensual and dark and startling about a beautiful woman with her lips wrapped around a prick.

They had waited so long for this. There had been a million visions of her body twined around his, slicked with lover's sweat, or her lips parted around him as they were now. Still, the reality was so much more. It filled his senses. Made him drunk on her. Made it hard for him to endure when the desire was so sharp. He was supposed to be a patient man.

She was making him wish he wasn't.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She indulged herself. Taking her time to draw the full length of him into her mouth. Enjoying how he filled her, letting her tongue stroke against him, sometimes trapping him against the roof of her mouth with a little suction applied. She pressed against him, pressing his length as far as it would go into the depth of her mouth. She tugged upon him, with a soft gentle suckling motion. She could have done it harder, more wantonly, but that isn’t what she wanted, wasn’t what she wanted to give him.

He had snapped her into a vortex of lust with him or had they done it to each other? Did it matter? Some small part of her mind asked her. Her lips moved with a leisurely pace, along the extent of his cock., from base to head and there, at the crown, the tip of her tongue swirled around him, stroking over the head with broad, lazy strokes as if she had no care in the world.

Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked. It was just that quiet in the room. She hardly noticed. It was one of those sounds that was there and wasn’t. She took her time. Savored the feel of warm, hard, flesh in her mouth, savored the taste that was uniquely his. Her lips tugged a little harder, moved, a little quicker.

 

[Light Ice]

The strength of his hand saved him from her. His knees trembled hard under the tension, the friction of her lips provoking sparks of pleasure to arc surely through his rugged frame. She'd have fed herself his hot flesh until he'd cum; that was certain. He just couldn't allow it. Not yet. Not until they'd tangled there, or on the floor, or anywhere in a way that sated the darker desires angling through his heart. He pulled back on her hair, on that mane, to steer her lips from his flesh. It swayed free with a pop, wet and promising, and for a moment he watched in the dark as a string of her saliva hung from the full pout of her lower lip to where it joined his massive cock's plump head.

It broke and fell to the floor and he was certain, in that instant, the vision would haunt him.

She had suckled him so effortlessly. Pleasured him, so lazily, that he was almost shocked to find the cool air of the room a comfort against what had steadily been building within him. His balls were smooth and tight to him now, drawn up tight to the twitching column of his prick. She, cat-like, stretched out across the sofa's cushions. The globes of her ass trailing to slender legs, delicate ankles, small feet.

His hands moved her again. She'd not fought them then and he did not want her to fight him now. They rolled her onto her back, slid her until her head and neck lay braced by the sofa's back and her thighs were spread by his hips. Sinking down, he let his eyes walk over the swell of her breasts and the softness of her belly. The strength of his hands pressing on the silk of her inner thighs to keep them arched wide, spread, as he kneeled at the couch's foot.

The sweetness of her was too much a lure. His tongue lapped from the base of her slick sex to the very crest, gliding hotly between puffy petals and tasting at her wet before it lathed over the hard button of her clit. She'd know his patience. His indulgence. The great pleasure he took in her many sounds and sensations. He buried his wolfish face against her, shameless for the way it wet his cheeks, and spun his tongue against her.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She would have fought him, had for a second, thought to fight him as he pulled back on her hair. She did not want to let him go, didn’t want to let him slip her grasp. That pull spoke volumes. She released him. No sooner did he pull free of her mouth did she run the tip of her tongue across her lips, disappointment clouding her eyes.

She felt fire running inside her veins every time his look seared her. She didn’t fight his hands as he moved her again. Now what was he up to? Watching him kneel there between her legs. She felt the muscles in her stomach tighten with anticipation as he lowered his head and she felt his tongue slide across her slit, tasting her, before it settled on her clit, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Her hands slid over his arms, fingers squeezing the muscles she felt there. Her head pressed back against the couch, eyes closing and her body twitching under the attention of his tongue. The muscles in her honed thighs trembled.

 

[Light Ice]

It felt as though they had such little time.

The urgency of desire was a damnable thing. It coiled, wound tight, within him until it threatened to snap and end them both. The little rock of her hips served as a suitable means to ground him to this moment, to the sweetness of her. His tongue arched back and dipped within her, past clenching walls, filling her with a soft and sudden pantomine of what would follow. He devoured the honey that soaked his tongue there and drew it almost reluctantly from within her and filled her again, this time with two strong fingers, curling them in beckon against the velvet walls of her sex. Tender places lent attention before his mouth descended once more.

His lips spread her own, isolated her little bud. Revealed it, naked, from beneath its hood so that his tongue's arch against it could be certain. His tasting spun across it, tightening circles, growing steadily more firm. The pleasure he'd denied himself he would not allow her to escape. That climax. He'd feel it coming on, rooted as he was against her, and would not relent. She'd feel the hand left on her thigh slide to the arch of her hip and trap her against his wolfish face.

She'd see his eyes slide up her body and fix upon her own. Watching. Saying what she would know from the eagerness of his tongue and the rough touch of his fingers.

He wanted her to cum. And hard.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

His mouth and tongue did delightfully wicked things to her. They made lust curl and tighten in the lower recesses of her stomach. They made her want far more. They made her ache deep and hard. Her body arched off the couch as he pressed two fingers deeply inside her. He could feel her muscles clench around them, tugging them deeper, willing them so.

By the stars that shone, he was determined to drive her over that edge alone and it wasn’t fair! She didn’t want to go alone, damn him. Her hips twisted, trying to escape his ever so talented tongue, but his hand held firm to her hip, given her no escape from his relentless pursuit No man should ever be so dangerous to a woman’s mind or senses.

A glance down, toward where his head was and she shouldn’t have looked. Some minor control she felt she had and ever so foolish for thinking so, fled. Between sensations of fingers and tongue, he was hellbent on pushing her, but it was his eyes. Snared by his eyes, her hands griping his arms, her fingers pressed so deeply now into his flesh she felt, it was his eyes and the message they carried. She knew what he wanted of her, knew what he wouldn’t let her escape from.

And she snapped. Like an overly wound string on a guitar, she snapped. She pressed against his face as her body quaked. The orgasm took her rolling her over and over and never seemed to stop. She gasped for air, gasped his name and still it came on.

Until. Until there was nothing left. Until her body collapsed back against the couch, a fine sheen of sweat covering her body as if she had run miles. Her harsh breathing seemingly the only thing she heard above the thump of her heart.