Member-only story
This Breathless Wonder
Magnificent — that’s what she was.
My lover comes to me in dreams.
She stands in lingerie I’ve bought just for her. Tonight she’s wearing red — satin, sleek, accentuating her curves as if they were made for her alone. I want to slide my hands over that body as if she’s something I’ve sculpted from stone and brought to life with my touch alone. But then she holds a hand up, one finger pointed upward, telling me to stay at a distance. I find myself on a precipice of the unknown.
But then she’ll finally beckon me close. I go to her as if I’m slavering after her skin. But I don’t envelop her. No, I take my time. I cup my hands around her breasts through the fabric of her bra, and she gasps out my name like a promise to the gods. But then I smother her with a kiss that makes her gasp out in want.
“Stop,” she says, quiet. “Stop.”
I retreat — but only just barely. I’m heaving from one kiss alone. That kind of thing can only happen in dreams. If I were standing before my lover in real life, I wouldn’t be able to say a word. I would be flustered. I would feel the buzz of energy between us and be unable to do a thing about it. My heart would race, my palms would sweat, and I would want to run from her as much as I would want to wrap her limbs around mine.
