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Coming Clean
by Nicola
Rating: R
Warnings: potential squick
He thought about telling her beforehand — before they started any of it — but that would have been . . . inopportune. He would have given away too much, too soon; predisposed her with the advantage. It was his game; her role carefully calculated and all his own creation. For her not to want to play his way would be simply unacceptable.
He thought about telling her before their first kiss, but that would have been . . . crass. The moment was too perfect to taint with truth.
He thought about telling her before she let him fuck her, but that would have been . . . distracting. She seemed so insatiable.
Afterwards, spent and twisted among her naked limbs, he concluded it was time to . . . come clean — however inappropriate such a turn of phrase might be.
Wrapped in black silk and the scent of his sex, she looked down upon him. Her body, rising above him, was as exquisite as his own; a vivid and chameleon-like quintessence leeching out from within.
"Don't think this means anything," she told him with a dry condescension which was belied by the fact that she was still wet for him.
Pulling her face down to meet his, he gave her one last kiss; slow and greedy and wanton, marking his carefully created mess. Once she had yielded, folding soft and sated into his arms, he drew away. His fingers raked methodically through her hair, as he brought his lips to her ear.
"Oh, but sister dear," he murmured, "I believe this might mean so much more than you think . . ."
February 2003
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