There is a theme in these conversations. They are testaments to the trust we place in the words we share. To give ourselves over to the visceral feel of another. Of someone whose touches are broad strokes on a canvas of desire.
Who are these people? They are real. They are real in a way that the mundane moments of each day are not. They linger, restless memories that remind us that there is more to life then another damn day of routine. More to life then the increasing number of concessions made to get by. They are the best and the worst of us.
***
D’jaevle speaks softly, right by your ear, “Tell me how you are dressed then.”
Erin smiles. “A black mesh jersey from the All-Star Cafe in Orlando. Nothing else.”
D’jaevle laughs, his hands slipping about your waist, “You do tempt, I must say.” His fingers slip down, palms pressing across your thighs as he draws the shirt up slightly, an inch or so, drawing it over your skin.
Erin mmmms softly, arching back against you as your warm hands slip over her skin. “Tempt? I speak but the truth…”
D’jaevle curls his fingers just under the edge of the jersey, fingers meeting the warm flesh of your thighs as his lips brush your ear, moist and teasing, “Nothing, you say?”
Erin nods slowly, shivering as your lips brush against her. “Nothing,” she repeats, eyes slipping closed.
D’jaevle gently, lightly, lets you feel his fingertips along your inner thigh, pressing against your skin as you feel how close he is. He shifts with you, his fingers teasing across your thigh, moving upward until he can feel the heat between your legs, not quite touching, his fingers spread. “Still feel restless?”
Erin gasps softly, shifting her stance slightly to allow your fingers more places to caress. She reaches one arm back to brush over your hip, light fingers caressing you. She nods slowly, pressing herself back against you. “Even more, now…” she whispers.
D’jaevle ever so slowly works his hand upward, still remaining to the side as he traces your pelvis, moving to your stomach, under your shirt, “You should be careful…”
Erin mrrrrs, eyes fluttering open to regard you. “Why do you say that?”
D’jaevle presses his hand in, palm flat against your stomach, and then slips it down until you feel his fingertips brush against the soft hair, “Do you not find me dangerous?”
Erin shivers again as your hands caress her, looking up at you. “Should I? You’ve done naught to make me mistrust you…” Erin writhes a little, body responding to each touch. “Danger implies threat, and you’ve posed no threat to me…”
D’jaevle curls his fingers, letting you feel each individual fingertip just at the edge. He moves against your back, closer, until you feel the outline of his body against you, his fingers slipping away, up your stomach, “How do you feel?”
Erin murmurs, “Aroused… relaxed… safe with a friend…”
D’jaevle pauses, his lips slipping over the edge of your ear, teeth grazing as you feel him tug, his body close, “There are many kinds of danger.” He lowers his lips to your neck again, parting them ever so slightly. His lips leave a small moist trail across your throat, moving down your shoulder to the edge of your shirt, his voice right by your ear, “Part your thighs for me, there on your chair.”
Erin smiles softly, doing so before nodding. She shivers, feeling you closer to her, holding you with her caressing hand. “So there are,” she murmurs. “Which danger do you embody?”
D’jaevle presses against you, his body a silhouette of heat along side yours, “Which do you think?”