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The last of countless nights of passion...

Tasha Harris © 2005

I regard you, standing there, your arms pinned to the cross of Saint Andrew. Your back to me, your head forward, hanging down, unable to find purchase on any surface. Your breath jagged, uneven and I know you are in discomfort. I open the windows and the cold air floods the room, fills it, erasing all traces of warmth.

I walk closer to you and I see you tense, hearing my steps across the wood floor. My palm pressed against your back, and I feel the stark cold of your skin in sharp contrast to the heat of mine. You let out a sob.

‘Please, I love you, please, I love you.’ you say, twisting your head as far as you can to the right.

I say nothing, but run my touch along your spine, before shifting so that my chest presses against your back. The coldness of you seeps into my skin. A broken sound escapes your lips. ‘I love you, baby.’ you say again as my fingers trail up your arms, massaging the muscles there unhurriedly.

‘I know you do.’ I say quietly, barely loud enough to break the heavy sound of your breathing. You are laboring to control your actions. I have seen you manage well before.

I move my hands from your back and step away from you. I glance down at my chest and fell the sticky moisture of your blood that remains on my skin, thin red lines of crimson. I trace one of the lines with my index finger and then rub it into my skin with my thumb.

I walk back to the table and picked up a clear bottle, unscrewing the cap and dropping it on the floor so that the sound clattered slightly. You stiffen. I knew you would recognize the sound.

‘Care to continue?’ I asked casually, my eyes watch your back. I have long ago learned to read even that which you do not wish to share. I see you take a breath and you nod. I waited, I always want your voice.

‘Yes.’ you say in a shy worn tone.

I smile, knowing that the humor didn’t reach my eyes. It never does when I’m like this. Focused. Utterly involved.

I move back pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You relax slightly and then stiffen in a sharp hiss as the first lick of alcohol tricked down your back, filling the broken skin before weaving reddened paths of liquid down your legs to the floor. You pull against the bonds and then let out a sharp cry. I watch you struggle, but still pour the liquid on your skin until the bottle runs empty.

I drop it to the floor and then wait for long heartbeats for your sharper movements to stop. It is then I reached for your first cuff, unbuckling your wrist, and bringing your arm, useless now, down to your side. You moan quietly and sag against me . I know sensation is returning to you. I release your second wrist and hold onto you for a moment before picking you up.

I cradle you against my chest and walk to the leather chair, sitting down and tucking your head against my shoulder. You sigh contently and we sat in silence, our eyes closed, yet so fully aware of one another. My warmth seeps into your skin and I fell your stir.

You look at me and smile, brushing a kiss against my chin. ‘Mine.’

I smile. ‘Your what?’

‘My Autumn sky.’

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