His voice is whimpering. I've never seen so much need in him. I can't even see anything anymore; all I am is sex. His sex. His master. It's kind of funny though, to be master of someone who owns you already, who you know so intimately that their very smell is like a stamp on you. We're alike, he told me that and I know it's true as work rough fingers dance over my flesh dancing in infinite circles my emotions shattering as my body winds tighter beneath his.
I'm drowning in the pillows, in the soft down of the bed beneath me, and the hard pounding of his body above me and I know in that instant that I don't love him. I belong to him, the tight grip on my hands and the lips residing at the base of my throat tell me that. The way he fills me from the soul out, has learned me so completely that every sigh is like a shout, he is as much master as I am. As much slave to this cycle we are caught in. I tighten my grip on his back laving the tanned, sweat glistening skin of his throat with my tongue wishing I could mark him as he does me. But I don't. His wife would notice, and if she doesn't know yet I can't be the one to tell her.
We're the same. Desperately holding onto each other in a frantic attempt o feel human. It isn't love. I know that now. It isn't even about love, or lust or want. It's about fear. A fear of being alone. A fear that there isn't something else out there, something more than heat and sweat and touch. It's a fear of letting go what there is for what could be and being hurt by it. We turn and he lifts me bringing his mouth to my breast and I bow against him forcing him closer, pulling him into my body as though we could disappear into each other.
I cry out something, anything other than his name, fighting to hang onto myself in the riptide of emotions. I break the surface, gasping for air, shaking in my skin wrapping myself in him as he breathes heavily against my neck slipping from my body without ceremony. I can see it in his eyes when I look at him. The chains have been broken; we are master and slave no more. The same but separate and the freedom is like a splash of cold water on my skin.
I can taste his son's name on my lips; it bursts like honey on the tongue as I realize what I've done in my desperation. He covers my mouth with his almost hopelessly; in a tender gesture I barely recognize and rests his forehead against mine.
I forced myself to want more than his passion, wished for this tender moment in his arms every time we were together and now I am paying for it as shame burns a fire hot path over my skin. I failed him, I can no longer be his escape and as fervently as I wish it was otherwise I can't bury my emotions in him any longer.
"I'm sorry." I mumble it against his lips my hands wandering over the muscled expanse of his back. "Sorry." I'd never admitted it to him, to myself and I'm shaken by the realization that I love his son.
"We're alike, remember Chloe." Our eyes meet and the truth of it chases through me leaving me shaken.
I wanted him to make me forget every name but his, I wanted to look up in my dreams and see his face and feel love. But when I open my eyes and find his I see nothing in his face that makes me love him. I see myself.
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