Game of Chance

 

Chapter 31

Song credit – Dido’s “White Flag.”  This is nearly IDENTICAL to the interlude "Show Me."  I warned y'all that it was part of the story - this is where it fits.

~*~

[I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
I'll tell you that 
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it 
Where's the sense in that?]

Marshall trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across her exposed shoulder blade; his lips sliding across the smooth, tanned skin like wet velvet—the heat of his tongue plagued her, touched the most secret depths of her soul; he was tormenting her with his sensuous, meticulous, and thorough exploration of the very pieces of her soul, outside to inside.

He was branding her—pouring himself into her; his hands kneaded her tender flesh so gently, yet it was with purpose; each squeeze, each silent taunting was planned and perfectly executed.  Contessa arched her back, pushing herself into his embrace; she could feel him enveloping her—his arms locking around her frame, his fingers pressing and bruising her hips, and his mouth moving against hers as his tongue sought refuge in the warmth of her mouth.

She could feel the words threatening to spill from his lips; the harsh movements his head made as he twisted himself harder, more firmly against her, positioning himself just to keep the words from erupting on their on volition.  It was in his touch, in the tension that ran in hard lines as his muscles flexed reflexively.

With a raspy breath, he hovered over her; they both panted heavily as they gulped quickly and felt the air burn their lungs.  Even as their breaths evened, their hearts still pounded incessantly within their chests—just obliterating any possible thoughts, keeping their pulses racing as the blood pumped furiously into and out of the chambers within.  The lights brightened—eyes squinted and blinked involuntarily as if to readjust to the heightened state of awareness they were becoming a part of—and the soft notes of a melody played from above them, below them, next to them; the melodic sounds erupted from every corner and surrounded them—bathed them in their own intimate glory.

[I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder 
Or return to where we were]

Hesitantly, Marshall’s lips parted, his mouth opened—his throat was tightening with words he wanted to say; words he wasn’t sure he could say.  It was like his tongue was betraying him—forcing the words to stay midnight whispers and dreamlike murmurings, stuck in a forever state of limbo; staking them both and courting danger while kissing caution on the cheek.

“Shh,” she whispered.  “Not tonight.  Tonight…just feel.  Just show me.”

All he could manage was a nearly imperceptible nod; her dismissal struck him, wanted to bring him to his knees, and thank her—thank her for her understanding, her forgiveness.  The pardon he didn’t deserve, but the one she gave without hesitance.

[Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender 
There will be no white flag above my door 
I'm in love and always will be]

“It’s just us,” she murmured into his ear, cradling his head between her hands.

“Just us,” he replied, his voice hoarse from disuse.

[I know I left too much mess 
And destruction to come back again 
And I caused but nothing but trouble 
I understand if you can't talk to me again 
And if you live by the rules of "It's over" 
Then I'm sure that that makes sense]

Shutting off his mind—discontinuing the thoughts that were attempting to cloud his vision, blind him from the beauty before him; he closed his eyes, focusing on feeling the smooth skin beneath him and the feel of cotton against his bare chest, hearing the slow, steady breathing—as he’d exhale, she’d inhale; as if she was stealing his breath and claiming it as hers, taking it, manipulating it, and transforming it into something private, touching, and so infinitely amazing.  He concentrated on the sweet smell that teased his nostrils every time he nuzzled against her exposed skin—it was a nameless scent, but it enticed him; the unknown provoked, stimulated, and intrigued him—brought him closer, further, and pressed fully against her pliable body.

“God,” he groaned into her neck, burying his face there.  “You’re gorgeous.”

[Well I will go down with this ship 
And I won't put my hands up and surrender 
There will be no white flag above my door 
I'm in love and always will be]

He lifted his head, opened his eyes, and drank in the sight of her:  chocolate tresses covered the pillow behind her head, the sweeping locks laid haphazardly around her; wide eyes, knowing ones—the kind that knew the secrets nobody would dare to confess; a thin sheen of a sweat that glistened in the dim moonlight and slow-burning candles; and the most welcoming smile he’d ever been witness to—a borderline smirk, one that taunted and spoke of mischief.

With a small grin of his own, Marshall’s hands shook as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse; they trembled more as each button came loose, the shirt opening slightly—each notch revealing more skin, further antagonizing his growing appetite.

A muffled sound emerged unwillingly from the reaches of her throat; a barely suppressed giggle that played sweetly upon his ears, and eased him, in a sense, and hurried him as well.

“Let me,” she whispered, bringing her hands on top of his, guiding his fingers through such a simplistic task.

Marshall lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand; felt the smoothness tempt his lips into devouring more of the supple silk.  His focus switched, though, swiftly as Contessa shrugged out of the thin garment, and proceeding to unfasten the clasp of her brassiere.  His desire was rocketed to the core as her breasts spilled out from the dark lace; the moonlight shimmering over her nakedness, dancing across her dusky nipples.

“I want to…” he murmured as his tongue swept across the newly exposed skin; touching the tightened peaks of her chest as his fingertips skimmed the valleys and contours of her yielding breasts.

[And when we meet 
As I'm sure we will 
All that was then 
Will be there still 
I'll let it pass 
And hold my tongue 
And you will think 
That I've moved on]

“Don’t speak,” she urged and thrust herself upwards, arching and lifting off of the bed, bringing his mouth in harder contact with her skin.  “I know what you want,” she assured and flattened her hands against his chest.

[Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender 
There will be no white flag above my door 
I'm in love and always will be]

She traced the curves and lines of his face with her fingertips, running her index finger across his jaw line, and then pressed against his lips.  Marshall opened his mouth, bringing her finger into a blistering heat, and suckled gently; she smiled with seduction in her eyes at his reaction.

He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even hinted as her thighs spread to accommodate him between them; his leg slid upwards, his knee brushing against her panties.

They moved on instinct; she shifted to bring him closer to her center, and he eased the only remaining barrier between them down her hips, past her thighs, and over her feet—it was such a slow, meaningful gesture; no harsh sounds of ripping silk, just a sweeping cool breeze that drifted over their heated skin.

Both their bodies hummed in anticipation, lit afire with the languid seduction they’d taken turns performing.  She keened at the slight abrasion his fingers offered her as he spread her inner folds to gain better access to the treasure she kept hidden.

“Marshall,” she bit out, dragging her hands from the base of his neck to the short blonde locks atop his head.  Her fingernails ran across his scalp, heightening his fervor and his determination.

[Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender 
There will be no white flag above my door 
I'm in love and always will be]

Despite the desperate, racing need that coursed mercilessly between them, within them, their movements stayed unhurried—deliberate actions of the most pleasurable torment.  She would touch, and then he’d touch; she’d give, and he’d give back.

He could feel her opening for him, welcoming him, but he held back—he kept himself in reach, but not within the liquid heat of her core.

Contessa stared up into his eyes; a slight questioning look lingering in the desire-darkened orbs 

Shutting his eyes rapidly, he gripped her hips between his hands, and brought her into full awareness of him.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“I love you,” he growled and pushed into her hot depths in a single, sure stroke—touching places he’d never hoped he’d touch; reaching plateaus he’d never dreamt he’d reach.

And it was all there—in three short words; three words that meant the world.  The same three words that spelt danger and brought him into a state of absolute bliss.

[I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender 
There will be no white flag above my door 
I'm in love and always will be]

“I love you, too,” she sighed as he pulled her close and kissed her cheeks.

Epilogue

Author: zines@aol.com

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These stories are for entertainment purposes only.  They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character.  No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.