Safety in Strong Hands
By Cirroco DeSade
I hear the hydro-shower turn off and I smile.
I remember a time when all she would take were sonic-showers stating it was more efficient. That was before I taught her to enjoy the water beating down upon her body; to feel every muscle loosen, relax in a long hot shower.
I hear her humming a sweet tune.
I remember so long ago when she claimed she did not sing, that singing was a frivolous pastime. That was before I caught her singing once and begged her to continue. I told her how beautiful her voice was, I asked her often to sing for me again. I would applaud and she could never fail to make me smile. Sometimes I would even melt into her when she would sing me a love song. After she figured out I was putty in her hands as she sung, she never bothered to hide her voice again.
I put the padd I was working on down on the table, turning it off for the night. I slip over to the bedroom's doorway silently. I can look across the room to observe her shamelessly without being too obvious, without drawing attention to myself. I watch her dry her hair slowly with a towel then brush out the lovely blonde locks with caring precision. I am both mesmerized by and slightly jealous of tiny droplets of water that fall off her hair onto her chest and back. Watching those little beads take a slow journey down her body, her normally pale skin slightly flushed from the heat of her shower, I wish it were my fingertips touching the soft skin so slowly.
I remember the first time I ever stood before her and her before me, together in all our naked glory. I still don't know how my legs held me upright because I felt so weakened by her beauty.
I remember reaching out slowly, seeing her trembling, her shy facial expression, her head turned slightly away from me. I remember how she didn't want to make eye contact with me, but I could tell she was also still examining me. She hesitated to touch me. I hesitated myself. Yet when my fingertips finally reached her skin I was never the same. Since that point I've always wanted my hands, my body near her, to touch, to make love to her. My dark and slightly callused hands on that flawless skin were a perfect contrast, a perfect example of how we are: her in all her innocence and me in my well I'm not innocent.
My eyes follow the lines of those small implants that frame her lower back.
I remember how afraid she was when I was touching her the first time. I didn't know why. I thought maybe she had changed her mind. No, she hadn't changed her mind, she was simply afraid I would be disgusted by her implants. When she told me this I captured her face in my hands to force her to look at me just in time to catch a falling tear with my left thumb. I couldn't stop myself from opening my heart at that moment, saying the words I had been afraid to say on all the dates we had been on before that point. At that very moment, for the first time since we had known each other, I told her I loved her. I told her I loved her for all of who she was, including her past. I told her that her implants were just another part of her beauty. She tried to disagree but I silenced her with a deep kiss. When we broke for air, I kissed her optical implant, then the starburst in her cheek. Then I left a trail of slow hot kisses down to the smaller starburst that is right below her left collarbone. When that was done I captured her left hand and brought it to my mouth. I stared into her eyes as I kissed her palm; licked and nibbled her fingertips on her Borg enmeshed hand, and then laid that same hand over my heart.
I watch apply her lotion, and I'm captured by the sight. Those hands never fail to thrill me.
I remember that night, our first tentative touches. She was so gentle with those deceptively strong hands. Those long, fine boned fingers played me like a maestro plays their instrument. I thought my heart would explode when she started to explore me with that intense focus. I knew I was all she was thinking of then, the only focus in her universe at that moment.
She bends over to apply the lotion to her long legs. Those legs are strong enough to kick a hole in one of Voyager's doors. There is an implant in each leg to make her muscles stronger, her bones are reinforced with a Borg alloy designed to support all the armor she used to carry. I've seen her down enemies with one focused thrust. But all I really see at times like these is the beauty in the balance. Yes, she is strong but she is so incredibly feminine. Each gentle slope calls out for the eye to caress it, begs for hands to pay homage. No artist could capture that beauty; no poet could begin to describe the perfect dichotomy.
I notice my heart is beating harder. The room feels hotter but I know it is only her effect on me. I remove my tank top, walk to the bed, remove my shoes and pants then continue my observation of her. She hears me, turns her head and the grins at me.
That grin... oh that grin. It is such a knowing little expression. It never fails to make me shiver to wake other parts of my body in anticipation. She straightens back to her full height slowly, running her hands back up the front of her body. She's turned towards me to give me a better view. She gathers more lotion and applies it slowly to first her chest, then over her tight stomach and finally over her groin, smoothing her palms with fingertips spread along her inner thighs. My eyes follow her thumbs as she uses them to slowly caress her labia. I feel myself swelling almost painfully, moisture suddenly flowing out of me.
I remember how so early after we moved into the same quarters she discovered that she could torment me like this. She doesn't do it always, but it is something she enjoys. She tells me it is because she knows I love it. But I know she loves it too.
I want to leap up, drag her down into our bed and ravage her, but I know it is better if I let her come to me. I know I should let her finish this now that she took this turn. I can feel a growl in my chest, my 'purr' as she has termed it. It is not something I ever experienced before her. This uncontrollable sound comes from deep within in me, and is something that belongs only to her.
I remember the first time she teased me in public, at a dance, with simple words and facial expressions and one stolen kiss. That's when we discovered I had a growl, such a soft one, which belonged only to her. It isn't mine to start or stop even though it comes from me.
With a command she turns out the lights in bathroom and lowers them in our room to such a low level that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. Yet I know she can see me perfectly with her enhanced vision and I know from previous experience she is deciding what to do with me. That knowledge makes me hotter and I shudder as I wait for her touch.
I feel her weight shift the bed at my feet and I spread my legs a little as I turn onto my back, waiting on her arrival. My eyes are adjusting now so I can finally see her more clearly. I swallow hard as she creeps up slowly like a big cat, one knee between my own the other outside my right thigh. I can feel that her long hair is still wet when it hits my belly as she leans down into me. I feel her hot breath on my stomach but not her lips, not her tongue. But I hear her inhale deeply and she freezes just over my navel. It seems like such a long time then I feel more her warm tongue circles my navel then dives in briefly before I feel the blazing trail she begins to lay out on my body.
She claims my stomach with her tongue her lips... sometimes her teeth and I try not to squirm away. My hands dig into the bed on either side of my body; it's a game she likes: to see how long I can keep my hands off her body. I know it won't be much longer now though, because her nips and kisses are now focusing on my breasts.
I remember the first time her full lips surrounded my nipples. At the time I was sure I had found StoVoKor.
All my efforts to keep my hands away fly out the airlock when she suddenly takes one nipple into her mouth and the other in between strong fingertips. Sometimes she is almost too gentle with me, and other times, like now, her attentions are so firm that it comes close to hurting. Somehow she knows where to draw the line though, and my low growl is now a loud moan. Her name falls from my lips repeatedly and I find myself powerless to resist crying for more.
Her hand leaves my breast even as she trails her lips over to replace it. I feel her nails lightly scratching over my suddenly sensitive stomach, then her hand coming to rest on my hip. She spends long minutes varying between my breasts even as my own fingers are buried in her hair and I plead, for what I don't know I want her to finish me, give it to me now but I don't want it to ever end, I want her to take her time. She makes me insane like this. She has from that very first night, but every time it is more intense, it's more satisfying.
Her teeth rake up my highly sensitized nipple, capturing the tip for a slight tug before releasing it and then she lifts herself higher over me, only to bury her face in my neck. She knows all the spots that drive me wild and she doesn't miss one of them. I couldn't tell you how long she licked and bit my neck, growled into my ear endearments and also words meant to make me hotter: descriptions of what she wants to do to me.
I whimper. I beg. I try to capture her mouth for a kiss, but she is taking her time and is in command so I'm left waiting.
Finally she kisses me. It was one of those kisses that curls my toes and make me feel as if I've been struck by lightning. And in the middle of that kiss as my lungs are burning for air I feel it. She penetrates me slowly but firmly with two of those beautiful long fingers that I so admire until they are buried as deeply as possible. She swallows my moans finally releasing me from the kiss when I am sure I'm about to die from lack of oxygen. Her hand strokes me expertly as she growls more into my ear, capturing my earlobe in her teeth then nibbling down my chin only to kiss me again. All the while she studiously avoids touching my clit even as it begins to burn and ache with need.
I can't tell you how long she continues this sweet torture before I feel her add another finger. By now I am quite sure I will die in delirious pleasure. She has made me breathless with each kiss only to kiss or bite a different part of my body after: my neck, my shoulders, my breasts have all received equal treatment by her talented mouth. I know that by now I have left marks on her back, clawing in excitement. Every time I think I am about to climax she backs off, or slows her minstrations, changes tempos in some way to extend it all. I am sure she is trying to kill me. I am sure she is the only one who has ever been able to control me like this. I never felt this way before her and at the rate she is going this evening I may never again I may just die here in our bed tonight.
She captures my mouth again, her tongue invading it with passionate expertise. She moans into our kiss and I feel her grind her center onto my thigh. She is so wet and I cry out into the kiss. I feel myself begin to spasm again as I feel her rub herself into me. Then she finally lowers her thumb onto my extraordinarily swollen clit, manipulating it in just the way she knows will thrill me the most.
It hits me like a runaway shuttle and I am howling at the top of my lungs. I am only distantly aware of my volume because I am held by this tidal wave orgasm. I can hear her angelic voice crying my name into my ear. My universe consists only of these feelings I have for her with her because of her. I feel her weight upon me, her hand in me, her spasms and her moisture flooding over my leg. I feel our sweat- slick bodies and wonder where I begin and she ends. Even as the climax passes I am left with so much I don't know what to do and I find myself crying into her shoulder, clutching onto her like a lost soul finding salvation.
As I cry I feel her hand slowly removed even as she kisses my head. She rolls us over so I am on top of her, held in strong arms. She is cooing into my ear sweet words of love. I'm overwhelmed by this love she gives me. I am lost to words.
She rubs my back gently and speaks softly, telling me all the things she loves about me. I can't stop crying. I don't know what I did to deserve this angel and I relax into her comfort.
After a while I stop weeping but I can only think of three words: the most important words I know to tell her. I tell her I love her. She smiles and tells me that she knows. She tells me to sleep and I find that I am exhausted. She tells me she loves me; that I will always be safe and loved for as long as she lives.
I believe her.
My world is complete here in her arms. My last thought this night is that perfection is this blue-eyed blonde, with soft and strong hands, and a gentle, beautiful heart.
She stole my heart.
I don't want it back.
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