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[Canaan]

Canaan

And I can't fight this feeling anymore; I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

  He can feel the raw vulnerability of her writhe and stir beneath his gentle touch; he can taste her pulse humming to life beneath his lips as he presses a firm kiss along her throat. The way her thick lashes flutter and fall across the shadow of her cheek as his mouth traces the taut and shuddering muscle of her shoulder is enough to coax the warmest of smiles to his dark lips, parted slightly to taste the sunlight that remained on her skin. The ocean tide is urgent, swaying to and fro onto the pale shoreline with a frothing seafoam, while the waning moonlight bathe their intertwined bodies in ethereal light – but he is lost to her, to the way her tousled tresses lay haphazardly across her neck, windswept by the gale weaving around her.

  My wind, she says, and he can only murmur against the heat of her skin, ”my spark,” before he is lost to her again, intoxicated by the way her bodies presses into his own – filling each void and space with her shapely, feminine curves, as if she were made for him. As he if he were made for her. His heart is fierce and thrusting against his chest, pulsating through the tightness of his rib cage as she swathes him in the delight of her caress (he can sense her desire, and his lips press again to her skin, seeking to draw out a breathless sigh of contentment from her parted lips).

  It had been too long, and when the quiet whisper of her confession is breathed against his ear and into the entanglement of his mane, a low and rumbling chuckle is drawn from his chest. He does not notice the gentle stirring of life within her – she is like the ravenous sea itself, moving endlessly, pressing into every ridge of muscle and bone on his body until he is cloaked in her scent and stiffening with a deep and undeniable longing to covet her, to draw her close to his body and to remind her that distance (that time!) cannot ever dampen the burning flame he carries for her.

  He is kept from wandering her body, from kissing every inch that his lips can find, by the startling light of her gaze boring into his own – soul to soul, she is exposed to him, and he to her.

  (He had begun to doubt himself, to doubt his place, to doubt that his love could ever be enough – but not with her, never with her – she never shies from showing him her affection, and there is no divide that could keep him apart from her nor her apart from him.)

  Gently, his cheek brushes along her own, reaching along the ridge and plane of her forehead, brushing away the feather and curl that lay across her vivid, emerald eyes. Without missing a beat, his lips are pressed to hers, tasting the sweet herb and spice lingering, loving and devoted.

  Wanderlust never tamed; but his heart taken, forever.

  ”Tell me, my light,” he muses with a mischievous gleam in the golden flecks of his eyes. ”tell me what it is. What is it you have for me?”

It's time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars, forever.

@[Jah-Lilah]