[private] Piece by Piece | Canaan | Mature

[Canaan]

Canaan

You give my life direction; you make everything so clear.

  She is still trembling, and he is tempted as ever to take her again, to make her gasp and quake with fervor beneath his tender caress and heated touch – but he does not. His kisses are slow and deliberate, pressed gently into the hidden crook of her neck, and along the strong column of her neck. The wind only serves to pull her closer, his shoulder to her breast, as his lips and teeth dance ever so lightly across her dampened skin, savoring the taste of her beneath his urging kiss. He never knew he could feel so full, so whole - the wanderlust is never sated, not entirely – it settles like a heavy sediment in the darkness of his rushing blood, surging with adrenaline.

  Yet, no longer does he desire to wander alone –
  He cannot imagine his life without her, nor his time spent without her by his side.

  She is perfection, carved with raw, magnetic energy, fine muscle and deeply feminine curves – he could spend an eternity exploring every part of her, if only to coax a coy smile or shiver from her delicate flesh, and he would! An eternity, spent with her, and only her, with his wildly beating heart all the more unruly and riotous – but for her. When his gaze does finally meet with hers, his breath his stolen, and the stirring in his loin is heavy with desire, though he chooses to ignore it. The intensity of her stare is enough to make him feel bare and vulnerable to her, and he does not shy away from it – unabashedly exposed; fearless in the love that he is consumed by.

  She presses closer to him with enthrallment, squealing and nipping at his golden skin, and he cannot suppress the lopsided grin that emerges, while a hazel eye watches her with wonderment from behind his draping two-toned forelock. She does not hesitate. There is not a single bone in her that is uneasy; she is energized and captivated and rapt in his plea – my only one.

  His heart does skip a beat when her lips are pressed to his, and he is certain that he has found what the wanderlust had pushed him to find for so long, always searching, always waiting –

  He would wait no more.

  His whiskered lips press against the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, before stealing a kiss behind a deep and rumbling murmur.

  ”I have always been ready. Let’s go.”

  Away from Ischia, away from the hurt and the ache and the uncertainty – away from the island that had never been theirs; from the island that had only served to take what was never theirs to keep, to hold or to have. 

   Seamlessly, Earth and Wind are one and gone, and the island would soon be long forgotten.

And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight.

@[Jah-Lilah]