He felt heat radiating toward his fingertips from the shiny metal. He knew it was impossible, and yet tonight, the impossible seemed real. Here with Pandora, in their private little cocoon, disbelief could be suspended and anything could happen.
His fingers closed over the silver sculpture and he saw the shudder run through her as he caressed it, sweeping down one curving line and back up again, shifting his grip, releasing it, touching with feather-light caresses as she closed her eyes and moaned from deep within her throat. “So you feel that?” The roughness in his voice betrayed how hard it was to remain in control as she lay on the floor, arms and legs flung out in abandon, tendrils of hair going in all directions. He thought he had never before seen anything or anyone so beautiful.
“Yes,” she breathed. “It’s like torture.”
“Good. And what about this?” He leaned over and pressed his lips to the metal, nuzzling it, nibbling, the tip of his tongue reaching out to taste what would surely be the slight bitterness of metal. But, no, it was as if he tasted the delicate citrus flavor of her skin, sweet and heady and hot beneath his touch.
“Oh, Flint, yes, that feels so good.” She shuddered and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze squarely as he continued to trace the curving lines of her work. And all the while, he was watching her, watching as her lips parted and she moaned his name aloud, watching as her hands moved across her breasts, pausing at the nipples to touch, explore, pull gently before moving down her stomach to hover at her mound. “I feel you right here,” she whimpered, and the pressure and the heat in his groin grew almost unbearable.
“I feel you too, Pandora.” He knelt before the piece, one knee on each side of the large base, shuffling forward until he was hard against the metal, his gaze still linked to hers. “I feel like I’m pressed up against you.” And it was truly as if their bodies were entwined together, the extraordinary heat of the sculpture wonderful agony as he thrust, slowly at first then faster, his cock sliding up and down the uneven curves of her art as they folded themselves around him as if they, too, wanted to draw him in to their aroused and aching centre.
“Come here, Flint, please. Haven’t you punished me enough?” Her pitiful tone was almost his undoing, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t cease what he was doing. This was his turn, his time to be in charge, and they would come together only on his terms.
“No!” he commanded. “You come here.”
“Yes!” He closed his eyes and waited, heard the rustle as she shifted off the carpet, then her body was up against him, her warm breath tickling the back of his neck, her plump breasts pressed into his back, nipples piston-hard and angled upwards. She wrapped her arms around him, and her smooth thighs were hot against him as she kneed his legs farther apart. Her mound connected with his buttocks in an embrace so deeply intimate he almost came undone.
“Pandora. What are you doing to me?”
“I’m taking you with me, into the light.”
A chuckle bubbled out of him at her words, and with it a sense of freedom he couldn’t remember feeling since he was a child. “Am I dying, then?”
“Of course not!” Her laughter rippled across his skin, “This is living, Flint. Embracing life. And love. Welcome it.” As if to demonstrate, she held him more tightly, gentle fingers exploring, and he felt sandwiched between two halves of the same woman, shiny silver and soft flesh, surrounded by her heat and her delicious scent, his senses so aroused he couldn’t tell where woman ended and the metal sculpture began.