Knock! Knock! Knock! Cine Harris took a deep breath one more time before trying the lock of Ken Lutheran’s apartment. Just then, the door opened. Of course, he would be on his towel. It was all wrong to have come all that way to see him and that was crystal clear. Yet it was important. Tommorow would be a great day for both them. They would take their vows, walk along the aisle, and above all, be declared husband and wife. But something had bothered her and they needed to talk.
Just as she turned to leave, he grasped her upper arm. “Where do you think you are going, huh?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be here.”
“No,” he muttered. “We belong together. You belong here.”
Ken looked at her. It wasn’t fair if he let her leave. He had known her for months; they worked in the same company. Ken had a reputation. He always had a woman, women seemed to love him, and now she knew what their attraction was. He was quite tall, attractive and he had a broad shoulder that exposed the abs on his chest.
He looked into her eyes and Cine quickly looked away, embarrassed that he may have seen her watching him. When she looked back their eyes met and she smiled. He had seen that. Cine wanted to turn away but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Hey darling,” he said staring into her eyes now.
“Hi,” she said clearly wishing she’d find something better to say.
“Come inside,” he leant closely as he said, drawing his eyes so he stared up and down her body, obviously appreciating what he saw.
Damn she’s mine, she’s all mine.
The room, a large bachelor pad, was dark and she sat at the edge of the bed. A few strands of her short, dark hair had escaped their hold from the silver hairpin and outlined her strong, feminine jaw line. He didn’t need much light to appreciate how long lashes framed her dark, deep-set of eyes. It was imprinted in his memory-along with the smooth softness of her full lips.
Jerking off his towel, Ken tossed it on the lounge chair beside the bed as he sat beside her. The smooth outline of her round hips made him itch to have her. He let his gaze slide down the length of her. He had kissed her several times before, the best kiss when he proposed to her a month ago. Each time her lips tasted like frozen berries and he loved every part of it. His gaze rested on the revealing cleavage of her black dress that covered her like a second skin. Surely he’d given his heart before; this time he’d give her his skeleton. There was something erotic in the way she wore that dress. For the first time he’d taste her, on their wedding eve.
“We need to talk,” she muttered and twisted, trying not to give a full glimpse of his naked body.
“Yeah… but I need you.”
She stiffened slightly as he moved closer. Despite what she was trying to portray, she wasn’t immune to him. Not by a long shot.
Ah well, that didn’t matter. After today, she would move in with Ken Lutheran. He had fantasies on great sex and… okay, he’d settle for great sex. The rest would always come after.
Before, they would stop at a light hug. He’d never press to her to kiss him even when he felt the urge. But today? She was in an accommodating mood. No. It was his first chance to savor her, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
Okay, so she hadn’t talked to him yet. Whatever. She too longed to have him equally. She had never been with any man this close before, and this wasn’t a chance she would throw.
A dreamy smile curved her lips upward as he moved closer. She wanted to laugh, and had to swallow hard to prevent it. As she began clutching at her bun, he let out what could be described as a strangled protest. They laughed.
“Closer,” he directed calmly.
“No,” she said. “We really can’t do this.”
He wouldn’t laugh at this. No he wouldn’t. He knew she was virgin, and he wanted her even more.
“I said come closer, Cine.” There was steel in his voice, and she was surprised by it.
“Fine I—”
“Shh! I’m hard for you, okay?” His eyes narrowed as he let her lay on the pillow. Her breath left in one gigantic whoosh. Holy hell in a bucket, but ‘hard’ didn’t do justice to the magnificent erection jutting from his groin.
Her gaze was absolutely fixed on his cock. She wanted to wrap both hands around it and touch it. God, she wanted to taste him.
She did crude measurements in her head because damn, he was stacked; fully Africanlong and thick.
“When you’re done staring,” he grunted. There was embarrassment in his voice, and she grinned as her eyes connected with his. He moved closer to the nuzzle of her neck.
She’s mine. Or better, at least she would after tommorow.
She ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her, slow at first, until they had to match each other’s desire. Their tongues fought with ecstasy, and he tasted really good. He started working on her panties and cupped her crotch. She was wet for him. But there was something else. He slipped his fingers between her folds into her warm, wet channel. He stopped. He reached for the lights.
Shock is only funny when you get it from testing boiling water with a heater in it, using your finger. But this was not only shock that was tattooed on her face. In fact, if you ever see that look before, you’ll never forget it. It is rare to see that look—fear, agony and tears.
He stopped gazing at her cami hugging around her large breasts, clearly outlining their shape as her nipples pushed against the thin material. His attention was now down at the supposed ‘wet crack’. The familiar heaviness ceized to settle at his cock as he continued with the assessment.
“You never told me you were a hermaphrodite.” He took her wrist. She stopped. A dumb move. He let her go. She was tired to explain she was a transitioned female. She hated it that her cock hardened too upon arousal.
“I’m sorry, at least you knew that before taking the vows, she let out a whisper, lost in the wind and her rage.
She didn’t have any more tears to give. It seemed though that crying without tears was much more painful than with tears, and impossible to control.
Maybe it is true that you only live once but in the heart of a mother that abandoned you, you live and die everyday.
Her memories flashed back when she grew in St Mary’s Children Home. Most of her friends knew why they were there. Some had lost their parents, some were brought from the streets and few were abandoned children found by the Little Sisters of St. Mary’s. But her, she knew why she was at the children’s home. Many times she had to ignore the knife lodged in her chest. She hated that she bled from inside. She was scared to even have extra personal relationship just in case anyone laughed at the scars in her wound. Not before she met Ken Lutheran, not before that first day at the Nice Publishing Center. She was not sure at first, but the heart wants what it wants. Hers wanted Ken Lutheran. Hadn’t he proposed, true as an African man, son of the soil?
For the first time in many years, she felt that calm voice calling. The voice was always persistent and strong. It always came as she chanted the long prayers of the rosary back in the children’s home.
“I’m tired of cleaning wounds,” she blurted out looking away. More than ever she knew where her decision would lead her to. She was ready to devote her life to the convent.
Fuck that wedding. She was going to give her compassionate heart to little persons that deserved it with question.
“Cine look straight in my eyes,” Ken blurted. He gave her a benevolent and reserved look. His eyes were wet, his head down, his breath in sheets of cold air towards her breast. “Today I learnt that I am sterile,” he made a sound, barely a whisper, “that I was never going to give you babies.”
It was Cine’s chance to stare in disguised shock. And now the weight on their chests magnified. None could see straight. Maybe it’s true that romance is overrated; reality is different.
However, there was never a going back. She dressed hurriedly. He listened her heels on the tiled floor as she left. That sound, growing even more faint as she walked away.
Sometimes anger breaks through things we are really feeling, at least each had let that happen. Above all, each had made the other their confidant, they had blurted out their fears, there was no maybe. Each knew the other too perfectly, but the precious feelings were gone forever. A perfect imperfection. Or maybe, love lies.
When blood replaces ink, you sure they must be the tales of the bleeding pen.
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