Page 26 of The Spiral
Her lips part as I push on them, and then warmth envelops me, sliding itself up my shaft and causing me to tighten my ass in response. I could come instantly, barely holding off the need to pump viciously into her throat and erupt, but her moan echoes in the room again, haunting the mysterious nightfall that’s descending and giving me a new focus. I grasp hold of the sound as my fingers grip onto her head, guiding her down onto me as I shove in deeper and close my eyes again.
“More, baby,” I murmur, sliding myself in further as her hands grip my ass and pull me towards her. She slides her mouth back, running her tongue around me as she goes and then forges back onto me again, swallowing and causing me to growl in pleasure. “Fuck, that’s good,” I groan out, pushing my cock back and forth in her throat and relishing the tight restriction around it.
Her lips meet my stomach as her teeth grate on me, gentle little nips as her fingers dig into my backside and then she slides away again. Back and forth. Long fluid strokes as one hand leaves my ass and begins to fondle my balls. It makes me desperate to come, enough so that I shove hard and true, angling her head for long rampant thrusts into her throat. She gags once, changing her position so she can handle more of me. One, two, three heavy shoves. And then more, listening to her constant moaning and groaning beneath my hands, feeling the texture of her skin in my fingers and nearly crying at the memory of it.
No. I shake my head and grit my teeth, winding her hair into my fingers. Not like this. I want to fuck her, make love to her, and feel her clamping around my cock when I come inside her. I want to remember that. Give her that moment, give myself that fucking heavenly moment.
I pull her off, just stopping the imminent flow of come from leaving me and push her to the floor again. She yields immediately, not questioning or fighting. She just pushes my trousers off, helping me rid myself of the last barrier between us. She knows, doesn’t she? Knows how precious these moments together are. She understands me like no other. She always has. She knows the darkness, the light. She holds me together when I crumble, breaks me open when I close down. She knows me better than I know myself.
Her legs open and draw me down onto her, as her mouth lands on mine with ease and we mould together. “Now,” she whispers, her lips and teeth clashing onto mine. “Make love to me, Jack.”
I could come the moment I sink into her, our bodies joining with no interruption. We hardly move at first. We just wait, our mouths too desperate to kiss to concern ourselves with making love. This is making love, all of it. The need, the ache, the sense of closeness. I can feel her inside my mind telling me she loves me and holding me in this darkness, reminding me of summer’s warmth.
The same warmth I haven’t felt without her.
“I love you,” I whisper, feeling her hands twine into my hair and her feet hitch up onto my back for comfort. “Closer, pull me closer, baby.” She wraps her legs tighter, resting her hands on my face and staring into my eyes.
The first gentle pull out and then forge back in effortlessly sends me into idyllic dreams. She moans aloud, tightening her hands on my cheeks and refusing to take her eyes from me. I wrap my arm under her, lifting her into me and resting my forehead on hers so I can gaze at her, pushing into her again, and again. I know those eyes so well. I’ve been lost in them so many times before, wished they’d come home so many times. And they’re vibrant again now, full of life and vigour. They beg with need, showering their wonder on me and saturating me with love once more.
I slowly drive every inch into her, hoping for a miracle to bring us all home again. She isn’t real; none of this is, I know that, but I can feel her regardless. I can sense her in this madness as I grunt, my throat catching with the exertion as I forge in again. Perhaps I’m desperate to prove she is real, to verify this as meaningful somehow. Maybe I just want to prove that she’s alive, breathing, and here with me, loving me again as she lingers in the air. I can almost hear Lenon’s voice, hear the wedding bells ringing, sense the moment I fell in love with her. She is real. I can hear her groans of desire, feel her fingers biting into my neck as she pulls me into her. She is here. Selma is here, now, proving she still loves me as I fuck into her and wait for her orgasm to bridge our dreams together.
She rises beneath me, her body suddenly gliding to a stop in the middle of this blackened delusion, her mouth trembling under mine as I keep pushing into her. It’s all I need to realise reality. Just her moment of quiet and it’s all tangible around me. Real. Every muscle tenses between us, every sinew poised and waiting for the heavens to open, gracing us with freedom. My body primes, come driving itself from the depths to flow into her. And finally she moans, a sound that wrecks my mind and nearly destroys it as all around us blurs into insignificance. There is only these seconds, the two of us, together again and fucking, making love, remembering, reminding. Both of us in the very spot where we made our child.
Together again.
I lie for a while, letting my body relax into her and sensing the last of my come find its way home as she brushes at my hair. Fucking perfect. I can’t find the will to move, and couldn’t care less what I should be doing or whether this is real or not. As far as I’m concerned, this is the only thing I should be doing. Madness or not. If I have my way I won’t be doing anything but this for a very long time. Selma is home. She’s here with me, still stoking my hair and holding us together.
“That was nice,” she says, letting her legs drop from my back and loll to the floor beside me. I rub my face against her breast, gently nipping at the nipple that happens to fall into my mouth. “You’re good at that.”
“Hmm.” I can’t find words yet, don’t want to. Words might change the air around us, break whatever fucking spell we’re under. And it isn’t me who’s good, anyway. It never was. It’s always her—her and her ability to harness me.
I eventually open my eyes, staring across her body towards the empty fireplace, then breathe in deeply, enjoying the smell of us in the air rather than the usual dust ridden barrenness. I smile, sliding my cock casually and remembering Lenon running through the room, his little hand swinging a sword around while he chased imaginary dragons.
“I’ve missed this,” I murmur, kissing her ribs and then continuing to flick my tongue around her nipple. “Missed you.” She laughs lightly, filling me with more dreams and visions. The time she spilt white paint all over the kitchen when we first moved here, the way she always asked me to do her necklaces because she couldn’t fasten the clip, and the way she giggled when I tickled her. Christ, I love tickling her. If I could be bothered to move, I might do it now, but I can’t. I’m far too engrossed in the quiet and peace around me to attempt moving anywhere.
The darkness of the room starts to brighten out, flecks of light beginning to filter then pour in from the window again. I watch them dapple the floor, flickering through the old stained glass, casting blue and amber tones at me and ridding the space of the murkiness that had fallen. I frown at the colours, knowing what will happen soon and closing my eyes again in hope.
“Jack.”
The sound of my name reverberates in my mind. It isn’t real this time. I can tell. She’s disappearing, leaving me. I tuck my head into the body beneath me, pulling in rapid breaths and trying to keep her here, hoping at least the scent will stay.
“I don’t know why you keep saying that. It’s not like we really know each other,” she says, her hand running through my hair.
Tears prick my eyes as I fight to keep them shut against her skin. Madeline. My hand scrunches into her skin, twisting it, hoping beyond all hope that I’ll hear Selma again, desperate to before she leaves me alone and in pain again. She shrieks, yanking herself away from my hold and rolling out of the way, my spent cock slipping out of her as she does.
“The hell was that?” she spits, scrambling to her feet and backing away from me.
I don’t look at her. I can’t. Instead, I sigh and brace myself on the floor, ready to get up and go to my room, to search for some fucking sanity.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, lifting myself wearily and looking anywhere but at her. The gun catches my eye, discarded by the sideboard. I walk to it and pick it up with every intention of putting it back in the gun cabinet so I can leave.
“What the hell is wrong with you? We just made love, didn’t we? I’m confused, Jack. What the…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but stops as I notice her feet back away further. “Jack, what are you doing?”
I don’t know anymore. Nothing is real here. I can’t work out what’s going on myself, let alone explain it to her. Brightness then gloom. Fog and mists. Darkness then dappled flickers of light. I just want Selma back, and Lenon, and this house filled with joy like it once was.
I shake my head, trying to get the sight of her out of it or bring the other Selma back into vision, but they blur, the two of them becoming one in my mind. I stare back at the brightly lit mahogany fireplace then flick my eyes up to the stained glass, searching for the dark again and wondering where she’s gone, or if she was ever really here. The sun blinds me, glinting off a heart shaped amber piece. I smile at it, blinking and remembering the bridesmaids’ dresses and colour of their bouquets.
“Jack,put the gun down.” It was such a lovely day. People cheered around us and offered their congratulations, slapping me on the back and telling me I was batting above my weight. They were right, all of them. “Jack?”