Love & Possession (Week 4)-Always More

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I had never wanted to be held.

I needed something deeper than that.

I found that in him.

 

I wanted touches

deep enough to answer aches

and quiet howls born of

lost and lust.

 

I wanted a fire.

I needed heat.

I needed what I

should not be forced

to say.

 

How does one state

that what they have been

given does not reach?

 

How can it be explained

that I thirst for waters

few have the inner valor

to find or divine?

 

Yet, they are there. I have seen and tasted.

 

In these waters,

along these shores

no place in these oceans

is shallow.

 

From the depths of

this oceans,

with eyes dark and stormy

as hurricane skies,

he has taken my hand.

 

And allowed me to swim.

 

 

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

 

More Than Words Can Say

He said I’m perfect

On my knees,

Quiet and stormy.

When he asks me

How much I love him.

“More than words can ever say…”

With a stroking of my cheek,

the grace of

All masters of kittens,

He grabs my hair and

My eyes close.

My body becomes

A lit match, smoldering

that he touched me

Again.

“Show me.”

I grin, and open my mouth.

The sweetest yes I know.

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

You Deny Me, Deny Yourself

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I had lie to him of course when I said that I had felt nothing.

When I told him the hold that he had on me was fleeting, something out of a romance novel of Harlequin or Nora Roberts. That is until, always until I tried dating again. Until I tried to forget him.

I saw him everywhere.
When I tried to date, move on from the depth that was my love for Michael. The first date I had gone on, I mustered up the will to kiss him.  The first kisses on those first few dates I had gone on were like ice on my lips. When I decided to wipe away his touch, and the fires the created with the touch of someone else, those touches were never warm enough. No penetration was deep enough, and of course, I faked it. I hated for these poor saps not to have gotten their money’s worth. I believe in being a lady about most things. This is no exception.

They used me to be a pretty toy on their arms, I knew that.  But I used them to forget him. I had to forget him. I wanted to be able to erase him. And if being under another woman could, would make a man forget–then me being on top of one should make me forget him.

Yet, there was more than one I had pinned under me, secure inside my body, yet I still saw his face. I still had to think about him to even reach anywhere near a climax. Once. Twice. Three times this happened to me. Dinner. Flirting. Cold kisses. Lukewarm lay. Uber home.

For months, I resisted calling him. I refused to give in to him. I fought it. I fought against every cell of myself that knew what he said was true. I belonged to him. I was his.

He owned me.

In the shower, right before my birthday in October, I heard his voice in my head. I felt his touch over me, insistent and hot as the water from the shower. I felt him. As real and warm and deep as the ocean he had taken me to when we first dated three years ago. I could only bare up against the shower wall, moaning. The sounds from my chest and throat more like a howl. Wounded and pained noises. All that was in me, needed him. Had to have him. Needed him with me again.

In leaving the shower, I wrapped the heavy dark blue towel around me, my newly dyed dark hair sticking to my caramel brown shoulders. I bit my lip as the tears rolled down my face. I had tried to will them back, afraid of what would happen if I unleashed them. I clutched my towel, rocking slightly on my Queen sized bed. I told myself not to call him. Gave myself the reasons not to call him.

It was so intense with him.

He wanted to much of me.

I wasn’t ready to commit.

And the scariest thing  I had to admit was. I didn’t know how to love him, because I didn’t know to accept all he had for me. In the fear of what he wanted, I didn’t have room inside me to house all that he wanted. I wasn’t ready.

Yet trying to forget him had become inhumane. The pain of not being near him was becoming abhorrent  I stared at the phone on its base, warring with my heart, logic and body. I lay there, listening to my wrist watch tick from inside the nightstand I stared at. Every second, unbearable without him. I missed him. Touching him. Tasting him. The tears rolled down the my cheeks, indistinguishable from the water still sparse on the tops of my breasts. I cried.

Naked and in the world all by myself, I cried.

It all had become too much. A year without him had become too much. I crumbled and picked up the receiver and dialed his number my reflect and memory. Once. Twice. Three times. My heart was in my chest. I was still crying. I knew then what it was like to be ripped apart. This feeling had to be it.

I had no shame. I was aching. I was prepared to cry on his answering machine. A blubbering, wounded mess on his voicemail. I closed my eyes, resigned to being without him one more day when he answered.  I heard his giggle before he answered, soothing me. “I knew you would come back to me.” I heard the smirk and cockiness in his voice. I shivered so deeply I felt in my core self. “You belong to me, Ava. Where else could you go?”

Love & Possession: The Dark Set (Week 3)-Hauntings

 

He called to me

in whispers so low

that only God could hear.

This low, incessant growl

and at the thought of him

and the divine together

of he and I

my body opens and hums.

The sounds low and deep

resounding and full,

as any harp plucked

delicate and sweet–

skills known only

to masters of instruments.

 

At the opening of my eyes,

only to shut them again.

I realize that I am not

of my own.

 

 

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

Love & Possession: The Dark Set (Week 2)

“I want the darker part of this love, the parts only known by God.”

He shifted before my very eyes.  What had been once sweet, had been made raw and open. He told me to look at him, touching the skin below the right side of my neck and right ear. The heat from his hand, warming all skin around and below it. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent freshly showered. The room became too small, and the world quiet. There was a tempest born in me unknown before. He placed another hand around the left side of my neck and kissed me, pulling me into him. 

We had talked about this before, nothing big really. But now, I was ready. I thought I was ready. He wanted more from this–beyond a relationship. He called it ownership, but it didn’t feel that way. There was a rightness to his words. His presence. Even how he fit inside me–how incessant his thrusts were, and how, when he told me to open, I had cum like I never had. Even by my own hand. Even in those times without him, I thought of him. The first time I had called him Dueño was in my own bed alone.

Him owning me, fully, this was right.  This is who I wanted, wanted to be with. It was deeper than a want. Beyond a need. This was kismet in overdrive. This was more than could be given to me by Harlequin or Porn Hub powered imagination.

I melded into him. Fit as my body found its rhythm within his. I felt his hands roam over my ass, my thighs, and how I opened to him. “Let me in, don’t think. Don’t think, Kyla. I’m right here.” I shivered as his lips traced over my shoulder, the skin still hot from where his hands lay. My breath was caught, and my mind swam. Thoughts of hesitation, of fear, of changing my mind halted. Washed away with his head between my thighs as I stood.

No safe words. No safety net. I was in his hands and at his mercy.

Mermaid Tears (Week 2)

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There is no part of me that does not thirst for you.

That does not thrill at the thought that you and I

Will be near once more.

Skin touch and and sweat

fueling the potent nature

With the sounds of our

incessant together.

You are my oasis.

You are my river.

You are my ocean.

I swim in these depths

at and for your pleasure.

I hold my breath until I may drink again.

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4. 2019