Myths with manners, fairytale

Her eyes glittered from the tears and reflected the lowered flames of the fireplace behind them.
Her flushed cheeks on her fearful, pale face seemed as though made of rose petal material, not skin.
Her small ruby lips, slightly open, trembled.

And then Zerar finally realized what it was and his heart suddenly started beating faster, threatening his chest.
Rousseau stared at him with a look that said it all.

"You little fool, is it me you think you love?" he caught her chin with his fingers and smiled crookedly shaking his head.

"I am no good for you, my little one. I am not the one you remember. Rastybone is the man you remember. Right? ",

He was doing fine hiding his true thoughts, even from himself.

Rousseau shrugged utterly confused and new streams of tears burst from her wet eyelids. Zerar could not bear to see her like that. He forgot about the plan for the time being and shook her in his arms passionately. Though he hid his thoughts well, his body reactions could not be hidden. He fooled himself thinking that his lust could be addressed to any beautiful woman. He would quickly recover from this illness. He would be comforted in several other female hugs and he would forget about Rousseau easily. Rousseau slowly drew her mouth onto his beard until she reached the edge of his lips. Yes, he would take her out of his mind. He opened his mouth and ate her breath like a silky tuft of burnt sugar. He would take her out of his mind later. Her hands pulled his shirt and rammed down approaching longingly his body. Her fingers matched and sailed amidst the rivers of his ribs. They sailed up to his shoulders and came back again. Her shy little tongue rose between two fleshly half-closed shutters and shot him fatally. He took everything else out of his mind and he only kept her.

"Teach me what men want," she whispered shyly in his ear and almost made him come.

He did not grab her by the hair, not tossed her in the bed, nor tore her clothes. But he was inside her until morning came. He tasted her from every side and she was receptive and welcoming like no one before her. As if there was a magnet inside her pulling him to melt and be spilled in her veins. As if it was her body that had spawned him and now it was calling him back. Neither had he ever seen a woman coming so many times, so sincerely, so completely, so heartbreaking, as if born and dying in his arms. The last time he did not have a single drop of sperm left and he thought he poured his soul inside her. If he continued for a bit longer, he knew he would kill her from pleasure and he would die on top of her.

"Myths with manners, fairytale"

Triantafyllia Iliopoulou
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