RED: A Love Story [Featured List]

Part 1: White 15 - Afterhours

Marisa bit her lip. Now he was getting to his feet and closing the distance between the two of them. She winced, perturbed by his composed countenance. She knew it was a mask and couldn't read beneath it. Marco sat next to her as if trying to decide what to do.

"I've said it already, I'm not telling anything." Marisa's voice sounded slightly high pitched. "What else do you want?"

She nearly jumped when he leaned over to lay his parted lips on her neck, stroking the skin with a whiff. His long fingers drew invisible patterns across her collarbone, with the lightness of another whiff, and Marisa felt just like she would always feel under Marco's spell: spiraling, spiraling, spiraling... She made an effort to collect herself and slapped him on the shoulder-she wanted to get back at him, hurt him too. Marco held her wrists, and she couldn't counter his strength. His fingers closed around her flesh with an ­ease that only served to infuriate her. The ragged sounds of their breathing permeated the room.

Marisa cursed, her face flushed, eyes sparking. She was immobilized under his weight. The wide chest crushed hers, the large hands pinned her arms against the upholstery. She struggled, attempting to kick him. The skirt of her dress slipped up, the neckline slipped down, and Marisa felt on her bare skin the texture of Marco's clothes. They left in her an imprint of his warmth with a vestige of cologne. She weakened but resisted.

"Let me go!"

"I'm trying to calm you down," he said unperturbed.

"That's all I need. You're so pretentious..."

"I don't like to fight with you, Mari. Let's make peace."

"... pretentious and controlling! If you think that... What did you say?"

"Let's make peace, my love..."

And, with that, Marco sealed his lips over hers. Marisa kept her mouth tightly shut. He insisted: with the tip of his tongue he courted and taunted until she gave way to him. Sensing Marisa relax, Marco released her wrists and caressed her nape, flexing his fingers, barely touching her, touching just enough as to sow a trail of trepidations-small seismic waves here and there, minute volcano eruptions in the pores, and the imaginary lava winding all over the epidermis...

"Marco... you get on my nerves..." she sighed as he began nipping at her ear.

"I know." He smiled against her skin. "You should set me straight..."

"Hmmm... that's what I'm going to do... sometime..."

Marisa enveloped Marco's neck when he kissed her again, and her caresses wandered on his back and on his hair, until wrapping his nape. She felt Marco's quiver on the palm of her hand and his dampened moan on her lips. The sensations intensified, as anger was still a memory in their cells. They devoured each other now, tongues nearing, inching back and entwining in a sinuous dialogue. The punishment of a bite on the lip mingled with the flirt inside the mouth.

And then Marco pulled back and inhaled sharply, his gaze still cloudy over her body-the long legs revealed by the dress, the meandering line from the hips to the waist, the chest that heaved under the flowery pattern. He imagined his mouth on each of those flowers and then his fingers ripping them to attain other gardens. He ached to fill his hands with her shape, play at the threshold just to tease her. And feel those legs wrapped around him while he submerged in the satiny, moist, tight warmth, and spent himself there to the last drop. The rhythmic sound of their bodies colliding, billions of atoms dancing and shuffling their scent-pheromones, fragrance, sweat, sap. Marco suppressed the urge to lift her skirt and penetrate her like that, half-dressed, the urgency impelling him to thrust hard, harder, the urgency of fusing into her and having her cry with release. To see her face blend a smile, a sob, a blaze at once transfixed on him and already enraptured by pleasure.