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Morphine

A Loss of Control

By Emma FlintPublished 5 years ago 5 min read
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A chill clung to the air, only broken in its intensity by the heat of their bodies.

Beads of sweat rested on her brow as her eyes locked with his, a twinkle of mischief and desire gazing back at her. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes roamed over her, devouring every single inch of her, made her whole body melt; all it took was one look, one sneak glance, and she was awash with need.

And yet, there was also the urge to wipe his smug expression off of his face, to take back a small portion of the power he had over her. She was vulnerable before him, naked beyond more than her flesh. To be so exposed to another, so completely laid bare, was a frightening sensation. In spite of herself, however, on a purely carnal level, the experience was one that caused her body to quiver.

Soft laughter playfully brought her back to the now, to the motion of her body writhing under him as his fingers dipped further inside of her. Laughter soon gave way to a silent smirk, the smug satisfaction, he felt brazen and proud: He liked, not loved, how he could make her squirm with his touch.

Of course, it was obscenely unfair of her to paint her lover so one dimensionally, as if only he could command her in such a way. Both of them knew how to play the other, much like a skilled musician taking up the mantle once more, they too could coax a symphony from one another. Perhaps it was more fair to say that her artistry was more subtle; when she took him inside her warm, wet mouth, he was sure to let out a delighted gasp. It was a delicate reaction, one that could easily be missed if she didn't strain her ears to listen, but that small moan of confirmation was enough for her.

A rush of emotions quickly flooded her senses, all else giving way to wave upon wave of release, the tension having built over time now finally able to ebb away in a sudden, frantic moment. Now all that remained was a rich glow, seeping from the centre of her being down to her toes and to the tips of her fingers. It was such a wonderful feeling to be so close to him, to have one snapshot of time where the closeness between them transcended to another level that felt next to Godlike.

He was her new religion. “Oh, fuck…!”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the gravity of everything she felt consumed her, causing her to naturally pull away from the warmth of his embrace, her mind and body overwhelmed. In truth, it was a sensory overload that had never stopped since the day they'd met; she couldn't just ride it out, nor could she quietly endure, all because of the unrelenting force he had become to her. Soft sobs wracked her body, his hands then instinctively reaching for her, finding the lines of her curves and caressing him.

He cooed at her to relax, to let go of what scared her, all while planting featherlight kisses on her forehead; it was meant as an action of reassurance, but it was one that weighed on her heavily. “You don't love me, do you?” She framed it as a question, yet both of them knew all too well that no answer was needed, for she already knew his stance on love. He didn't, couldn't, wasn't capable, too old to change, and a thousand and one other reasons that felt like petty excuses.

Strong but tender hands cupped her face, encouraging her to look into his eyes once more, the playfulness that lived there still visible, although it had been diminished by the severity of the question put before him. “Ellie-”

“Don't.” Although that single word sounded confident, strong even, she was nothing short of begging him not to continue. The truth, however, genuinely he gave it, was too much for her to bear. Sensing her need, he simply drew her towards him, their bodies pressed together in a loving embrace, causing the whole world to fall a way. It was only for the briefest of moments, but for those mere seconds, it was nobody else but them.

More sobs came now, harder and faster than before, stifling her to the point where she could no longer draw breath. Christ, it hurt. Her fingers flexed at the sheets before clawing into them, his protective embrace suddenly removed from her as she twisted in pain. As she looked to him to see what was wrong, she noticed that his eyes had begun to redden as he struggled to hold back tears all too desperate to fall.

Sorrow lined his face, and for the first time since the day she'd first met him, when her intrigue had first been peaked, he finally looked his age. Older even. Too old, too broken. To see him like that, to watch him try to hold his emotions in check, slowly started to suffocate her, all the while the immense pain that rocked her body still coursing through her veins. “Ellie, why did you have to be so stupid? You know how I feel about you…” His words drifted around her, taunting her as her whole body went rigid, the suffocation of her senses, of her nerves, having petered out. Now there was nothing to fill the void that it had left, save for the agonising beep of the ECG as the paramedics tried tirelessly to bring her back.

But she was gone. She had crossed a line that no one could return from, her life nothing but another victim to love and death, neither of which was fully sated.

literature
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About the Creator

Emma Flint

I find myself drawn to writing pieces that explore the darker sides of what it means to be human; the majority of my work is fictional, but my stories always touch on emotions and/or personal experiences.

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