Invisible Lines (Part 13)

Invisible Lines

(13)                  {start with Part 1}

“Nine years ago, hiking the Rockies with May, before we’d gotten serious.”

May, Paul’s last long term relationship, had been the inspiration or impetus two other of Paul’s tattoos, though nothing so banal as a name.

“We were almost at our campsite of the day, off on a spur trail by ourselves. She spotted it first lying in the sun on an overhanging rock and I almost crashed into her. We took off our packs and stood there, watching it together for almost half an hour, until it got up, stretched, gave us a thorough look-over, and disappeared into the rocks.”

Paul stood in his bedroom, in nothing but a pair of boxers, facing Sima sitting on the edge of his bed. The tattoo of the mountain lion, the last of his bestiary, curved down his left leg, looking like it was about to step down onto his foot.

“That night was the night we got serious.”

“Can I ask… how did things end with her?”

“Yeah. Part of the story, after all.  We were together about 3 years. Lived together for half that. When I started Chrysalis things were pretty hand-to mouth for a while, and she missed LA, and we as a couple weren’t strong enough to handle both those things.”

“I’m sorry, Paul.” Sima meant it, just as she felt a tiny, ridiculous tinge of jealousy for a woman she’d never known.

“Nah. She’s happier now. Married, too.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Not married.”

Sima rolled her eyes and poked his shoulder.

“No. You know what I mean. Are you happier?”

“Than I was at the end there?  Yes. Than I would have been had we toughed it out? I have no idea. But, I’m not much for regrets and what-if’s.”

Sima nodded. She now knew there had been at least two other serious lovers since May, but only one had associated ink, the thunderbird on his right thigh. He’d let her touch them as he told her about each one. They’d forgone the tea altogether, and washed their sandwiches down with brandy, a drink Sima wasn’t very familiar with. It had emboldened her to ask questions during the show and tell. She liked the feel of his skin, and the contrast of its smoothness and warmth under the fierce images.

All Paul’s tattoos were animals of one sort or another, though some – like the thunderbird, were highly stylized. They covered his arms to his shoulders, and his legs to his upper thighs, but his chest and back were bare, save for a modest pattern of hair as black as that on his head. She planned on asking about that, later.

“Have I missed any?” She asked.

“No. That’s the last of them.”

“Are you sure? You’re not hiding anything under there?” She hooked the waistband of his boxers and snapped them playfully, feeling bold indeed.

Paul chuckled.

“I may be hiding something, but not a tattoo.”

“Show me?” She used the voice that used to get her (almost) anything she wanted from her father. She probably wasted it, because he smiled instead of scowled.

“Trade. You show me, too. I want to check your bandage, anyway.”

She had to admit it was fair, and it was kind of what she’d had in mind anyway. But being asked to made it a thing. Still Paul went first, and pulled off his last piece of clothing to stand naked before her. Van was right. Even after the full tour, Paul, with his feral menagerie of ink, was scary hot. His cock, the first time she really had a chance to see it, was not-quite soft. And, as he watched her pull her shirt over her head and undo her bra, she saw it harden.

She stood to unfasten her skirt and let it drop to the floor, and then Paul was there, one hand at her hip, the other lifting her chin so her lips could meet his. He kissed her once, gently, then again, like kissing her was saving one of their lives. He beard was half-soft, half-wiry. She liked it. The head of his cock, fully hard now, nudged her stomach, and Sima couldn’t help but giggle at the fleshy poke. She feared she’d ruined the moment when Paul disengaged from that wonderful kiss. But he was smiling. Devilishly would have been the right adverb, too.

“Bandage check. Stay there,” he said, and sank down, kissing her every couple inches as he knelt. He placed a last, slow kiss halfway between her bellybutton and her vulva. It made her catch her breath.

“Open,” he said, tapping her left foot. Sima shifted it away, standing now with her feet a bit more than shoulder width apart. It was plenty for Paul to check the wrap, and it seemed to meet his approval. Sima was going to ask to be sure, but only a gasp came out. In one slight, quick motion Paul had turned his head and pressed his mouth against her cunt. His tongue was wet, and hot, and…Oh God. Sima’s hands came to his head as his came to her rear end, and she moaned aloud as they pressed into each other.

Paul new what to do with lips and tongue, and made Sima shudder as he discovered each new nuance of her pleasure. But right now, she wanted something else. She pulled on his hair until he came away and looked up at her, lips and beard soaked with her. She pulled up, to get him to stand, and then released him to step back and sit on the bed, legs parting in invitation.

Paul smiled hungrily, wiping his lips on his forearm and eyed her bandage.

“I don’t want to aggravate that. Turn around.”

After a tiny hesitation, Sima turned. She kept her eyes on Paul’s face the best she could as she turned to hands and knees on the mattress. The touch of his hands on the curve of her waist was electric. The nestling of his cock into her open cunt was lightning. He gripped her and pushed inside. All the way.

“Ooh. God. It hurts.” It had been a long time, for Sima. She was sore from before. Pauls filling of her made her taxed, stretched inner muscles protest.

“Does it, Sima?” Paul’s voice lower, growling. The hands on her hips dug into her flesh as he pulled partway out and thrust back in, hard enough to make her gasp.

“Yes,” she breathed, half whining. Then she looked over her shoulder at him. “Please don’t stop.”

Paul didn’t stop. He didn’t stop as her bruised feeling insides screamed at her and brought tears to her eyes. He didn’t stop when the pain seared its way into something so much more. He didn’t even stop when she screamed and came, her thoroughly fucked passage squeezing him in agonized, delicious overuse. He didn’t stop when her arms gave out and her front half sank limply to the bed; he held her hips up to his fuck and only drove harder. Until he yanked her back to him with a brutal finality and came.

{Concluded in Part 14}

Latest Comments

  1. wordsmithingimp says:

    Well that ending was, ah, was very…
    *hem* I’ll be in my bunk.

  2. paul1510 says:

    delicious, but thorough!

  3. Deliza Rafferty says:

    *sigh* So book two of the series begins when…? :-)

  4. Molly says:

    ” he held her hips up to his fuck and only drove harder” *whimpers at this….


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