Safe Harbor - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Safe Harbor

The wine slowly ebbs through her veins, making her lightheaded. Sleeplessly tired, drained from the unnatural occurrence on the beach below, she wonders, "Who is he? Why did he not answer?". Too many questions with no answers.

Hesitantly she turns from the railing as a steady rain begins to fall. A last look. . .nothing. Dazed, she enters through the French doors into the living room, past the glass top table strewn with the Glamour magazines never read. Reaching the kitchen, her eyes focus to find another bottle of wine in the rack.

The half-hidden moon lights her way down the hall to her bedroom. More questions roll through her mind. No answers. Bottle open, White Zinfandel splashingly poured into the long stemmed crystal glass. Moving toward the sliding glass door opening to the deck she stands and tries to gaze at the beach below. Fear and expectation intermingle in her mind as she slides open the door.

A flash of lightening fills the sky, illuminating the sand, the cresting waves, the empty gazebo at the end of the beach walkway, nothing more. A sip plays sweetly upon her lips. The moist breeze of an ocean storm sprays her skin. Slowly turning from the night, she steps into the sitting room off to the left of the bedroom.

Picking up her ivory handled comb, she softly brushes her brown mane. Another flash of lightening gives her a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. How tired she feels. . .so tired.

Stepping out her dress, she moves delicately across the floor to her waiting bed. Her mind is so full, her body so empty.

The room is dark. Wind whips the lace curtains from the side of the door, the carpet at doorway is moistened by rain. The storm's fury lashes the waves which crash with deafening force against the shore. Thunder rolls toward landfall announced
by vertical streaks of jagged light.

Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, she downs the remains of the wine in her glass. The rain mists and swirls just inside the door next to her bed; lace curtains stand outstretched
to the wind. A flash of lightening. . .another, quickly repeating, blinds her. The tearing crack of thunder shakes the small cottage. The storm is here. Another streak, a thunderbolt creases the air.

Suddenly she turns her eyes to the dresser at the far end of the room. Her heart pounds as her eyes struggle to focus. A loud thunderburst melds with a crack of lightening. It is him!

Standing silently, he does not speak or move. His white shirt, unbuttoned midway and drenched with rain, clings to his torso, exposing the chiseled features of his chest. Blond hair darkened by the rain falls carelessly about his forehead.

She stands, grabbing the corner of the bedsheet, trying to hide her nakedness. She stares into the blue fire of his eyes, further ignited by the continuous lightening, and opens her mouth to speak but no sound escapes.

She takes a halting step forward and is stopped by his eyes. They say "don't move." Freezing in mid-step, she slowly glides back to the edge of the bed.

Lightening flashes all around as he leans against the Chippendale dresser. His jaw tenses as he crosshandedly removes his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the carpet. Her breath escapes her nostrils as the light reveals a finely cut, lightly blond-haired chest, and washboard-tight stomach browned golden by the sun. His toned arms flex in the light as he moves his right hand up to his left pec, then down across his chest, fingers pointing downward, down and across the middle of his flattened stomach, thumb coming to rest on the waistband of his jeans, fingers stretched down across the crotch.

Wanting to move, she can't. Wanting to speaking...no words. She hears only the sound of wind, thunder, waves and her pounding heart.

A new sound joins in the chorus as, ever so slowly, he unbuttons his jeans and lowers the zipper. His hands, on either side of his torso, move slowly down his hips beneath the fabric, pushing them down across his thighs, bending slightly as the jeans are pushed to gather on the floor around his ankles.

Body glistening in the light show, he steps out of his jeans. Her eyes are transfixed on his lionlike motion as he moves to the foot of the cherry wood sleigh bed. Staring penetratingly into her eyes he reaches out to take the small bottle of lavender body lotion off the bench in front of the bed.

Her eyes move imperceptibly down his body. His chest is lifted and defined; his stomach taught. Her eyes avert from what she most wants to see as she glances to his legs which are muscular and lean. As he turns slightly to reach the bottle she notes his definition of his buttocks, strong, shaped, and curved.

Facing her, he removes the cork stopper from the lavender then pours the lotion into his hands. His eyes lock with hers, entrancing her to not move.

His moistened hands slowly, carefully move across his chest, down his ridged stomach. Her eyes break the trance, locking in on the movement of his hands which pause below his midriff. His left hand moves down to his bronzed left thigh. The motion leads her eyes to that which she most wanted, but feared, to see - his manhood, suspended near horizontal, growing, rising, the circumcised head swelling.

She makes a small motion as if wanting to move, and as quickly his gaze entraps her, stopping her, imprisoning her. His gaze drops down and hers follows. His left hand cups his scrotum, kneading the jewels therein encased, as his thumb places downward pressure at the base of shaft.

His manhood growing ... engorging ... standing near vertical, she takes it all in with her eyes. The perfect line of straightness, no curve or deviation. The veins throbbing, creating well-spaced ribbed outer form. The head, pulsating, slightly wider than the width of his shaft. Scrotum perfects shaved with only a small patch of tightly trimmed hair at the pelvic base of the shaft.

His right hand, moist with lavender, gently traces the length of the
underside of his cock, barely touching, up and back down the erect muscle.

His left hand now changes places with the right; his fingers wrap around the head of his cock and smoothing down the length. His eyes now reengage her as she reclines back against the headboard, watching his hands manipulate his own pleasure.

Both hands now alternating, like pulling down a heavy rope ... down, squeeze and down. His eyes are ablaze, reflecting the tumultuous storm raging outside. Squeeze....and down.... slowly up... squeeze and down.

Her legs fall loosely apart, her left hand gently touches her moistness.

Squeeze and down. He raises his left leg onto the footboard and,
with his left hand, gently massages his engorged scrotum. Squeeze . . . and down with his right hand. Each squeeze accentuates the now massive red head of his cock pulsing with a life of its own.

His left hand touches his balls and then disappears momentarily between his taught buttocks. Hand moving faster – up - squeeze and down ... up ... squeeze and down.

Her own sex now throbs as she watches this specter before her. Her fingers glide deeply into her sex ... feeling ... swirling ... delving in and out in cadence with his strokes. She can see his left hand, the thumb and forefinger exposing his forbidden zone, as his middle finger glides slowly in and out.

As both hands moving faster, her sex drips to his maddening cadence as her own fingers play a dance deeper within herself. The stranger, trembling yet still squeezing, stroking up and then down as his middle finger begins battering quickly, deeper, harder.

With a barely perceptible moan, a fountain of thick white fluid erupts from the tip of his cock. The first arc splatters onto the side of her cheek as her own gushing continues. Wave after wave of hot cum streams from his muscle, each slow stroke bringing another ebbing flow.

Exhausted, sweating, she locks eyes with the apparition that now stands motionless at the footboard. Watching. Her tongue slowly snakes past her parched lips and languidly catches the hot, salty liquid, rolling down her cheek.

Stepping forward he stands before her, sweat dribbled chest rising and falling in sychonicity with her heartbeat, his eyes dilated and glowing.

Slowly he reaches out and smoothes her eyelids closed. She feels his body heat moving closer, feels his moist lips touch gently upon one eyelid then another. Her exhausted body and mind drift into the sweetness of each gentle kiss.

Suddenly her eyes spring open. Her eyes focus in the darkness of her room. No storm. No wind. No him. Only the scent of lavender.