Wishing a bountiful Thanksgiving to all. Consider this a slice of Tiva pie for your consumption!

Detonate

The sweep of his lips wakes her from a dream which featured that very mouth. Floating along her thigh in a brushstroke arc, he excavates the ruins of her nocturnal fantasy and presses divine reality into her skin. Denying her eyes the right to feast, she lets his extravagant manipulations filter through other senses. Touch, a gentle if insistent gift, is a personal favorite.

She was trained for aggression and he for observation, the complimentary skills clashing in the night. The hallowed light of morning shines on role reversal; he the predator stalking a willing prey. Extending her nerve endings to the surface of heated skin to capture each sweet movement, every deliberate stroke, she gasps at what she refuses to witness.

Visual deprivation with the promise of overload.

What he's building works to tear her down, angling her sharper edges into softer alignment until they can inflict no damage. Thorough hands shape her core into compliance, tossing away resistance. He puts aside his inherent playfulness to focus on the task of unraveling the sturdy woman, his concentration summoned to the detriment of hers.

The spaces narrow until oneness is achieved.

He is an unyielding instrument above her, forcing her to submit to his dominance. Yet even in vulnerability, she is a device of destruction, lethal should her wire be tripped. As his decadent attentions arrive at a swifter pace, he comes dangerously close to triggering her detonation. The torturous ticking echoes in her ears as taut muscles grip at his, transfixed by the compression and flex of his body.

Golden shafts prick at her eyelids and she aches to give in. Because she knows he's there, can reach him with all the senses she hasn't forbidden. Daylight hides nothing and when she finally heeds the begging of her eyes, the view makes her a casualty. He's ready to fall but she leaps first.

A victim of calculated ignition.

Later, when he holds her as the precious pearl she knows she's not, breath is slowly uncovered among the debris of what their love can do. They'll have to clear the rubble soon. Driven to secrecy by judgment's purgatory, they are thieves scaling the walls that protocol constructs; his need is her handhold, her vows are his.

The day will progress without them, she announces to the strengthening sun. The curtains are pulled to deny entrance to the world that scorns partners who dare apply the term to every aspect of life. In the dimmed light, her eyes are given freedom to roam. He doesn't mind, too busy soothing the edges of the explosion.

If you found this tiny nugget satisfying, feel free to inform the starving author...