Freedom

Glass shattered against a floor full of fallen roses.

Their bodies scattered like broken dreams.

Their lips and hands attached and drawn together.

They only need.

Only want.

When the night falls and the sun rises.

Their whispers caught in a web of passion and fulfilment.

Petals left in their paths.

Squashed and smudged.

“I need you.” She breaths.

“I want to fuck you.” He moans.

Synchronized against the harsh fall of the moon and the innocent rise of the sun.

Moving.

Arching.

“Harder!” She screams.

His body pushing further against hers.

Tiny beads of sweat tip toeing down their spines.

Their orgasms building like fizzed bubbles.

The world around them almost no existence.

Small echoes of piano chords thrusting them to their rhythm.

“Oh god!” He roars.

“Yes!” She replies.

Their voices almost unrecognisable to each other.

As their fingers search out more.

Ripping.

Begging.

Their tongues and mouths wrapping and dipping into pots of silk.

Stripped and bare.

Nothing to hide them apart from the night that creates their barrier of true existence.

 

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe