Tempted (18 page)

6:42a
m

Claire Nichole Eden

The words you've shared have reminded me what it feels like to burn with desire with the mere instant flip of a switch... to be lost in delectable delirium... and to feel oh so womanly.

Danke
,
Doctor. Your purity is invigorating and hope-giving

x
o

7:35pm

Alexander Armstrong

Lady Claire, I could write a library of response to your previous provocation. And I shall certainly write much more than this brief reply. Later tonight, when I'm lying in bed, I'll make a start. At this moment, I want to share a poem that I wrote, months ago. I share it with you because, although I think this poem playfully sexy in a romantic way, I'm quite certain that as I get to know you more intimately, the poetry you might inspire if you graced me with your self would writhe in ecstasy on the page, and make fallen angels blush. It has certainly not escaped my attention that you are a formidable woman, and although a smaller man might find himself befuddled by your wildly intoxicating purring, I rather recognize that you are no less than a force of nature. And that is perfectly inebriating.

You mentioned handcuffs. The mere thought of a woman bold and trusting enough to be bound, to allow her man to listen closely enough to her body's perfectly plain lusts, and grace him by bending to his need, to speak with an elevation of the hips, or a twist of the torso, or the wrap of thighs, or anticipatory eyes, or wet, shallow sighs, has me both frustrated and blissed. You, my Lady, are blinding, in the most celebratory sense of the word. So here is the poem, shared as an example of what paler words, uninspired, pretend. If you'd but wash over me with your waves, these words would taste as dust in the mouths that voice them.

I wish that you would be my pages

I'd snow powdered sugar to blanket your breasts

And trace the letters of my bold rhymes

Across your heart.

I wish that you would be my pages

I'd bathe your belly in warm wet chocolate

And feed you the smiling ripe strawberries blessed

To pen my words around your laughing navel.

I wish that you would be my pages

I'd wash your porcelain thighs with amber honey

And sing the lyrics of my love to your dewey loins

With my silent cursive tongue.

I wish that you would be my pages

I'd shower you clean with bubbling champagne

And towel my silly sweet stanzas away with

All of me.

Words such as these may be bold, but without risk. Forgive me if I've crossed the bounds of chivalry, for that was not my intent. But truth becomes you. And so it's the least I can offer. I'll have more to add a little later, because your thoughts envelop me like
mists of romance after a wild,
brief summer thu
n
dershower. And I can't resist. Your pardon, Lady Claire.

Phone calls, emails, IM’s and texts accost me from every angle.
 
I pay attention to none of them.
 
Nothing interests me now but him.
 
Nothing matters to me now but him.
 
I am consumed by our conversation.
 
My kundalini is not just awake, it is alert and aroused.
 
Very aroused.
 
Without a trace of timidity
,
I pour myself out to this man as I’ve never done with
anyone.
 
And all this with someone
I started chatting with yesterday
,
and have yet to
even speak with on the phone.

8:24pm

Claire Nichole Eden

Where does one start in reply?

especially when smiling rapaciously

taking in your words at turns in sips and large gulps

words breaking o'er me in waves of liberation

my eyes taking in the you-ness you so unabashedly share

as my fingertips unwittingly trace a path from my lips to my heaving bosom.......... pausing to give reverence to the arousal you've inspired

........ I
must read more

You consider me formidable do you....my my

I am most curious as to what conjured that impression

and heartily confess to liking it!

A
s for being bound..... and trusting....... well you have touched on that which I perhaps desire most

Throughout my life I have fallen into the role of team captain, committee chairman, boss....... things of that ilk.

Never having craved the position of leadership, but invariably falling all too easily into it

and so the idea of being stripped of all power

to be handled

to be helpless

captive and trusting

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I can think of nothing more delicious

to be in the hands and at the disposal of one with imagination and creative courage...... someone who knows himself well enough to know a woman without apology

to explore

to experiment

to surrender

to submit

J
'adore your bold assertions... which you yourself have already noted are 'without risk'

I would indeed forgive you, should there be anything to forgive, but I find your forthrightness chivalrous in its honesty

So please, do not resist... do not hesitate...... and do........ speak
on... close to my ear..... so I
can feel your breath on my skin....... and hear your sweet suggestions over my growing moans as my yearning increases and my loins begin to beg

I fear my last message may push him over the edge.
 
Frankly, I don’t know where the
 
words I’m writing are coming from.
 
And I’m shocked and titillated by what I am telling him.
 
These are desires I n
ever identified in myself.
 
Yet
somehow
,
they feel as natural to discuss as if I were spelling my name.

9:39pm

Alexander Armstrong

I read what you say, and listen intently, like a thief with an ear pressed against the door of a vault whose treasures smolder buried within. I hear the crackle and simmer and fire of your secret longings. I'd quench them, drown them in the passion-flood of me. I'd coax screaming moans of ecstatic 'yes' from the depth of your drenched loins. And savor every drop. I’d share the taste of you with your sugared lips. You ask why I say "formidable," but you know. And you know that I know, you're not a woman to be trifled with. The first thing I mentioned in my dull diatribe of desire, was a woman complex, and free and like the sea, boundless, reckless, passionate and plain. With all the irresistible trappings of a siren, and all the wisdom of gardenias, who grow argent, and bouquet the world with the perfume of eternity: one, and present, and velvety effulgent. I'd be on your doorstep at this moment, were you not thousands of miles away. And I'll learn a way to bend the world so that little things like earth would convulse and yield and make distance illusion. I'd stand at your door with an orchid. And give no hint of my exuberance or the blood pounding in my veins when you inevitably invite me in. I'd save my bliss for a moment when I could flood your gut with butterfly wings. And tremble with you.

So much more to say. But you provoke immediate response. And I answer your call.

9:48pm

Claire Nichole Eden

O
h my dear, answering the siren's call can be incredibly perilous... both for the mariner as well as the sighing siren, shackled to her post on the windswept crag, unsheltered from the tempest's rants and whims, unguarded and wanting nothing more than to leap into the sea and sail off on the majestic ship of dreams that whispers to her of exotic adventures and fragrant shores.

And may I
say, only a true poet would recognize the 'wisdom of gardenias'

while only a true lover would mention
‘
velvety effulgence
’

I
adore orchids, but were you at my doorstep, dainties such as orchids would be trampled underfoot in my ravenous assault of your person

all the while waiting, an
d wishing, for that moment... that convergence…
that flooding you so elegantly unleashed

I want this man.
 
As much as I’ve wanted anything or anyone, I want him.
 
Not as a possession, but as an experience.
 
Not to own him, but to free myself.

10:16pm

Alexander Armstrong

Peril liberates. It refines. It force focuses each nerve on the razor edge of the present. So when you say "oh my dear" and mention 'peril' I take it
as a sign announcing a feast, a
nd not as some whispered warning. Assault me with petals of you. Let me feel you claw. Torture me with your ethereal mind, and bathe me in your heart's washes. Spill yourself on me. Wrap me. Lay yourself bare before me, and know what 'release' means. I don't mean to be carried away. But I blame
THAT on you, Lady Claire. Life i
s too brief to equivocate.

10:43pm

Claire Nichole Eden

W
elcome to the feast, cheri

T
ake as much as you want, including seconds of your favorites.... of which I would love to learn

W
hat entices a multi-lingual, live-off-the-land, seductive and desirable wordsmith?

T
o you what is the perfect appetizer
?

W
hat is your favorite
entrée?

A
nd what would make for the most poignant and satisfying dessert?

A
nd more important, what keeps you coming back for more?

There is
no equivocation, yummy man..
. just my body quivering and convulsing at the thought of your touch

12:07am

Alexander Armstrong

My feast begins with the sparkle in your eyes, and
goes
straight to your mind. Rolling in your waves, and learning the slopes of your soul. And lost there, feel the gravity of your lips. Where I linger, and savor, and devour and dance. Where the world dissolves in perfect chaos, and draws my self to you, and I pull you close, close enough that when my eyes tire, your eyes close. And when you grow moist, watered, my self grows. I'd bind your hands. But I'd prefer to just ask you to be still. To spread yourself before me. So that as my mouth learned the curves of your breasts, and my tongue traced its way 'round your navel, you would be free to bury your hands in my hair and arch your back, and push my head down to where you wanted me to kiss you. Where my mouth could compel your thighs to wrap hungrily around my head and draw me in. And that, My Lady, would be little more than the water before drinks were served. Appetizers and the rest would follow. But I'd begin my feast by satisfying my thirst.

You ask what keeps me coming back for more? A woman insatiable. In every way. A gypsy. Free.

I cannot stop myself.
 
Nor do I want to.

12:09am

Claire Nichole Eden

...................................... more

please

12:15am

Alexander Armstrong

Craving the gouge of your nails, the sweet scars of passion, I'd tease you.
Ri
se back above you, let you taste your sweetness on my lips. And sweetly, roughly, take your breast in my hand. Reach low and spread your willing thighs, and find the spots that make you flail.

I take a risk, hinting at the touchless pleasure he arouses.
 

12:17am

Claire Nichole Eden

you wouldn't have far to look or search.... since, if touched properly, and with an attitude of zest and delight, nearly every spot on me can make me flail

A
nd though my touch be gentle
,
my nails are at the ready