Sometimes Love is not Enough; Sometimes we don’t Care!

Amanda was lying half drunk, half high in her couch when he came in. Her blue eyes looked at him with a bizarre mixture of tenderness and malice. He brought along a bottle of their favorite red wine. His black trenchcoat was sparkled with the soft rain that was falling outside. Amanda’s body was a paradise of leather, lace, silk and some sweet perfume. “I thought I said I only wanted to talk” she said, giving the bottle of wine a provocative look. “We, my dear, cannot talk if we don’t drink. By the sound of your voice I knew you were half on, so I figured something soft would be enough.” He replied in a deadpan tone, but with a bizarre glow in his eyes. “Well thought, kid” she said. “You know what to do.”

So he walked to the kitchen, took two glasses and returned to the living room. He poured down the wine, being careful to get the taller glass to himself. Amanda gave no signs of caring. She moistered her red lips a bit with the wine, made a little sweet moan, and took a larger sip from the glass. He looked at her amused. They both knew there would be little talk. She rose to her feet, walked to the couch where he was sitting, and started kissing him, for whatever reason Amanda would need to kiss him. Her silky hands made their way to the back of his head, sending shivers down his spine, as her tongue caressed his, and her hands took off his shirt.

Normaly, he would just kiss her back, and then, with a gracious move, tell her that she was too drunk, and that she knew he did no drunk girls. But it was a rainy afternoon, and both their heart were troubled, worned off, and aching to forget about the pain. So, he kissed her back, and his hands, instead of blocking their lips, clustered at her fiery hair, and with little gentleness made evens with her shirt. And just as it has started, it stopped. She gave him a surprised look, and he answered with a look that said, do you care? She didn’t. She took a more comfortable position, lying in the couch, with her head resting on his lap. Her long fingers found a small remote, and music started filling the silent gap between them. The wine felt good both in the mouth and in the throat. But it felt like heaven on the heart. He started caressing her, not very conscious of what his fingers were doing. The silk of her bra felt good. Her skin was warm alabaster, her breasts felt like god’s perfect creation. Her fingers were caressing him aswell, sending small shivers of pleasure down his spine. They looked deep in the eye. Hers, blue; his, brown. She made a sweet little move, and soon the shivers were no longer small, but were fireworks, as no skin was caressing him, but her wet tongue.

Soon their mouths found each other again. She made him drink the wine from her mouth, from her breasts, from her hands, from her leather covered legs. And she drank from his throat, from his chest, from his mind. It was a bit pornographic. It is still. But they didn’t care. They were too lost in eachother, too lost in their lust, in the sweet numbenss that pleasure gave them.

Soon there were no clothes left over them. Just their pale skins, just their warm skins, caressing, kissing, covering, touching, rubbing, scratching, biting, licking. Whatever resistence was left, it died soon as their naked bodies rolled down the floor. They fucked each other as they hadn’t done so in years. The living room was soon replaced by the kitchen floor, by the oak desk in the study, by a bathtub fille with hot water, and finally by her own room. A room he sometimes loathed, but today it was his and her heaven. Her bed gave them cover for about an hour, as they fucked with sometimes love, sometimes passion, mostly lust and desire. Somehow they managed to cum at the same time. Somehow they found the perfect way to colapse on the bed. And for the first, and maybe last time in their lives they fell asleep together in the same bed. She didn’t kick him out like she usually did with her lovers. She did not gave him her back and the finger. She just lied by his side, breathing heavy, sometimes with a sigh. He hugged her and took her close to him. She did not matter. She even looked into his heart. She rested her head in his chest, as his fingers caressed her back. “Sleep with me tonight” she muttered. “Hold me tight and dare not let me go. Sleep with me, caress me. Tomorrow all this will be gone. For a minute there, I did love you, and you loved me. But tomorrow our old relationship will be back. But for tonight, tonight of all nights, the world may end, and if it ends, Hell kid, I will go with you by my side.” “Why?", he asked. "Because you are the only one who has not died when I killed him. Cause you are the only one who has never gone away. I want you to die because of me, kid. Bloody, that’s why!” “I love you too, Amanda.” “You know, sometimes love is not enough, sometimes we don’t give a fuck. Just sleep with me. Fuck me at midnight again, when the thought of holding tight this devil becomes unbearable. Fuck me at three o’clock just for the sake of it. Fuck me to death, I do not care. Fuck me untill I beg you to stop, and even then, keep on fucking me.”

- Dark Shadow!