The lights went out in the midst of the angry storm. He knew something is fishy about her yet the thought of taking her tonight, making her his, won him over. Only the swift flashes of lightning through the dusty stained-glass illuminated her chamber.
Quick views of her charming face and soft curves glistened in every flash, each time a different aesthetic vision of her. Roars of thunder blended in contrast with her cries of pleasure. The louder the thunder, the more she wanted him more. With each heavy pounding, her bed squeaked in their paired rhythm.
Their bodies collided in the most exquisite fashion. Loud, occasional banging of the broken window from the wind gusts punctuated their white-hot need for each other as if they are dying stars fighting the inevitable cold sentence of the universe.
She purred as he growled, like insatiable animals in constant search for satiety. Her supple fingers caressed his moist skin, dug into his firm flesh and scratched the surface that will leave signs and sting in the morning.
He left kisses where his tongue can't taste, leaving no inch of her delicate skin untouched. Every tug and nibble meaningfully equated of indulgent debauchery.
Whiffs of their musky sweat, divine vanilla and jasmine flowers on her window married in unison like a polyamourous throuple in June. The scent of their arousal danced in the air with the earthy petrichor from the ground. Each a distinct fragrance that even the gods will crave and remember.
Calculated movements blasted blissful signals throughout her body to a surge of wanton and delight. He took her deep and hard, like a fearless warrior willing to win the war. This was an artful battle and her orgasmic satisfaction is his ultimate victory.
When the storm calmed, the mizzling droplets on the roof shingles served as a transient background to her soft snores. He picked the fallen pillows scattered all over the wooden floor and placed them on the bed beside her. The dishevelled sheets looked like soft fluffy clouds, cradling her into a peaceful sleep.
It is past the blue hour. Splashes of purples, rosy pinks, warm orange and reds and pale blues covered the distant sky.
He picked up his clothes from the floor and wore them again. Fresh ones are readily available when he reaches his quarters. He gazed at her sleeping figure as if trying to memorise every minute detail.
Her tousled raven hair that smelled like roses framed her radiant face. Her skin is glowing and creamy like a dream. Long, curled lashes adorned her lids that he knows will open to tantalising obsidians. Her bright eyes always drew him to her.
He thought she must be having a sweet dream as she lazily moved her legs and smiled in her sleep, pulling down the white blanket that draped her naked body, showing her ample bosom and womanly curves.
As he buckled his belt snug around his hips, she subconsciously moved on the unkempt bed. This time concealing everything but her feet, where the blanket is bunched up.
He gasped in disbelief when he saw what he didn't want yet needed to see. He was in denial for a second. However, his eyes are as sharp as an eagle's. He closed the distance to the bed with one long step. Carefully, he ocularly inspected what his eyes can't fool him. Fine lines of years-dried ink on her flesh just below her navel were inscribed with precision - a fish that formed its orifice to her mound.
His blood curdled while he made three huge steps back, away from the bed, away from the woman he spent a night of ardent passion with. He stood with squared shoulders and right iron fists.
In an instant, he formulated optimistic options for him and her in his mind. He thought that, perchance, they could compromise to a mutually fair and just agreement to coexist.
A plethora of thoughts and emotions flooded him like an unexpected earthquake. It shook him from the seemingly superficial idea that maybe it can work until it dawned on him that it never will. The bitter truth of reality cast down his hopeful spirit before fruition. He, the revered High Hermit of the Hermitage Hall, carelessly yet fervidly fornicated with an enemy, a Patrona Virgo Sicarius. It is detested and forbidden.
She is oil as he is water. Like immiscible liquids, they will perpetually separate even when mixed together.
It is clearer than a midsummer day that something is fishy about her that he now knows. Last night, she was his as he was hers. Today, as the rising sun warms and dries every sodden surface in the island, he won't be smitten anymore.
He must take action.
