Smoke (NSFW) [On the Record]

WARNING: SEXUALLY EXPLICIT CONTENT

I avert my eyes. There is no one in sight, disappointingly so. All of the maids are long gone, and for good reasons. Few would want to be here when it all comes crashing down.

My body aches as I get out of bed. The creaking has gotten even worse, but little can I do, nor care. Time is already out of my hand, after all. The bedroom is still exactly the same as I left it, albeit with less of a scent. The heavenly aroma that used to keep me so drunk at night is no longer here. I sigh, knowing that it shall never return. My physique is in distraught, my empire is in ruins, and I am on the wrong end of a hot pursuit, but none of those things can compare to that emptiness.

Strutting my nightly garment, I lazily reached for the shirt left on the bedside. It is far too wrinkled for my taste, and any other day that would have bothered me far too much. At the moment, however, I cannot possibly pay it any mind. The morning ritual is much the same: me putting on a suit that does not fit. My shoulders are far too narrow to ever play nice with this get-up, but that has never stopped me before. The homburg, however, stays. I am not leaving the house today, instead set to await my fate. I have been caught; at least that was what the papers were saying. If the press gets a sense that the cops lied; it is going to be quite amusing. Alas, I have no outlets to reach out for, and vengeance is not even near my mind. All the police in this town is looking for me, and they will find me soon enough. I suppose it is for the best. I would much rather a bullet piercing through my brain than continue on like this.

“A criminal”. That truly does have a nice ring to it. To me, it never sounded like that before. Life is filled with such irony. At the end of the day, the more scratches I have on this badge, the further I have fallen in with those I once sworn to bring to justice. I suppose it is inevitable. The thrill of the game was too much to ignore, and it was the only way I could have ever fallen in love. Those on the force have tried to find me a lady before, but no attempt has ever worked out. I have no love for gold diggers, or those with little value outside their immediate draw. Beneath all the powder, lipsticks and fancy dresses were simply empty shells. They are boring.

I grab at the picture on the drawer, reminiscing that fateful encounter. I saw her that patrol night, just a bit merry. Sure, my eyes were caught by that slim, flask-like contour, that intertwining, helical pattern of ebony stretching atop her breasts, and the emerald voice overflowing the stage. However, it was those stunning lavender orbs that truly mesmerised me. They told me she had something to say, that she was more than just a showgirl stretching over the piano. I never knew I could feel so strongly for someone, until I held her in my arms. I was never much of an artist, but I do fancy myself a voice. It could not have been more perfect. If only I was not blind to her growing resentment with my actions, I might have not been here now. All of those late nights, the afterhours, the shady deals, and the fact that no one accepts us were growing too tiring. It drove us apart, tore up at already rocky relationship.

Funny, the millions I lost, the reputation I tarnished does not bother me a single bit. If only I had known. It is rather late to be regretful, though, and I have no one to blame.

I pour myself a glass of Scotch and light a cigarette. I had already stopped smoking long ago. I did it for her. She has always been very persuasive, one of those quirks she have. Onlookers would not hesitate to judge how fast she left me as I fell flat face first, seeing my fortune going up in flames. No one but me is aware of her contribution, her unconditional dedication to me, even when all I had to my name was a badge in my back pocket and my gun in the other. How times have changed. I took a puff, breathing out slowly the fumes I once savoured. I never noticed how disgusting it tastes when I am not high with nicotine. I swiftly discard it with little hesitation. Hard to believe I once thought she was being too sensitive.

I grab my gun from the drawer. It is easy, indeed, to just blow a hole in my head and get this over with. I certainly do not care to face the humiliation of court, nor the inevitable execution that will soon follow. I can go out with a bang, sure, but what good will that do me? My name is already in the trenches, and blazing glory is not something I am still interested it. Johnny will probably be here. I do not feel like killing him. He was a decent mate, but too drunk in justice in my opinion. Still, he keeps at it, and the force can use someone like him. I contemplate ways to end my life. Unfortunately, it proves to be far too interesting to focus on.

Ding

Good job, I thought. While I have no doubt the police was coming, I did not expect them to be here so soon. Maybe they are finally getting their act together, not that I care. I saunter forward; reaching for the door, gun in hand. If I am to go out fighting, I would want to get Anderson first. Petty revenge it might be, but I have suffered under his discrimination long enough. Perhaps that is what I will be remembered by, and may there be an investigation that follows. Johnny will probably do it; he’s just that kind of guy. I open the door.

“You look half dead.” I feel my pupils dilating. It might just be the sunrays I am so unaccustomed to after the past few days, or it might be sheer disbelief. Still, none of that can shroud me from the all-confusing veil of adolescent shyness that settles upon me. My heart races. I quiver at every sensation of fresh air that hits my skin. “You’ve let yourself go.”

“Carolyn.” I murmur. Drawing a sudden, harsh intake of breathe, my lungs struggle to settle down. I manage a fragile smile, confused yet ecstatic. I can feel the fireworks, that bewildering, blazing rapture that I once scoffed at as hyperbolic and clichéd. I feel devoured by that hypnotising stare, so biting, yet so passionate.

“Please, dear.” She utters those words with the most elegant and supreme beauty. She dons a raven gown, hugging her every curves. The rosy hand-knitted scarf extends across her neckline, settling firmly upon her chest. “I liked it when you called me ‘darling’. Even if it is a bit crass.”

A mild smile perceptibly forces its way up my face. I can feel her touch on my arm, slender and plain, much unlike the muscled and rugged of those expected to fill this suit. Her fingers run across the leathered surface of the jacket, stopping occasionally as if to caress the form beneath.

“I do not expect you.” A pause. My words may have created some misunderstanding, admittedly. “I would have sent a boiler for you.”

“You have always been so dame, yet so explosive.” She freely steps in, not that I would even think of stopping her. Shutting the door behind us, I follow her as she strolls towards the bedroom. This house is one of the smallest I have, used for vacation from time to time. Its location makes a decent hideout as well, which should have been a secret. I have no doubt I left a trail, but I simply do not expect anyone to find me this fast. “This place really has not changed at all.”

“It hasn’t.” That is when it hits me. This is where she first spent the night. It used to be the flat of an old friend, before he hit the big one. She still remembers it, after all that happened. “I made a point for it to be kept just the same.”

“You did clean up the desk lamp we pushed off that night, though.” She chuckles, as her expression softens. I permit myself another look at her, ever so slightly. I can see her lips, full and slightly damp, her curvy, ample hips, and her pale cheeks reddening as her eyes meet mine. “Like what you see?”

“When have I ever not?” My hands work on their own accord, wrapping around her waist like a twisting serpent. The mood speaks for itself, as I further myself forward, our eyes still locked. I can feel the heat of her figure resonating as ours converge. Brief silence. Our breaths intertwine. “You were always quite the twist, darling.”

“You’ve had a gasper, haven’t you?” Her coy smile speaks more than her words, although, I would never get tired of that majestic, rhythmic, voice of hers. Her hand touches my cheek; her fingers float on the skin in a sweet touch. They make themselves busy, reaching into my hair ever so brazenly. “I’m surprised you’ve not smoked yet.”

“I was planning to.” I realise how near she is to me, how ferociously her warmth palpitates through me. I have begun to observe the slighter details: the anxious flicker of her tongue across her lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the increasing forcefulness her hand is exerting at the back of my head.

I have no further need for words, simply clearing what is left of the distance between us. I can feel the full, pliant fever of her lips upon mine. I see her eyes fade in intensity, before closing entirely, focusing all her consciousness into the kiss. It is a truly gentle, probing softness that I have always yearned for, unequivocally feminine and breath-taking, as I have always remembered. The moment is sudden yet glorious, as my arms, lengthy and powerful, encircle her, clasping upon her back, tugging the two of us closer. The kiss deepens, even more sublimely. I can perceive the distinct, acid tang of alcohol, perhaps of delicate Bordeaux, and the saccharine essence of the melon on her lips.

We soon begrudgingly part. As amazing, graceful and dazzling as that was, there still exists a nagging sensation at the back of my mind. She seems disappointed as well, nibbling those lips, undoubtedly yearning for more. I also would not wish for such a magical moment to end, but there is something else I must say.

“Why did you come back?” I deliver a vaguely insecure smile, worrying as if it would tip her off. The question is given with all of my reserved control, as I might not be able to bear to halt at merely a kiss next time, regardless of how incredible.

“I’ve known from the start that I was never going to be able to forget you.” She speaks with a wanton tone, as if reaching back to her darkest memories. Her voice quakes, exposing vulnerability she shows to no one but me. “But not until I’ve left did I truly understand what that means.” Her eyes seem uncharacteristically wide, vulnerable. “Life out there, alone, is boring.”

“It’s all over.” It truly is. All of my work, built upon the ground up by mountains of snow and sugar, has all but vanished. No longer am I the most infamous mobster, sleeping on the bodies of those fallen at my hands, doubled as the ace detective of the police squad, polishing my badge after every take down. Those days of power and fame are gone, and here I am. “I no longer keep any loyalties. The operation has been shut down. The cops will be here for a pinch soon enough. I’ve lost everything, doll.”

“You have me.” How could I have ever lost track of that? It never mattered to her how high my heap of greed was, or what other people thought of us. The only thing she ever wanted was to see me happy. “You always have me.”

She swallows, and words cease to be of any meaning as we are once again kiss, without restraint. I can sense her tongue feverishly brushing against my lips, and I immediately comply, parting them. I feel as if I’m flowing with a visceral, primal rhythm, with few traces of consciousness lingering within my mind beyond a mystical realisation of how completely astounding this sensation is. Our tongues clash and twine, in a fluid and graceful caress that I can never find otherwise. I can feel a jolt rushing through her, as my hands become more forceful. One drifts and touches her cheek. The swollen heat from that contact is positively scalding, though nevertheless extraordinary. I can sense how she adores it, as she begins to arch into my embrace, relishing the pulsating warmth that boils within the both of us. I ease her towards the edge of the desk, as her hands frantically swipe off what pitiful ornaments might have been on that surface. No time is wasted; she manoeuvred out of her jacket with little difficulty. I can feel the trepidation and delight coursing through her at this consummation. I wonder, ever so briefly, if she had been fantasising about me in her sleep as much as I have her. My hand rests on her chest, brushing along the absolutely incredible, full, pert breasts. She whimpers ever so slightly, shaking at my every touch, as if she is ready to hedonistically savour every one of them. My lips find their way to the nape of her neck. I hear those quiet, murmuring moans, so delightful and rapturous. I never knew how much I missed seeing her so utterly breathless, radiating a faint glow as her arms struggle to keep hold.

“Mmm…” Her whimpers resonate through me, so loving yet improbably innocent. My tongue works its way down her collarbone, landing fiery kisses, fervently planting on her smooth skin all of my passion and yearning. She can only shudder, as my hands drift to her back, playfully teasing the ties of her garments. She appears truly tortured, and I am just in the mood to set her free. Skilfully as if my own, my fingers circle the knot exuberantly, untying it at a formidable pace.

Her impatience is showing, as her hand unravels the scarf and throws it away hastily, while I steadily uncover the true Venus before me. After finishing, I have to take a moment to let it all in. She is truly nothing short of perfection – from her slender, feminine legs; to those full, bountiful breasts unclasped from the ebony blouse. Her cheeks radiate a suspiring crimson, and her lustful eyes eat at me, coercing me to take the two of us down the beaten path. I wilfully comply, of course. It has truly been so long, and we are fighting against the clock. Perhaps it is the thrill of the rush, but nothing can beat this feeling. It is my only faithful calling, and I have every intention to accomplish it to the best of my abilities.

I tenderly ease apart her legs, in order to make the way for my lips to exploring along her thighs. She whimpers as they brush across her skin, with excruciating deliberation. My fingers delicately caress along her flesh, wandering towards, and away from, the centre of her absolute need. She shudders, as my breath draws closer to that luscious hiding. Her thighs part, as if to accommodate my efforts. Her back arches, desperately failing to resist the litany of pleasure sent from my every stroke. Without warning, my lips fell upon her deepest, accompanied by the dazzling passion I hold so dear.

“Ah!”

Her eyes are agape, as her figure trembles in response to my assertiveness. Even with her undergarments on, I can already taste the rapture dampening the silk barrier before me. It is a true sight of delight, knowing the amazement I can give her, even after all this time. Her back slouches as she gasps for air, as the shock has left her positively breathless.

“You have always been so sensitive.”

My lips lift to deliver another kiss to hers, forcefully colliding with those rosy folds. She fills my tongue with her sweetest nectar, overwhelming all of my senses as our bodies intertwined once more. Pushing her towards me, I can feel her breast prodding against mine. My hand reaches down between her thighs, lightly stroking the glorious scenery. Her arms weaken, forced to hang onto mine for support.

“Please.”

Those words are all I need. I no longer have the need to keeping my fingers encircling her reserves. Deep inside, I have always known this. However, hearing it from her lips is simply too sublime a treasure that I simply could not pass up. Still, it is time to commence. With all of my upper strength, I lovingly carry her by her rear, before releasing her slowly onto the soft surface of the bed. I find myself unable to part from the exuberant passion packed with every contact our tongues make. However, my hands are free to liberate her from the last covers above skin. Soon enough, her beauty is no longer shrouded from my eyes. I am simply taken aback, standing at the edge of the bed, staring intensely at the allurement. She seems flustered at the lack of my touch. Her eyes open, pleading for me to continue. I comply, gladly.

I bring my head to her stomach, teasingly licking the adorable exposed belly button, while my hand goes to work on her chest, cupping that full mound within its palm. A feline grin reared up my face as her groans reach my ears. I make a point to savour the taste of her skin. My hands softly knead at her chest, and hers run across my arms, nagging at me to stop the torturous chaff. Our hollow, distorted whispers rang softly amidst the muted, diffuse light streaming from the incandescent lamp suspended overhead. I can never get over the welter of delight that roves from her throat, hoarse from the emitting pleasure soaking her insides. I pride myself of the expert touch, and while it needs no gradual development, it is simply a matter of romance. My fingers glide graciously down to the hypersensitive dampness, and press themselves tactfully inside those fullest depths. I can hear her mustering a silently scream, her mouth gaping, her eyes snapping intensely as my fingers run their course. Their motion, withdrawing masterfully before returning in a fluid, rolling stroke, are unmatched. I can perceive my trimmed, well-kept nails padding against her innermost walls. My lips find their ways back to her neck, expressing their utmost concerns for the lack of gentle kisses upon this fair skin. It is not long before I feel that marvellous figure curves against me, as if I have just struck the final trigger for that incredible rush of ecstasy. It shakes and shudders, only to then rest, struggling to not melt from the burning heat. I hear nothing but silent whimpers, for a time. Her arms rose ever so slowly, before encircling at my back as she draws closer.

“I want to feel you.”

I have to admit: those words, muttered with the deepest and most exotic feminine voice, have no trouble getting me aroused. If she wants to have her way, who am I to decline? After all, I cannot hope to ignore the fact that I have not felt her most intimate touch upon me for quite some time. I have thought of yanking some pro skirts, but decided against it. I do not believe any other woman in this world can handle someone like me, and I have to say I have not been wrong yet. She motions me to lie down, and I gladly obey.

“You are simply stunning.”

I adore her slightly snide chuckle. Those words have never been of a rare variety when I talk of her, but she never seems to quite take it in. Her reaction always stays the same: her smile widens, her eyes glitter, and her cheeks blush just a bit. It is hard to find grace in anticipation, but my clothes nevertheless are stripped away in one fell swoop. Granted, I did not make a note of tidying myself up earlier, but her efforts are impressive still.

Her hands freely roam across my flesh, gliding in languorous strokes upon my shoulders, along the exposed swath of my arm. I can hear a furious, raging inner voice, thundering in its immensity, begging for her to press forth towards my relentless, gnawing core. I yearn to feel her lithe fingers upon my chest, where my hands once quivered with such indescribable longing; for my heartbeat to roar through her palm and carry itself through her body. My bleary thoughts cling to the utter splendour of the kisses, heated and more forceful, that follow. Her hands rest upon my exposed front, kneading them, palms of silken sublimity rocking with a tender, level cadence against throbbing peaks that shriek with incomparable, electric ecstasy with every caress. It’s overpowering, that sudden and furious confluence of those singular sensations. I cannot imagine being taken any higher, until she grabs between my thighs, stroking the outer layer of the dampened velvet. I shiver, tensing and lurching against her touch with and ecstatic thrall of mingling terror and delight as she finally draws aside that one lingering barrier. She claims hold of that hypersensitive jade, as her lips lock onto mine. My breaths come in fierce, wracking gasps. My chest swells and strains, pushing itself against hers. Words elude me. My frantic thoughts are of nothing but the flowing majesty throbbing through that molten peak. The savage, seething, volcanic heat wells into me as my innermost folds cry out for fulfilment every time her fingers pierce me. It’s a touch; a singular, quaking touch of almost tentative fingers, the tender stroke of living perfection upon slick petals, armed with such inquisitive fluidity that sends all subsequent thoughts into the whirlwind of oblivion. Our bodies meld and mesh with a delicious, unparalleled heat, sin together with a burning bliss forever longed for.

Tomorrow may never come, but right now, we are together. The chains lay broken, as we merge as one, beauteous in emancipation, for eternity.

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