Blasphemous (Torn #3) by Pamela Ann
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”
-Nat King Cole
The night where it all began…
“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”
- Andre Brenton
“So… a thunderstorm, huh? I don’t know how to take that.” Emma wondered out loud, writhing as my lips touched her sensitized skin.
Kissing the back of her earlobe, I murmured against it. “You simply struck me without warning.”
I started nipping on her neck as I rolled my body on top of hers, nudging the head of my cock on her slick entrance with obvious intent on taking her again.
“I want you again, Bass,” she moaned as she opened her legs to accommodate me and guided my cock inside her entrance.
“Emma,” I whispered against her ear when the head penetrated her opening. She moaned my name as I pulled back and slowly inched deeper inside her wet channel.
I had never felt this alive, electrified to be with another woman. “Don’t make me fall for you, Emma.”
“You won’t.” She sounded quite sure. Maybe I could prove her wrong. “Bass!” she cried out when I fully entered her with one rough thrust.
I started kissing the side of her soft face and her earlobe before I exposed a small part of me. “What if it’s already too late?” I whispered as my heart pounded so hard against her breasts.
She looked into my eyes, bright-eyed and speechless. My probing gaze didn’t falter as it clashed with hers. Yes, Emma, it really is too late, I thought as I took her lips and started to show her just how much I’ve wanted her, waited for her, for the longest time.
I purposely didn’t give her the chance to respond because I wanted those words to remain in her thoughts. I wanted her aware, that’s the direction we were heading.
It was inevitable.
We were destined to the undeniable. The unavoidable.
A normal pessimist would tell you that love does not happen overnight, that it takes time to develop. That one needed to get to know the person first before falling in love with them. Why? Because they haven’t experienced what love truly was. It strikes without giving you notice. It doesn’t give you ‘time’ to process the emotion. One doesn’t need ‘time’ to ponder it through because it won’t give you that privilege. It could be cruel. It could be tragic. It’s a black magic trickery of a kind that’s unexplainable because, once you’re struck, you are marked, enslaved, and held hostage to it, forever.
All my life, I wondered and wondered what it was about. A wise person would have thought that you had it all figured out once it found you. No fame or fortune could’ve prepared me for the exhilaration brought by meeting Emma for the first time, though. She brought out emotions that were alien to me, but I held my stance because, when it found me, there was no other way to go about it other than to welcome my fate.
However no amount of advice, reading or knowledge could prepare me for it. For falling in love was being in a constant state of elation. It was the closest feeling to flying. It didn’t matter how high you got, though, one must eventually come down, sooner or later. The lows of being in love, sadly, were a bitter emotion. It brought out the ugliest form of demons.
You see, I was a fan of poets. It was a benefit harbored from being schooled in Switzerland at a young age. I believed poetry was the fruit of love. There was no better way to express such an emotion that was so profound and complex other than the depth of words. For years, I had always wondered how Shakespeare and Marlow, along with the other greats, were driven to write such astounding proses that were so much a part of us. They had to have experienced the beauty and the loss of it. That’s why they were remembered for producing the best works because the best ones always happen when you’re in the highest throes of passion, or, better yet, gutting the loss and experiencing the ugly side of it. Look at all the artists who wrote songs due to a broken heart, they produced gold because the emotions were heartfelt; they were raw and so very real.
I completely believed in fate, in our destiny being carved before we even existed in this world. So, I made a promise to myself that once I found the woman who could unman me, I wasn’t going to run the other way. Instead, I was going to embrace it—hold on to it—until I was out of breath.
Sadly, that belief was going to be put to test.
“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”
- Jim Morrison
Blasphemous (Torn #3)
Written By: Pamela Ann
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