Never Rest

I worked him in and out of my mouth, occasionally stopping to tease the tip with my tongue, grazing him across my teeth. I could feel his pleasure inside of me, my own body responding, aching for him, the taste of him potent and wonderful. With a final mental groan, he suddenly pulled me from him, bringing me up to kiss him, his tongue dancing with mine.

We fell back across the bed, his weight pressing into me, and with one smooth movement, he was deep inside of me, his stomach rubbing against my clit, waves of almost unbearable pleasure causing me to shake and convulse. With smooth, steady strokes he moved inside of me, his kisses keeping the moans inside of my chest, his hands everywhere, teasing my breasts, stroking my hips, tracing my face. I came with another crash of thunder, matching it in strength as it shook the panes in the windows, my arms pulling him tight.

He rolled me over, pulling me up onto my knees, sliding back inside of me from behind. His arms wrapped around my chest and pulled me upright, my back against his smooth chest, my head angling back to kiss him again. One hand twirled my nipple lightly, making me gasp even stronger, than another slid down to nestle between my legs, lightly stroking my clit until I moved in shaky jerks against him, his own strokes still so confident and slow.

I could feel my next orgasm rising with the coming thunder, his own mimicking mine, his movements becoming more and more unsteady, the moans stronger and stronger in my mind. We all came at the same time, lightening striking the tree in the back garden, thunder almost breaking the windows, covering my screams as he pulsed deep inside me, his entire body shaking as his hand tightened almost painfully on my breast.

Slowly, we sank back onto the bed, his hands running across my body, his voice gentle in my mind, whispering of love and promises. My eyes drifted closed and I saw him looking over me, somehow not frightened as I realized I could see the patterns on the ceiling through him.

I awoke the next morning alone, but I could feel his eyes on me again, watching me as always. I would see him again, I knew, but before I rolled out of bed, I let my hands trace down my sides, looking where I somehow guessed he would be, slipping my fingers inside of me, letting the blankets fall away, bringing myself to climax with the sound of his breathing in my ears. Later, I went to my studio and brought the painting downstairs before checking out the damage in the back garden. The tree had been destroyed, I was lucky it wasn't closer. I really didn't mind, though, the tradeoff made it worth it.

I spent the morning framing the painting in an old frame taken from an ugly painting I'd found in the attic. Then, I hung it at the turn of the stairs, where I would see it every night on my way to bed. I could feel him watching me from time to time and I would smile where I thought he was, but I didn't speak. It seemed unnecessary. After lunch, one of the women from the nearby town dropped by to welcome me to the area. As I invited her inside, she saw the painting and gasped in surprise.

"I didn't know there was an old painting of Lord Burrington except in the town hall. You found it upstairs?"

"Yes," lying seemed easier, "I didn't know it was of anyone important, but he was so handsome."

"Oh yes, Daniel Burrington was that indeed according to the stories. Never took a wife though, vowed he would only be with the exact right woman for him and said he wouldn't rest until he found her nor would he rest once he had. Not that he was chaste, if I understand it well enough, there were quite a few women who were…um, tried and not found suitable. He died before he could marry, a horrible storm, hit by lightening."

I smiled and ushered her through to the sitting room. My eyes fell upon the old mirror in there and I could see him behind me, laughing. He blew me a kiss, then vanished, a soft promise in my mind.

"You'll have to forgive me," her voice broke my trance and I moved forward to pour us some tea, "Lord Burrington is somewhat of a fascination of mine, I could talk all day about him. He was of your great-aunt as well, she used to say she'd wished she moved in when she was younger, so maybe she would have dreamt of him."

"Oh, I don't mind," I smiled into the table, then handed her cup to her, "I would love to hear more."