Free This Man and Woman by Jackie Ivie

his hair, pulled it loose from his queue, her fingers separating the silky strands before changing to a grip. That way she could hold him, keep him exactly where she needed so she could learn every bit of his kiss. Experience every nuance of this emotion. Revel in the fervor of passion with never before experienced openness and absolute freedom.
    She heard ripping as her dress seam split, as she climbed to straddle his waist, gaining her a position to conquer and detain. Realms of fantasy and vision filled her mind, so bright it punished her eyes, causing her to scrunch them shut against the glory of it. Hammers of yearning throbbed into place within her, taking her pulse with them. It became her heartbeat, and then it transferred to him. Rivulets of liquid seemed to flow next, drowning her in the ecstasy of their passage, while everything about her quested for more. More . She had to have more. And she needed it hard, and fast, and powerful. And somehow he needed to understand that.
    She felt his hands sliding down from entrapment of her waist to her thighs, gripping about them with bands of iron-like strength; holding her. Fastening her. Keeping her apex tightly affixed to his lower abdomen, while his growing and enlarging rod caressed lower still. Her palms slid from the wealth of muscle at his shoulders to his chest, before dropping to the rope-like texture of his abdomen, her finger pads gliding along the bumps of it. Takaiya’s moans filtered through the prolonged kiss, gaining volume and depth with the cadence of them. She’d never felt such abandonment. Such massive passion. Unadulterated need. It was heady, it was heated, and it was especially vivid.
    The old Takaiya Silva shivered and collapsed, altered in the melding of their lips, the collusion of their spirits, the dizzying height of her hunger. Her history was just that: history. Gone. Muted. Filed away. Forgotten. The withdrawal to the Hisushu village. The loss of her childhood. Her orphan status. The shock. Shame. Her disdain of all things Western. The constant training. Pain from injury. Embarrassment at defeat. The capacity to stifle emotion.
    The guilt at finding they’d used all of it to control her.
    Takaiya received her mother’s journal when she turned twenty. That’s when she learned the truth. Her father hadn’t left. He’d died in the quake that shattered her life. That was the knowledge she hid from. The real shame she carried. And just like that, those emotions evaporated. Everything that had created her core seemed to scatter about her, annihilated by the feel of Jean-Pierre…
    Against her.
    And she needed more ! Primal need overtook caution, yearning underscored carefulness, reckless abandon obliterated apprehension. Her entire being craved the completeness that would come from joining with him, and everything on her knew it.
    “I want you,” she whimpered, squirming against him, reveling in the tremors scoring his frame, raising gooseflesh all along his nakedness.
    “I know, Mon Cherie. I know.”
    His voice was guttural. Rough. Belying the poetic cadence of the words with the coarse texture of the sound.
    “I need you.” Her hands moved faster along him, creating friction beneath her palms.
    “You’ve got me.”
    “Now, Jean-Pierre. Please?”
    “Ah…love. You have no—”
    She caught the rest of his sentence against her mouth, sliding her teeth against his lip flesh as he’d done to her. She felt him shake, and then lean back, separating their mouths in order to send the deepest, most intense groan into the room about them. Reverberations throbbed out and went dead against the glass walls. Then he lowered his head and spoke, sending trills of shivers all over her with the words.
    “I want you, my love…my one love. Only love. Want. Need. Desire. Crave. Beyond any measure of the words. Far more than I dreamt possible. But…it must be of your own volition.”
    “It is.”
    “Given freely.”
    “It is.”
    “Without any