Wax and Snow

The first drop fell from the height of several inches and landed on the slope of your breast, just above your heart. You flinched. A full-body jolt. And then a sound tore from you that was something between a gasp and a moan, your back bowing off the table, your fingers white-knuckled on the wood.

I watched the wax harden on your skin. A single red bead, perfect and bright against your flushed chest. Beneath it, your nipple tightened to a hard, aching peak.

"Again?" I asked.

You nodded. You couldn't speak.

I tilted the candle once more. This time I let the wax drizzle. A thin, slow stream that trailed from your collarbone down between your breasts, following the center line of your body like a molten scar. You cried out, your hips bucking against nothing, your head falling back, throat exposed, every muscle in your body drawn taut as a bowstring.

I moved the candle lower. Let the wax pool and fall onto the flat of your stomach. You whimpered. Let it trail across your hip bone. You gasped. Let a single drop fall just above the neatly trimmed hair between your thighs.

Your whole body seized.

"Please." The word came out shattered. "Please, I can't."

I set the candle down and reached between your legs. You were drenched. Not just wet. Soaked. Your thighs slick with it, your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate and empty. I slid three fingers inside you and pressed my thumb hard against your clit, and I fucked you with my hand in long, deep, relentless strokes.

"Come," I said. "Now."

And you did.

Your entire body locked up. Your thighs slammed shut around my wrist. A sound ripped from your throat, raw, animal, almost pained, as the orgasm crashed through you in violent, rolling waves. I felt you clench and release around my fingers, felt the rhythmic pulse of your climax, felt the hot rush of wet against my palm. I didn't stop. I kept fucking you through it, drawing every last tremor out of you until you were shaking, tears tracking from the corners of your eyes, broken sounds falling from your lips.

I withdrew my hand slowly and brought my fingers to my mouth. Tasted you. Watched you watch me do it.

Your chest was still heaving. The wax had cooled in rivulets across your skin, red trails like paint on a canvas. You looked ruined. Wrecked. Beautiful.

I turned toward the tall arched window nearby. Snow had drifted against the sill inside, blown through a gap in the ancient frame, a small white mound gleaming in the candlelight. I scooped a handful of it. Cold and crystalline, stinging against my palm. I brought it to you.

I pressed the snow to your chest.

The shock of it made you cry out. A sharp, startled gasp that melted into a low, shuddering moan as I dragged the snow slowly across your skin, cooling the hardened wax trails, numbing the heat-flushed surface beneath. I watched goosebumps erupt in the wake of the melting ice. Watched your nipples tighten even harder. Watched the water run in thin rivers down your ribs and pool on the dark wood beneath you.

I peeled the cooled wax away gently, piece by piece, revealing the reddened skin beneath. Tender, sensitized, alive. You whimpered at the removal, at the sudden exposure, and I leaned down and pressed my lips to each spot where the wax had been. Your breast. Your stomach. Your hip. Each kiss soft and reverent against the raw, warm skin.

Then I gathered you up.

I pulled you from the table into my arms. Your legs too shaky to hold you, your body still trembling in the aftershocks. I sat on the bench beside the table and cradled you against my chest, one arm around your back, the other hand cupping the back of your head, guiding your face into the curve of my neck.

You clung to me. Your fingers fisted in my shirt. Your breath came in ragged bursts against my collarbone, hot and damp. I could feel your heartbeat hammering against my chest, fast and frantic, slowly steadying.

"I've got you," I murmured into your hair. "I've got you. You did so well. You were so beautiful."

You made a small sound. Something between a laugh and a sob. And pressed closer.

I held you for a long time. Long enough for the fire to crackle and settle. Long enough for the snow outside to thicken and slow. Long enough for your breathing to even out and your trembling to stop and your fingers to loosen their grip on my shirt.

Then I tilted your chin up and kissed you. Slowly. Deeply. Tasting the salt of your tears and the heat of your breath and the softness of your lips. You kissed me back with a quiet desperation that made my chest ache.

"More?" I whispered against your mouth.

You nodded.