Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
She
had known what he wanted to hear but refused to say it.
The
word he had cried out 17 times over the course of their intense lovemaking. One
for each climax he had given her. The last word he had whispered against the
crook of her neck before falling asleep against her that night. The word that
would define who she was to him.
The
pressure intensified as she took time to obey to his request. Still observing
her, he had repeated his command in a casual tone as if unaware of the reaction
her body was displaying in front of his very eyes.
Finally,
when he took her earlobe between his lips and lightly bit it, sending an
irrevocable message straight to her core, against all odds, against her will,
as the silent seconds had turned into long minutes, she had whimpered in a low
voice,
“
I
’
m yours.
”
The pressure had gone up another notch,
when he had whispered against her neck,
“
Say it out loud,
”
still holding her waist, watching her
intensely in the mirror, as her entire body tensed up, her breathing becoming
shallow. He had waited, unmoving, the grip and pressure firmer, their eyes
locked on, until she had involuntary moaned loudly, her head falling back on
his shoulder and cried with a voice she didn
’
t recognize as her own
“
I
’
m yours Ethan.
”
Only then, the pressure at her wrist had
subsided, her knees buckled and her body had slumped against his. She had come.
He
had turned her into his harms, murmured
“
Mine,
”
against her lips, and held her for the
longest time as she had cried, assaulted and overwhelmed by emotions unknown to
her.
He
held her, as if he
’
d
known he
’
s
broken the first barrier of her soul.
Finally,
their bodies had parted and with gentle finality, he had repeated
“
Mine.
”
before giving her a light kiss and
departing the room.
Then,
their affair started. The real story of Ethan and Vic began.
No
man had ever had this effect on her. No man had ever intuitively known the
darkest recesses of her mind, her unspoken needs. She was his because he
accepted her fully, completely, and he became hers.
After
that night, every time they met, a look, a whisper against her ear, and a touch
at her wrist. That
’
s
all he took. Their surrounding would disappear, and they would lose all control
until their need of each other was fulfilled.
Their
affair was intense, unconventional, twisted even.
A
simple touch at her wrist would signal his wanting and elicit her own
uncontrollable need of him.
Just
the right amount of pressure, that slight and firm grip at her wrist was the
silent promise of things to come.
She
would almost climax on that touch alone.
Sometimes,
she did.
((~~!~~))
Lay claim to
,
stake a claim to - Verb,
to assert one's possession of or right to.
The
thing about claiming someone is, it doesn
’
t work if there is no physical truth to it.
I mean, I can claim anything under the sun and moon, but until it is physically
tangible, any claim amounts to just words, and thin air
…
Whoever
you claim needs to surrender to that claim for it to actually become real.
And
real, it was, when Ethan claimed me on our very first night. I truly,
irrevocably became his.
My
body was the first part of me to surrender, then came my mind, finally my soul.
That
morning when he made me come with that grip and pressure over my wrist, my body
became his.
In
the next 2 weeks when we would talk on the phone and he would instruct me to
focus on his voice alone as he described what being his truly meant, my mind
snapped and I became his cerebrally. I surrendered as his voice alone would not
only elicit a deep physical reaction within my core, but also make me do things
I never envisaged doing, things that my morals, education and mind had refused
to even contemplate before.
Yet,
because of who he was, and who I had become to him, I was suddenly eager. A new
side of my personality, which I never,
ever
, suspected existed, had
emerged because of him, because I was his. An example, my first trip to
Australia was tangible proof of my surrendering, and completely out of
character.
The
night he took my soul was a week before I decided to go to Australia with him.
We hadn
’
t
known each other that long, less than a month, yet the man had almost taken
over my life.
I
was still functional of course, and the consummate professional at work; yet,
he invaded my thoughts and my body whenever he pleased. That
’
s what being his meant.
The
night of our 3
rd
date proved to be life altering.
You
’
re probably thinking I became some kind of
sex slave. You couldn
’
t
be further from the truth. Just to settle the record straight: sexually, I was
the one in control, not E.
Don
’
t get me wrong, the sex was intense
between us, there
’
s
no denying this, and I let him dominate me, but the real meaning of claiming
someone isn
’
t
about sex, it
’
s
about surrender.
The
night Ethan captured my soul and I became his completely, was the night he
cried his need for me. The night he told me he loved me and needed me as we
realized we were the missing piece to each other.
The
night we realized, I was his because, truly, he was mine.
((~~!~~))
I am a sexual being. Ever since I
discovered I was a beautiful woman and as a result would never lack in the
choosing of men physically wanting me, I have enjoyed having sex, tremendously.
Kevin has been a mesmerized spectator of my discovery of sex, and the
never-ending supply of men fulfilling my carnal needs.
He
saw it all; he even started a black book.
But
for all my sexual encounters and relationships, not once, before Ethan, had a
man actually claimed me as his. Most were too intimidated or shy or too scared
I would laugh in their face. I was beautiful and smart, brilliant even
according to some of my professors and then co-workers. Add the fact that I was
also sexual, adventurous, independent and unapologetic; for a twenty-something
young man, it
’
s
a bit too much too handle. For the ones over thirty and forty, they simply were
afraid they couldn
’
t
compete with the next young man or distraction wanting to fall into my bed. I
was a complex jigsaw, a confessed and resigned philanderer who believed she
’
d experienced it all. Maybe that why at 26
of age, I only had two real friends, and not once, had a man told me he loved
me in my entirety.
And,
Kevin doesn
’
t
count, because while he loves me unconditionally, he frankly admitted at age
21, after having front row seats at the opera of my intimate life for five
years, that my sexuality scared him. Honestly, I don
’
t blame him. When it came to sex, I never
denied myself the pleasures of what the flesh could bring. I never saw the
point in pretending. If I felt it, I did it; no remorse, no questions asked. I
heard, it was a very disturbing approach for a woman
…
So,
the men in my life, and bed, up to that point, would tell me I was beautiful,
or uninhibited or even clever for the older ones, but eventually they would run
scared because I was too self-assured, gloriously selfish in my sexual wants,
and making them feel inadequate in some capacity. Before Ethan, I had never
really been accepted as my true self. Men always tried to contain me in an
imaginary mould that would render me acceptable. Simply put, I was not the
princess that needed rescuing.
I
know, I
’
m
not a good girl, and I
’
m
not going to heaven
…
Ethan
was different. Not only he did claim me, all of me, as his and his only, but he
also gave himself to me. He surrendered, allowing me to see him, all of him,
because I was his. That what his claim was truly about.
He
was my yin. I was his yang.
((~~!~~))
He told me he loved me, on our 3
rd
date. He gave himself to me that night. Irrevocably.
This
I know. Still. And it is unsettling, now that Julian is my life, now that he,
too, has staked a claim.
Ethan
and I have done terrible things to each other. We have, really; but in the end,
and I hate to admit it, I am afraid we still belong to each other.
This
doesn
’
t
mean we belong together. After all, I left him, paid the highest price one can
by doing so, and haven
’
t
looked back. I have made a point of never think or talk about him. Till now.
The
very thought I might never be myself again because he has kept that essential
part of me only he can unlock scares me. A lot.
Ethan
is intimidating. I mean, when I met him he was 32, one of the youngest member
of the House, a brilliant lawyer, and incredibly sexy. He never lacked
attention or company. He was driven, determined, dominant. Women swooned over
him, and men respected his cool, calculating, commanding manners.
Very
much like Julian, oddly
…
Simply
put, he was not, and is not, the sort of man to lose it, over anything, or
anyone.
Except
me.
I
still remember watching him at the party we met at. I was intrigued, there was
something in his eyes that made me want
…
made me want what? I
’
m not sure, but after the little watching
dance we had been doing for over two hours, he invited me to dinner.
There
was lust between us, but also something deeper that neither could quite explain
at the time.
The
reason he followed me to my hotel room was simple: he couldn
’
t let go of the fierceness that gripped
him when he first laid eyes on me. I hadn
’
t noticed it, but he later admitted to me
that the entire time, he only thought about one thing: make me his, completely.
When
I asked him to explain, he replied, he saw something in my eyes, a need he knew
he, only, could fulfil. I was stunned, caught off guard, wondering what that
need he was so affirmative about was. The ultimate shocker came later when he
mentioned his own reaction at seeing it in my eyes. His reaction was nothing
short of brutal. Right then and there, without knowing anything about me, he
had decided, I was going to be the woman he would show his true self to. He had
somehow known my unspoken need was the answers to his. He simply saw me, raw.