His Hands

Introduction:
(my first time out here. Please be patient. Was watching a lot of vampire movies.. LOL)
I dream of his hands holding mine, but mostly I dream of his hands on my body, stroking and caressing my throat.
That sharp, metal, nail, dragging, ever, so, slowly, across my jugular vein, and down my neck, towards the valley of my collar bone. I can almost feel it now, as it slips diagonally past my tattoo, and traces an invisible line across my chest, mounting the hills of my breasts with slow precision. I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he whispers into my ear. I can’t understand what he says as he speaks in a language I suspect might be Latin. His right arm holds me against his body tightly restraining me. I know I should run, but I can’t make my self move. His voice is so calming, so relaxing. I want to listen to him whisper all day, all night if he wants to. My knees go weak, and he laughs, such a hearty laugh, shouldn’t we all be laughing? His right thumb strokes the bottom of my left breast as he shifts my weight against himself. I can hear his smile as I gasp at the feel of him through his breeches. Never, have I felt so vulnerable as I do now. His length pressing against my spine, as he moves us about the room toward a burgundy velvet fainting couch.
Oh! How convenient, as I feel a bit light headed, like I am drunk only I haven’t had a drop to drink. Have I? Oh Wonderful! We are sitting down for a bit. My bodice is a bit tight I must lean back into the curve of the couch as he suggests.
Those wonderful hands are helping me remove my cloak. I look into his eyes and I can see centuries of love and loss. I wonder what has hurt him so badly that he has that look in his eyes. As if he could read my mind again he laughs and I smile shyly, wondering for the first time if I should have followed him from the ale house. But those hands…. Those beautiful hands that held mine for too short a time… large enough to span my entire back with one hand, strong enough to hold three pints of ale in a single fist. Those hands… those hands that now were removing my boots. “Wait!” I thought, “What are you doing?”
“Relax dear lady, I mean only to make you more comfortable” he said.
“OK, I guess that’s all right then” I thought. Never noticing I had not spoken my objection aloud.
His long silky hair hung like a curtain, framing his face. A more well defined, sculpted face you’ll not find this side of Mount Olympus I thought. Again with the wide grin from him. Him… what WAS his name? I could not recall…. Something about singing… Hmm I am almost positive it was Latin in origin… Something I stumbled over a time or two before I gave up and called him Your Lordship. What was it? It was going to send me to the mad house!
“Not to worry my pet, tis not of importance” he said.
Those hands… they were chilly as they rolled my stockings down. Goose bumps erupted on my flesh as I felt his icy touch. “You’re a bit cold my Lordship, we will have to do something to warm you up.” I said rather drunkenly.
“Yes, we will in due time.” He replied.
I gazed upon his black silk shirt and wondered how many days I would have to labor to earn such a grand item. I reached to touch it, almost fearful he would slap my hand away before I could caress the soft fabric.
“Wait!” He cried out. Removing his shirt he handed it to me, now I did not know where to look. A lady does not look at a gentleman in a state of half dress. And yet only he had ever accused me of being a lady. Giving in to temptation I raised my eyes to his sinewy chest, balling the silk in my hands I stroked his body with my eyes. He was something to behold. Alabaster skin that rippled over muscular hills surrounding the valley of the navel. A smattering of light brown hair trailing down into his breeches led to untold delights. He cleared his throat, and I caught myself staring at the ties to his breeches. I looked away only to realize I have scrunched the silk damaging the delicate textile.
“I am sorry; I fear I have quite ruined your shirt!” I whisper heatedly as I stare stupidly at the wadded up cloth.
“There are others.” He said calmly. Showing me his teeth, cocking my head to the side I realize now, he has the most beautiful smile. I can not seem to recall how I got here, only that this is where I now belong, here with him. Or perhaps I mean I belong to him. I am not absolutely sure what I mean anymore. I need a drink, but he says no alcohol for me tonight. I am to remain clear headed. As if that were true for this evening. I need to leave. I begin to get up and get my boots when, those hands, those striking hands gently lay me back down and I hear the whisper of Latin again.
“What? What are you saying?” I plead as I relax into the pillows he has placed behind me. Then those hands begin the task of unbuttoning my dress bodice. Agile fingers make short work of thirty-two pearl buttons holding the front of my grey dress together. Nimble hands unlace my corset as I lay breathing a little deeper as each stay is loosed. Latin words flow though my mind as I lay still as a doll in a child’s hands. The cool breeze washes over me and my nipples harden instantly. Those sprightly fingers sweep across my breasts sending my breath into ragged gasps. Those hands… Those beautiful hands I could watch them forever as they pull my braies down over my hips and across my legs. I feel no shame as I am exposed to his hungry eyes. As if this is the way it is supposed to be.
I watch as his hands unfasten his breeches, uncovering his manhood to my eyes for the first time. Leisurely, he slides his breeches off, I want to look at his magnificence but all I can see are his hands. Those handsome hands that move so easily, so quickly, they are like a blur.
I am getting cold I say and he sits beside me, his hand upon my thigh. Creeping ever closer to the apex of my thighs I can feel the cold steel point drawing loops and circles on my leg as he whispers words in a foreign tongue. This time I am almost certain it is Romany. The words flow from his lips as if water from a cistern and I am mesmerized. Hypnotized by his eyes and the soft lull of his voice I lay there as he strokes my prone body and moves his lithe body over mine. He turns my head with that sexy hand and that metal encased finger, when I feel a slight prick at my neck and he says.
“Shh! Tis only a flesh wound, I will kiss it and make it all better”
I feel a plunging in my neck and deep within my femininity.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!” I cry out. But my cries end quickly as I realize I am sitting in the middle of the bookstore coffee shop staring at a man’s very beautiful hands.

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