I knew the moment I first kissed him, that he would condemn me, that I would drag myself through broken glass for him. I just was not sure if he would stay long enough to pull the jagged pieces out.
I never imagined that instead, he would push the...
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There was something so devastatingly infinite about her. Tom had never been surer of anything more. As her delicate body pressed into the soft mattress beneath him, as his hand pressed on the centre of her exposed chest, pinning her down with what felt like the whole weight of the universe, Tom knew that no other feeling would even dare to compare to the fire that she ignited in his veins.
He had long tried to convince himself that it was all the doing of the soul connection. But then, when she gazed up at him, he felt as if she was taking apart the atoms that made up his body and slotted them back together, fusing them anew to her liking.
And when his body and soul alike connected with hers intimately for the first time, Tom Riddle had come to a revelation. He could see Arwen in the beginning and end of all things. In every dimension, reality and grain of time, she was there.
Every time Arwen said his name, the sound stripped his heart to ribbons.
A name he had resented all his life, falling from her lips, was the calling of a God. He did not mind when her sigh stung his skin with his name because he felt as if he lived and died and was reborn again a million times when she uttered those syllables.
More than a few times, he wondered if he was delirious...and perhaps for her, he was.
Being connected to her once was not enough. They had done it over and over again, unable to let go of the ecstasy of being joined together.
Tom's hand desperately clung to her thigh, his lips in the crook of her neck, bruising and marking until he could reassure himself that she was really submitting herself to him.
At times, when she would push him back to climb over him, he would bemusedly wonder if perhaps it was him who was submitting. If perhaps, Arwen had the reins all along. What was worse, was that he enjoyed when she took control, staring down at him with those brown eyes that always looked ablaze with fire. There was something exhilarating about a woman who was in control, and something terribly dangerous when that woman knew the extent of her control enough to allow herself to submit.
He was sure pain had never felt so good in his life when she raked her nails down his spine, carving mountains on his bare back as he relished in the feeling of being inside her. He found he particularly liked it when she was beneath him, locks played across the pillow and bruised lips parted as she panted. His hand would travel across her chest and curl around her throat while they both reached their peaks and even then he would prolong the moment, brush his lips against hers until the taste of her would permanently reside in his mind.
