The Meeting
She had waited. And waited. In fact, she had waited her whole life. She just had never realized it.
How had it come to be? How had it happened? Like most situations, it was hard to say exactly—but also very simple.
It started with a meeting. They met.
They talked. They laughed. There was interest. There was the slow rising of delight.
There was questioning. There was answering. Conversation—a talking with each other. Communication—a coming together.
There was giving and taking. There was sharing. Negotiation. Mutual decision-making. Compromise. There was agreement and acceptance.
There was a meeting of minds. There was a joining of hands. Hands and minds worked together to bring about a bonding of hearts and souls.
It was steady. It was slow. It was open. It was warm.
He was soft and tender with her. Honest. Expressive.
“I think you are meant to be mine.”
He was patient. Demonstrative. Sincere.
“I never thought I would have one such as you.”
They waited, knowing all the time. He extended his hand, she accepted it. That was all.
That is never all, of course.
“That was all” was the beginning. There was a strengthening and a deepening of minds and hands and hearts. There was learning together. There was growing. Step by step, day after day, unfolding, like the petals of a flower.
When she stopped and thought about all he had given her, she found herself awash in awe and gratitude. He supported her in every endeavor, whether large or small. He was her refuge when she was tired, he soothed her when she was disappointed. He made her feel loved and desired. He encouraged her—and not just in things she selected for herself. He actively encouraged her to do and try new things. He made her feel full and thriving.
In return, she was completely his. She offered him her heart, mind, and soul in a submission so deep it reached to the very core of her being. It was a living, breathing thing; it was desire; it was need. She needed to submit to him, to give him everything and anything, like she needed to draw breath. She knew this like she knew her name.
The days they spent together turned into months, and the months turned into a year. And then, finally, it happened.
Flying. Moving. Imagining. Driving along the dark unfamiliar highway that led to the bright lights of the unknown city. The navigation system glowing like the North Star, leading her ever closer. To him. To his arms. Home.
She pulled into the wide round driveway and in moments she was out of the car and in his embrace. She noticed, as they moved inside to the registration desk, that he maintained the physical connection between them—touching her shoulder, her arm; putting his arm around her to give her gentle hugs; touching her hair softly. His hands were large and warm and felt like they belonged on her skin.
They reached the softly lit room where it was quiet, and she felt slightly outside her body. Traveling sometimes made her feel this way. He sensed it, settled her on the bed, and removed her shoes and socks. He took a foot in his hands and massaged and caressed it. Each touch, each stroke reconnected her to her own body and connected her to him.
He finished and had her roll onto her tummy next to him so that he could rub her back while they talked. She felt calm and quiet and treasured lying next to him. His warmth seeped into her and made her purr.
They talked a little longer and then he joined her at the head of the bed, gathering her into his arms and kissing her so sweetly. He kissed her again, tasting her mouth, calling her body to his own—a call as old as time. As he held and kissed and petted her, murmuring his pleasure in her, she found herself at the very center of her submission, unable to speak. She could look into his eyes, though, and when she did, he saw what he had waited forever to see.
She was aware of him carefully undressing her and she watched his hands as they deftly moved over each part of her body. He spoke quietly, reassuring her, telling of his desire for her. He lingered over her breasts, giving his special attention to her nipples. He took them from a soft, pale pink to hard and red with excitement. She was moaning quietly and that pleased him. As he touched and claimed each part of her body, he blessed them both.
His hands ran smoothly over her thighs and one of them came to settle on her soft mound. He pressed down gently, and then let his fingers wander along the fringe of her lips. She quivered with pleasure as she heard him exhale in wonder at the warm wetness that awaited him.
Parting her lips, his fingers explored the secret parts of her, finding her delicate center. A finger stroked then rubbed, and she watched him patiently, knowing that there was all the time in the world.
She heard him murmur.
“Treasured. Owned. Mine.”
She felt her being rising, carried upward, as his fingers slipped inside of her, claiming all of her. She was high above and wrapped so safely and so deeply in her submission to him that it surrounded her like a glowing golden cloak. She saw him glowing with his own power; she heard him confirming his ownership of and desire for her; she felt him exploring her, learning her with his fingers, stirring the fire within her until she blazed brightly for him.
No words were possible, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was his in every way.
Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “As it is tonight, so may it always be.”
The Moonlit Pillow: The Erotic Writings of Skye Leroux 
Loved this story. Intimate, measured and expertly framed.