Uncontrollable by patricia51
(Simone can't control Annabelle. And she can no longer control herself. Begins during the dance and goes through the fade-out in Simone's room. This story is one-sided from Simone's POV and without dialogue. )
Deep breath Simone, take a deep breath. Feel the tension flow from you. Chat amicably with Mother Immaculata and Michael.
Poor Michael. He really deserves better. He's a really nice guy and he fancies he's in love with me. Perhaps he is. But I'm not in love with him. Heaven knows I tried to be. And perhaps for a while I succeeded.
No I didn't. Don't lie to yourself Simone. Michael has always been wonderful, a rock you can use to anchor yourself but you've never managed to fall in love with him. I pray that one day someone will "Want to be with him for him", someone who will be who he has hoped I would be for him and not a safety valve I can use to release my desires when they build up inside of me. When did I become so selfish? Do I just use him and not give back? Not all that he wants, I can't give that. I can't give that to anyone. Not since Amanda.
I let Mother Immaculata entertain Michael while I let my attention wander elsewhere. Another deep breath. Where is Annabelle? I don't see her anymore and I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
I know she saw me dancing with Michael. It's funny; I think that since our talk in the car the other evening that he and I have realized that maybe we can settle for being friends. But no more than that. So we have civilized conversation with my Aunt and I find my eyes won't stay still. Where did she go? Why can't I stop looking for her?
Then I hear the guitar and even before her voice cuts across the room I know that it's her. My eyes are drawn to the stage just like a moth to the flame and for a moment I smile. I would roll my eyes and sigh at any poet using such a clich d metaphor. But it fits. I can't look away,
She's gorgeous. Her hair is down now, falling across her shoulders and I find my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. And her dress, what happened to her dress? Is that anything more than a slip that she's wearing? A slip that might be without a bra under it from the way her breasts move? And why am I noticing that? Especially since she's singing.
Singing to me. The song is meant for me. The words are hers but I know they written with me in mind. Shelter from the storm. The storm I am trying to keep from showing on my face.
I can't take any more of those eyes burning into mine, of that voice piercing my soul. I turn and walk away; trying not to make it appear to be the panicked flight I know it to be.
I come out of the doors and it's raining. I lean against the unopened wrought iron door and try to compose myself. I let my mind run free, try to empty it of nothing but the sound and smell of the rain but it fills back up. It fills back up with Annabelle.
And now she's here. Beside me. Not saying anything. Her song already spoke for her. I know she feels it, what I don't dare say, what I don't let myself acknowledge. Once more I try to flee.
Her hand is on my wrist and I stop. I'm caught. I could pull away but I can't muster the will. Her hand is warm and the warmth spreads up my arm. Every instant that I stand still it grows until my whole body is on fire. I turn to face her.
I can't. I mustn't. It's wrong. I know it. I don't dare surrender because if I'm not strong then... then... then...
Then my hands cup her face and my lips are meeting hers. Her mouth is open to me and I taste her and she's as sweet as the forbidden fruit was said to be. But of course it, she, is that fruit and I no longer can deny my desire for it. Nor do I want to. Her pursuit is over. She has captured me.
How we get to my room I don't know. I don't care. The rain we run through without losing touch doesn't cool the flames. The door closes behind us and I'm alone with her. My heart is beating so hard it might jump from my chest.
Annabelle pushes me against the wall. Far from resisting her I welcome her taking charge of the moment, of me. My hands run down her sides. Her hands follow and then her fingers lace with mine and she's lifting my arms over my head. She showers kisses over me and I stay helpless against the wall for her. Now my dress is sliding up and over my head and arms and she tosses it aside.
Brown eyes I could drown in lock with mine as her knees slowly give way. My slip is gone. I feel the warmth of her breath against my belly and it quivers even as she places the first kiss there. I shudder in wild anticipation even as her lips march up my body and just for a moment she presses her face into the valley between my breasts.
I can't get enough of her kisses. I never want to stop. We pull away from the wall and reel towards the night's ultimate objective, falling on my bed in a tangle of bodies, arms and legs. First she is on top; then I am and then she is again. She plucks my bra from me then I strip her. Only my red lace panties and her black thong remain and neither is any real obstacle to the molding of our bodies into one.
Her body strains against me. Every time I think our kisses cannot get deeper, cannot get more passionate they do. Her body moves against mine and mine moves back against her. I give myself up completely to her, to my Annabelle. I explode and continue, never wanting this to stop. I lose myself in her as the storm rumbles outside and she shelters me from everything outside of our love.
(This is what happens when I spend the weekend watching the movie and can't get it out of my head. I have to write.)