Sunday Snog #133: Detente

It's very late for me to be posting a snog, but still Sunday in the U.S. ;^) I was busy all day Sunday editing the new Coming Together Presents volume, a sensational collection of hot, transgressive erotica by Amanda Earl. As I was working on my bio, I discovered that I've contributed to thirteen altruistic erotica anthologies from Coming Together. And that gave me the notion of sharing this bit from my short story "Detente", published in Coming Together: As One (an anthology of multi-partner erotica) and republished in Coming Together: With A Twist (a BDSM-themed collection).

Enjoy! Oh, and if you haven't already, check out the other kisses on offer today, at Sunday Snog Central.

My overnight bag is still packed from my business trip. I pull out the dirty things and throw in some clean underwear, jeans and jerseys. I'm debating whether to bring a dress when my door opens. Stubbornly, I continue my packing.

Eric towers behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. "Where are you going, little one?"

"Away. Away from the two of you and your constant bickering."

"He started it, after all, with his claims about things being unfair." He bends to kiss me. I turn my head away, unwilling to be mastered, but he grasps my chin and pulls my mouth to his.

I don't want to surrender, but I can't help it. I'm dizzy with instantly kindled lust. He nips at my lips, probes me with his tongue. He drinks me in, consumes me. Between my thighs everything melts. The room begins to smell funky, as though he already had me naked and open before him.

Without taking his mouth from mine, he grabs my nipple and twists it, hard. My body arches against his, the familiar pain quickly transformed to shimmering pleasure. He breaks the kiss and looks down on me, shaking and helpless with desire.

"You're mine," he whispers. "You'll always be mine. You just keep him around because you're afraid to give yourself completely to me."

I have a vision of David, his wine glass filled to the brim with vodka, filling page after page with angry, aching prose. There's a wrenching pain in my chest. They've grabbed my heart and they are rending it into bloody pieces.

This is pain that has no sweet after-echoes. I tear myself from Eric's grasp.

"You're wrong." My throat tightens into a sob. "I love him. It's different from the way we are, but it's just as real."

"If we were together, by ourselves, you'd forget him."

"NO!" His arrogance, sometimes so exciting, is nothing but frustrating now. "You don't understand. He's a part of me, the same way you are. Well, not the same way, but just as truly."

He reaches for me again. "I'd make you forget him, Margot. I'd beat him out of you." His voice is gentle, contrasting with the violence of his words. Underneath his bravado, I feel his need.

I harden myself, knowing that I have to escape.

"Let me go, Eric."

He steps back, and brushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes. They're brighter than normal, probably with tears. Guilt settles like a stone in my gut, but I ignore it. There's nothing I can do, I have finally realized.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. To look for some peace."

"When will you be back?"

I don't answer. I have no idea, in fact. All I know is that right now, I can't cope with their conflicts and animosity. Let them work it out between the two of them. Let them see how they like it when neither one of them can claim me.