The table has been laid for a different form of dining. One lone setting has been placed at the head of the long table where he sits awaiting her arrival in the room’s warm glow.

She announces her presence with the glide of the door over the plush rug. He breathes in sharply as his gaze roams over her fair form. On this night she is dressed in little else than an ivory lace balconette bra and matching lace topped stockings.

Upon her in a matter of a few strides, eyes bright and hungry, he scoops her up and walks her over to the table, delicately placing her naked bottom onto a red velvet cushion. Weaving one hand through her locks while the other sweeps along her curves to the small of her back, he overwhelms her eager mouth with his passionate kiss.

Taking his place, he lays her out and begins to trace lazy circles inside her thighs. Edging closer to fully receive the sweet scent, his lips lightly brush her plump sex. Unable to resist any longer, he dots the slick excited flesh with a series of soft butterfly kisses as a throaty moan emerges from deep within her slight body.

Smiling wickedly in the knowledge this is the first of many courses, he lowers his greedy mouth and luxuriates in the pure indulgence of her creamy feast.

Time shifts, space bends, sound drains away. Suspended in slow motion, their each step an open possibility.

Shameless lust, unconcealed desire. Fixed, dilated stares, small, flirtatious smiles. Brazenly undressing one another as they brush by.

Horn blares, moment shattered. Lost in an instant, both swallowed up by the city crowd.

Bundled in his arms as the light faded low, he sang to me. Softly, sensuously.

Soon after he sang into me, breathing the lyrics into my skin, humming the tune into my flesh, as his lips trailed down, down, down my fair body.

Grasping her ankles, he pulls her toward him at the foot of the bed. He opens her wide, positioning each leg on the periphery and runs his hands insistently along their length.

Arms wound tightly round her hips and bottom, he plunges himself into her wetness in one deliciously selfish stroke.

As he growls then whispers the lyrics, she marvels how he could so accurately read the life of a woman a world away from his own.

Smiling through her tears she doubts if any other man will ever be able to do the same from up close.

It came as something of a surprise after his tender, sensual kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my mouth before languidly devouring me. I stood swaying, eyes shut, body tingling, begging for more, as he broke away and momentarily left the room.

Finally opening my eyes I saw him standing before me, blade in hand, a wry smile playing on his lips. Breath quickening, nipples erect, a new surge flooded my already blushing cunt.

Stepping forward he raised a finger to his lips silencing my unspoken words. Running the handle carefully down my cheek, neck and collarbone, he pulled me in to kiss him once more.

Poised at the top of my dress, the light reflected off the cutting edge. Closing my eyes, I surrendered to the darkness and the exquisite sounds of destruction.

Stitch by stitch, tear by tear, a destruction that would leave me bare, open and ready to bend to his will.

They weave a very particular spell, those words of his. Quite unlike any others, they wind themselves into and through my body. Sliding, slithering, caressing, tickling. Ablaze, my body becomes pure sensation. Hungry, yearning, open. Ready. Willing.

With each passing word, each passing day, I find myself wanting. Wanting more. Wanting to be her. Wanting to be the woman who inspires his force, his passion, his reflections.

I know I am not alone. I know there are countless others communing with the page, consuming in the light, devouring in the dark, desirous of the very same.

So I sit and read and yearn and ache while feeling the words. Feeling up his words as if a body laid bare for the taking.

And when I am sated I wonder if my words will ever have that effect. On him.

I live and hope and dream.

We are bound together, the women of my tree and me, bound by blood and time and history. Bound by the sacrifices, the struggles, the pleasures, the moments of love and hate and lust and longing, which have made up our everyday lives.

I like to think of them around me, surrounding me, looking down on me – on us – looking down on the lives of the women of their blood.

So many have been lost, their names and connections long forgotten, their histories slowly erased from family tales overtaken by the narratives of their men. The only traces left behind are the women of this time and place, both a world away from their own.

While it pains me that I do not know them, will never know of them, I take comfort from having them within me.

Their lives have led me to this time, this body, this woman I am today.

Dressed in his best suit, he walks out into the living room tugging at the shirt collar.

“It’s too small.”

“It’s not,” I reassure him.

He grimaces. Even though he’s trying to remain composed I know his nervousness is overtaking him. Just as he’s about to run his fingers through his wavy hair he stops short. He fidgets and paces. I begin to worry he’ll wear a track right through the new rug.

“Are you wearing something red?”

“Huh? … What? … No. I don’t have anything in red… Where are you going?”

I walk calmly toward the bedroom having thought of the very thing that will do. As I rummage through drawers and begin to ready myself I hear him resume his pacing and mumbling.

Just as I turn to exit the bedroom I notice him in the doorway. My curls are now around my shoulders, lips newly rouged and silk robe open to reveal naked flesh save the tiniest of black mess knickers.

“Come here. You need something for luck.”

He looks as if he might protest but then decides to obey. Now up against me I run my hands down the front of his shirt brushing his sex very gently with my own. I sink slowly to my knees and press my nose in to breathe him in. As I unbuckle the black leather belt and unzip his trousers he weaves his hands through my hair.

“I don’t have time for this…,” he trails off unconvincingly.

I smile up at him knowing full well he won’t be on the receiving end of the expected. He reads my smile as something else all together.

I nuzzle into him again, this time inhaling the full extent of his musk. My mouth begins to water at the sight of his growing hardness but I remind myself I’m on a different mission.

As I pull down the right side of his black trunks exposing his hip he gasps in a way that makes me smile again. I trace his outline with my nose and cheek looking up at him once more. Head back, lids hooded, hips forward, ready to be taken. My fingers dance over his soft skin enjoying the tease.

And then I kiss him. One deep solitary kiss from my slightly trembling scarlet lips. One perfect red charm that marks him with luck.

One kiss to remind him, when the day is done, I’m here ready and waiting.

Kneeling behind her, his hardness ready and waiting, he meets her eye in the mirror. On all fours and through a curtain of flaming curls he can see and feel her frustration.

She pushes back ever so slightly but his strong hands on her hips stave her off. She has been teased, mercilessly. The wetness dripping down her legs for the past hour has left its mark on the bed. He runs his hand tenderly over the length of her back and around her fair bottom, which he kisses lightly at first and then so deeply a low moan escapes her body.

She has been teased long enough.