A Reflection of Warmth

by

Angelise

Copyright October 2000


Warmth. A sensation of warmth wakes me. Not the physical comfort of heat but the emotional contentment of love. The warm feelings of happiness and joy have wrapped themselves around my heart, bringing utter peace to my troubled soul.

A stupid grin spreads over my face.

I'm waxing poetic sentiments. Me. Dr. Peter Venkman. Ghostbuster extraordinaire.

I shake my head. No. Make that pure mush . . . total sap . . . kissy pooh babble.

Distracting myself from the embarrassing blush crawling across my face, I look around the room noting the ancient stonework, the vaulted ceilings, the various antiques. My hand plays with the soft fur of the bearskin rug I'm lying on. A flickering light teases over my fingers, the fire's illumination casting shadows across the room.

My ears detect the simple noises as the castle settles in for the night. Gentle voices whisper past the chamber's wooden door, guests returning from their moonlit excursions. A familiar laugh . . . Ray. His happy chuckle, an indication that all is safe and good in his world.

Safe. Yes, safe. Once again the talented foursome has made the world safe. I smile at the moonlight slipping over the balcony.

Well . . . maybe not the world . . . yet. But definitely this ancient citadel.

I cannot help but shake my head in disbelief at the turn of events. I did not plan on chasing a gang of ghostly knights when I made reservations at this castle. Fortunately my friends came prepared, had the foresight to bring the equipment. And what could have been a disaster became a unique experience that graced the most wonderful day of my life.

I look over at the suit of armor standing in the corner of the room and laugh quietly. A green scrawny arm extends out from the faceplate, swaying back and forth in perfect synch with the rumbly snores echoing throughout the metallic ensemble.

Slimer. That ghostly sidekick had somehow found the best spot for sleeping. His slumbering self was another reminder of our safety.

I swipe at an errant lock of hair, tossing it off my face. Running my hand through the long strands I make a mental note to visit the barber when we get back home. Unless of course, an objection is made about cutting its new length.

I admit I'm a little . . . okay . . . a LOT fixated on my hair. But when he plays with it . . . hmmm . . . like when we're snuggled on the couch, me snoozing with my head in his lap. His fingers will tease the strands around my ear and then he'll move into that distracted massage mode . . . talk about total Venkman meltdown. Do you think he'll consider me nuts if I tell him how much I like it? You see . . . it's a real special thing for me; haven't ever wanted anyone getting that close.

I reach out and stir the fire. The night air has turned a little chilly. Stretching, I ease the kinks out of my arms and legs. I move to a sitting position and twisting side to side I work on the stiffness in my back. An aerobic workout of ghostbusting was not on my to do list.

A slight wiggle of my ass reminds me of a new discomfort, a welcomed soreness. I flex the muscles and feel a warm moisture trickle out. Leaning back on my arms, I let loose a million-watt smile and relish in this new sensation.

Looking down at my body, the fire's light allows me to see the passion marks scattered across my chest. I stroke a finger over my swollen right nipple, the flesh still tender. I spread a little spit on my hand and rub it over the small nub, remembering the liquid heat that surrounded it earlier.

I glance further down and note the sticky mess on my stomach. It's starting to dry but I run my fingers through it, collecting the remaining moisture. Bringing my hand to my face, I inhale, trying to imprint the scent of our mingled passion.

My eyes travel south and take in my drowsy cock. I spread my legs and cup my balls, experiencing the after burn of our loving. He took me so slow and so incredibly gentle. But then that's how he treats me. Gentle and tender and with unbelievable love. My heart falters when he touches me.

With my hand I cover the happy smile that is becoming a permanent fixture on my face. I'm so damn lucky. My life hasn't always been this good. Hell, it's been shit most the time. But God must have been in a most excellent mood the day he blessed my life with this man.

A faint movement snags my attention. My breath catches as my eyes behold the masculine beauty of the man that lies beside me. I'm almost scared to reach out and touch him. Afraid that he'll vanish . . . that all of this will have been a dream.

I've waited so long for this moment. So many years of watching, wanting, hungering for the merest touch, look . . . for a simple acknowledgement of my feelings. I knew the moment I saw him, his arms loaded down with textbooks, his glasses threatening to slide off his nose. One look from those Einstein blue eyes and I was a goner.

I tossed out the little black books. Bid adios to the senoritas. For this man had been caught, collared and tamed by the resident genius.

Mr. Big Man on Campus . . . King of Romance . . . Studly Stud of Sex. Gave it all up, switched lanes, charted a different course, discovered a new playground . . . and I LIKED IT!

A snort of silliness escapes me. If my lover could hear me now. I can just imagine him shaking his head at me and the small indulgent smile that would warm that serious face of his. And those eyes . . . I could bet my last dollar those eyes would be twinkling.

I look down at him and sober instantly. Simply put . . . with truthful seriousness . . . in one instant my whole world took on a new meaning. I fell in love . . . with a man. And I've never regretted it. Not then, not now, not ever.

He is the love of my life. My soul is tangled up with his. I may joke and tease and make light of certain things. But the feelings I have for this man are so deep and so true . . . they will last an eternity. Probably beyond even that if I have anything to say about it.

His breathing calls to me. I want him again. I want to feel the heat of his skin. To taste the unique flavor of his seed. To sink into the velvet grip of his body.

I thread my fingers through his thick hair. It's so silky, so soft. It's lightness a perfect compliment to my dark brown curls. I love his hair. Sometimes it's all I can do not to reach over and brush it out of his eyes when he's concentrating on that damn PKE meter.

I trace the long lashes that hide his brilliant blue eyes. Eyes that darken with passion, that sparkle with his patent sense of dry humor. Eyes that glow with his scientific genius. I get lost in those eyes; a shyness overcomes my bravado and I simply lose my way in the love I see there.

Try as I might I can't resist pulling the blanket away from his long, lean body. His is a perfect match for mine, a perfect fit. I would never have guessed underneath those starched shirts and suspenders was a body to rival Adonis.

The first time I really touched him, felt his naked skin slide over mine, I came. His mouth caught my embarrassed babbled apology and I instantly went hard again. Our first night together was a hesitant exploration of unfamiliar desires. I blushed every shade of red known to man. But he took the lead; he guided us slowly, gently, with utmost patience into a climax that left both of us breathless and hungry for more.

Even now my hand shadow maps his long slender cock. The head is still wet with his spilled seed. I claim a sample and bring it to my mouth. It's a taste I crave and can never have enough of.

I reach out my hand only to have it caught. I look up and fall in love all over again with . . . my husband. Egon Spengler-Venkman. The man who stood beside me this day and pledged his everlasting love.

I look into his eyes. Does he realize how much this day means to me? To my heart? I've waited so long to be truly loved for me, myself? To find a love that won't leave me, abandon me. Does he know that? Does he understand?

Egon brings my hand to his mouth and bestows a whispered kiss against the gold wedding band he placed there during our bonding ceremony. I lose the ability to speak. I don't have to. He can read my thoughts, my emotions just by looking in my eyes.

He pulls my head down and opens his mouth over mine, offering me his heat. I feel his hands slide over my bare flesh, sinking into the curve of my ass. A nudge, a tug and I'm wrapped around the body of my husband.

Wrapped in a warmth that will love me all the days of my life.

The end

 

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