Page 14 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting together as we tried to catch our breath. The air between us was thick with unspoken desire, with a need that had been building since the moment we met.

Without a word, Bowie stood, taking my hand and leading me to his bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the room in a soft warm glow. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. He let me set the pace, let me decide how far I was willing to go.

I took a step closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest as I reached up, gently tracing the line of his jaw with my fingers. His eyes darkened with desire, and I knew, in that moment, that I wanted this. I wanted him. I needed to feel something real, something tangible, to remind me that I was still alive, still capable of feeling.

Our lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a promise of what was to come. I felt his hands on my waist, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss.

Clothes were discarded, forgotten on the floor as we moved to the bed. The world outside ceased to exist as we lost ourselves in each other, the passion between us burning brighter than anything I had ever felt before. There was a tenderness in his touch, a reverence that made me feel cherished in a way I hadn’t experienced in so long. Every kiss, every caress, was a reminder that I was more than the fear that had been haunting me, more than the scar that marked my skin.

As we moved together, our bodies intertwined, the connection between us deepened. It wasn’t just physical; it was something more, something that went beyond the surface. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me like he was memorizing every inch of me. There was an intensity, a raw honesty in the way we came together, and it left me breathless, yearning for more.

Bowie’s hands were everywhere, exploring, comforting, igniting a fire within me that I didn’t know I still had. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as I lost myself in the sensation of him, the feel of his skin against mine, the sound of his breath mingling with mine.

Bowie’s touch was electric as he brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. The air between us crackled with an unspoken promise, and I felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation. I knew he was aware of my past wounds—inner wounds that still needed time to heal even if the outer ones would remain forever.

“Angie,” he murmured, his voice low and full of desire, “To me, you really are an angel.”

He touched his fingertips lightly to my scar, and then kissed it with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes.

“Bowie,” I breathed out, my voice trembling with the mixture of emotions rising in my chest.

“Let’s savor every moment,” he whispered. “No rush, no pressure—just you and me discovering what can be.”

Tentative at first, my fingers traced a path up his forearm, sending a shiver through him. Our eyes locked, and something within me ignited. For a moment, I wasn’t the fragile soul he’d been cautious with; I was a woman awakening, bold and daring.

“Bowie,” I whispered, my voice carrying a newfound daring. Before I could fully comprehend my own actions, my fingers slid down the taut muscles of his abdomen and dipped below his waistline.

Bowie’s breath hitched, and I could feel his control slipping. The heat of his desire was palpable, and suddenly, all pretense of slow seduction was gone. His need for me was raw and immediate, and it mirrored my own.

He groaned, his voice rough with need, and captured my lips with his, kissing me with a fervor that matched the pounding of my heart. I responded eagerly, feeling hunger for him overtaking me.

Lowering his head, he took the peak of my nipple into his mouth. The sensation was exquisite, and I moaned with pleasure. I felt every stroke of his tongue as if it were a direct line to my soul.

“Please, Bowie,” I gasped, my voice raw with need. There was no hesitation in my plea; it was a raw expression of my longing.

He moved his attentions lower, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach until he reached the apex of my thighs. I felt his breath against me before he dove in, his touch making me writhe beneath him, my moans building into a crescendo of pleasure.

When I felt his fingers inside me, the pleasure was almost too much to bear. He intensified his efforts with his tongue, driving me closer to the edge. As I came apart, my body trembling with release, I could barely comprehend the intensity of the moment.

I knew Bowie’s control was slipping as well. He pulled me close, our sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, and I could feel the echoes of my pleasure reverberating through him. His hands traced the contours of my body, and I could see the hunger in his eyes, a mirror to my own.

“Are you sure, Angie?” His voice was rough against my neck, his tongue tasting my skin.

I wanted him more than anything, and I could see the longing in his eyes. “I want you more than I want my next breath.” My plea was both a declaration and a request, and I could see the desire burning in his eyes.

He kissed me again, softly at first, then with increasing need. His touch became more urgent, his fingers stoking the flames of desire within me. When my hips moved in rhythm with his touch, I knew it was time. He entered me in one smooth motion, every thrust a struggle against his own self-control. I could feel the tension building, his desire spiraling out of control.

“Bowie…,” I whispered, both a plea and permission. I watched him above me, his eyes closed, lips parted in pleasured cries that only heightened my arousal. The fierceness with which he moved, the boldness in his touch, ignited something primal within me. I could feel myself climbing again, my body beginning to clench and unclench rhythmically around him. His movements were deliberate, coaxing me closer to the edge. My hands clawed at his back, urging him deeper, faster. When I arched beneath him, a keening wail escaped me, signaling my release.

The sensation of him filling me was exquisite, and when he finally surrendered to his own climax, the waves of our bodies moving together rivaled the force of the ocean. He collapsed beside me, pulling me close, our bodies still trembling from the aftermath.

This was more than just sex. It was a release, an escape, a way to reclaim something I had lost. With every touch, every kiss, pieces of me felt like they were coming back together, like I was being rebuilt from the inside out. And Bowie was right there with me, holding me together when I felt like I might fall apart.

For a long time, we just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the silence between us filled with the quiet sound of our breathing and the distant crash of waves against the shore. I could feel Bowie’s heart beating against my chest, strong and steady, grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

I hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to become such a significant part of my life in such a short time. But now, lying here with him, I realized that maybe this was exactly what I needed. Maybe this was the beginning of something new, something that could help me finally let go of the past and embrace the future.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

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