She sighs as his hands run over her skin; rooted in lust and desire, his love for her will be his downfall. She knows it as surely as she knows her name. Her desire isn’t fake though; she enjoys the pleasure, the physical relationship. But she doesn’t love him; she is what she is.
The pleasures of the flesh, she enjoys; she relishes the feeling of skin against skin. That communion of bodies joined as one, she seeks. That peak of pleasure, when the world seems to fade around her, she craves. But love… that means nothing to her. An outsider might notice she never meets her partner’s eyes. She gets lost in her own sensations; he will get lost in his. He will get drunk on her taste as he kisses her neck, her shoulders, her breast, but never her mouth, only at the end.
It isn’t her fault; she is what she is. She’s the snake in the tree. She’s the original sin, she’s the fall from grace. She’s lust. They say that angels have the farthest to fall, but that isn’t true. Every soul is basked in the Creator’s grace at the first; choices and sin are the reasons for the fall. Every human’s soul falls as deep as an angel’s.
She should know. She was human once; like the man melting inside her, whose love is rotted by lust, she loved deeply. She believed he was her soul mate. She’d loved him so deeply she’d shifted her entire life to fit in his. And then at the first crossroad he betrayed her. She made her choice then; she embraced it.
She’s the forbidden fruit, she’s the crossroad, she’s the choice. She appears when commitment rears its frightful head; sometimes she seduces a man, other times a woman. She provokes the fall. Sometimes she fails: rarely. People often forget that the card for the Lovers is often accompanied by that of the Devil; there’s a fine line between love and lust. The path of the first leads to Grace, the second paves the road to Hell, along with good intentions.
The man inside her has taken the highway and he’s about to arrive at his destination. When he spends, she kisses him, his soul falling. He grunts and thrusts until – even if he doesn’t know it yet – he belongs to her. Does he know he’s fallen from Grace? She doubts it.
“Lilith. I love you.”
He whispers; that surprises her. He’s never said that before. And his tone is different from the others. Could it truly be love? She wonders; and if it is, what does that mean?
In response to the Mindlovemisery’s menagerie writing prompt #150 The Lovers