first sex scene of a possible novel ***PLEASE READ***

     The fast, pounding beat of heavy metal announced his arrival before he pulled into my driveway.  He had the bass turned up to the point that his music was something to be felt, rather than heard. Or is that the butterflies in my stomach? Damn, we’d broken up two months ago, and yet his presence still stirred up so many mixed emotions.  Pain.  Guilt.  Anger. Frustration. Despite all of them vying for dominance, another rose above them all, like oil on water. Desire.
          Eying his approach, I thought it better to meet him outside than let him in.  Establish boundaries. I told myself. Don’t let him back into your life.  With an effort more taxing than it should have been, I closed the front door behind me. He’ll only hurt you again. Remember that.
      I met him in the driveway as he opened the driver side door.  With the grace of a black panther, he stepped out, all 6’4” of him.  Standing there, in his usual all black attire, he slammed the door of the old, beat up Neon in a single fluid motion. Crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture, his biceps bulged from under his leather sports jacket.  His T-shirt hung from his shoulders, loose, yet skimming his lean frame, hinting in the cruelest of ways the temptations that lie hidden beneath.  
    Forcing myself to slow my breathing, I glare at him, attempting to freeze hell over.  Steeling myself, I asked, “What do you want from me?” my tone was accusatory, caustic even.
    Covering the distance between us in two easy strides, he said, “I just wanted to return some of your things.”
    “Funny,” I reply, “I can’t recall leaving anything of value over at your place.”
    “Well, what about your necklace?”  
    “A trinket” I scoffed, “Worthless, not unlike men who are only in things for the short-term perks.  Once the novelty of things wears off, you think you can just toss me aside, like an old videogame.” Visibly, he winced.  I could tell my remark had hit him below the belt.  Stepping closer, he stood over me by little more than a foot.  It was only then, when I could feel the warmth of him that I shivered in the cool February air.  Even for a small, desert town, it was chilly this time of year, especially as scantily dressed as I was.  
    I had known he would stop by, and had dressed well for this confrontation.   Lacy black stockings, a barely there skirt, knee-high heeled boots that played up my shapely legs – quite long in spite of my petite 5’0 frame – and a simple black blouse that tied at the neck would drive any straight man insane.  Lining my eyes with kohl, I had finished the look with a deep wine red lipstick.  Simply put, if looks could kill, I would be ten times as deadly as the Hiroshima bomb.
    I stood there shivering in the driveway as he once again narrowed the gap between us.  It felt oddly distant, as though the man standing less than a hand span away may as well have been on the opposite side of a canyon.  I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.  Instead, I scrutinized the ground beneath my feet, as though the gray, dismal concrete of my driveway held the answers to some test I’d neglected to study for.  Relaxing his shoulders, he let his arms fall to his sides.  
     “Sydney.”  His voice was low, deep in his chest, his tone deploring, begging even.  In that instant, I knew he longed for me as I him, ached for the closeness we once shared.  In that moment, I am gone; enthralled to his voice. One word is all it takes.  My name: six letters, a mere two syllables, yet bursting with such salacious promise that it is all I can do not to melt into a puddle at his feet.  Damn, he gets to me.  Still, I cannot tear my gaze from the ground.
    My name dissipates into the winter chill and he props my chin up, making it impossible to evade him any longer.  Unwavering orbs hold my gaze for what seems like infinities.  Breaking the silence, his voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper, he utters, “Ocean eyes.”   I found myself wavering at the threshold where thought and speech are lost to the language of desire; transfixed like a rabbit, I barely manage a nod, feeling rather weak in the knees.
Feeling emboldened by our proximity, I take a final step and pull him forward by the front of his jacket until we are eye to eye.  So much for boundaries, I thought as I pressed myself against him.  From shoulder to hip, I could feel the heat and the firmness of his body, setting my senses aflame.  Four layers of clothing, a frustration.  Four layers separating us from being skin-to-skin, soul-to-soul.  My flesh burned with lust under my lacy black negligee.  I stood there, a cold sweat beading on my skin like dew.   Resting my forehead against his, I return his eye contact with double the intensity.  “Damon,” I moan breathless.  The rush of emotion in his eyes is near indescribable, as are his eyes themselves.  Staring into them, I saw my world staring back at me.  
    His eyes were always his strongest feature.  His gaze was at once as strong as tempered steel and as tranquil as stone.  Those eyes seemed to stare right through me.  They were the most piercing eyes I had ever seen.  Twin spheres, green as sea glass, blinked as I beheld them.  Edged with brown and interspersed with flecks of gold, like heaven’s fire, even the most precious gemstone could never hope to compare with their beauty.  
    “Come over here for a minute,” Damon insisted with a nod toward his car, “I want to show you something.”  I slid into the passenger side while he fiddled with the heater.  Leaning over, I pulled the door shut to keep the heat in.  With a sigh, I settled into the comforting warmth of the heated leather seat.
    I look toward him expectantly.  His hand ran through his luscious brown locks before resting uneasily on the side of his neck, just under his jaw.  Seeing his hand there brought to mind the many times I had brushed my lips against the stubbly skin there, trailing kisses along his jaw, breathing in the scent of him.  I flush at the thought, and quickly push it aside.  Still wondering what it was he had to show me, I stared pointedly at him.  “Damon,” I questioned, growing impatient, “What is it?”
    “Well, it’s just that, I was just”—he stammered a bit, “I was driving the other day, and your favorite song came up on the radio, and it made me think of you, and you know, us, and how things ended.  Please, baby” he begged, taking both my hands in his, “give me another shot.”
    “Damon, I don’t know what to say.  I care about you, but we’re just too intense for each other.  We’re like fire and gasoline, we bring out the worst in each other.  I don’t think it’d be”—
    “You love me,” he cut in.  “We both know it, so stop pushing me away.”
    “Damon, I—I mean—I” – I stuttered.  “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I can’t be with you.  Every time I get close to you, our relationship tanks.  Who’s pushing who away?”  My face was hot, and I was on the brink of tears.  “Don’t do this to me.  We’ve been down this road before, and it didn’t end well last time.”
    “Last time was different.  Last time I was moving to Vegas, and you were going off to God knows where for college.  Last time, there were things that were tearing us apart.  This time, I have a chance to move to California; I’ll be closer to you.  This time, we have a shot at working things out”
   The words tight in my throat, as if competing with my tears, I said, “Damon, I still think that we’d be better off seeing other people.”
    Leaning across the center console, his voice low and husky, he replied, “You still have feelings for me.  I dare you to try to deny it.”  With those words, he had stoked a fire in my core.  A tendril of desire snaked its way up my abdomen. God, I want him, I thought.  Still imagining the feel of his lips on mine, I said, “Show me.” I can play this game too.
“Careful there, baby.  You’re going to get just what you’ve asked for.” He answered with a smirk.  With that, Damon captured my mouth in a kiss.  His lips moved in synch with mine, warm and familiar.  Yet there was a fierceness in his kiss, in the way his hands fisted themselves in my hair, in the way he pinned me against the door, as if he were laying siege to my mouth.  His tongue flicked across my lips, before nudging them apart.  I could not help but moan as he deepened the kiss.  The kiss itself was sublime.  It was Heaven and it was Hell; it was at once torture and bliss.  I was acutely aware, almost painfully so, of the contact between us.  Every point of contact was a spark.  Liquid fire raced through my veins.  Flames licked their way up, trailing across my skin.  Lost in the sensation of him, I was consumed by desire.
    Breaking the kiss, his ragged breath matching my own, he pulled me into the backseat.  Straddling his lap, I pushed him against the seat. Giving me a smirk, Damon bucked his hips beneath me as I was grinding up against him.  “Nnngh,” he groaned, “Nobody moves that ass like you can, Sydney.”  I need him. Now. I slid my hands under his jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders; Damon hastily shrugged out of it.  Grabbing at the hem of his shirt, I pulled it up over his head and tossed it aside.  I had begun to work on the buttons of his jeans when he caught me in another kiss.  Grabbing my wrists and holding them over my head with one hand, Damon deftly untied my blouse with the other.  With nothing to hold it up, my blouse fell away, pooling at my waist and leaving me in my lacy, black bra.  Looking at my collarbone with a raised eyebrow, he took in my new tattoo, a kiss mark with crossbones.  “That’s new. You’ve always kept me on my toes.”
    “What fun would it be if you knew what I would do next?” I asked, teasing.
    “The kiss of death, huh? Sydney, you’ve always been the end of any man.” Damon breathed.
Standing up, I let the blouse fall to the floor, and my skirt followed as shimmied out of it.  Nearly exposed in my black lingerie, I settled back into Damon’s lap. “Damn, you always dress to impress.” He said appreciatively.
    “Correction, darling: I undress to impress.”  No longer in the mood for conversation, I undid his jeans with my teeth.  Yanking them down, it was all I could do to wait for him to kick them off.  His erection could clearly be seen straining against his boxers.  Without further adieu, I set it free.  Now with clothing out of the way, I returned my lover’s caresses, fondling his throbbing length. His breath hitched, as he grew achingly hard. “Baby, I want to bury my flesh inside you.” He whispered.  With those words, every muscle below my waist clenched, in the most erotic way. “I’m so wet.  Take me. Now.” I practically begged.
    “Not yet, love.” Damon replied, with a mock scold for my impatience.  “Trust me, I’m well worth the wait.”  Placing my hands on his shoulders, I ground against him more insistently, trying so desperately to get him to cave, to give me what I craved.  He would have none of that however.  With experienced ease, he unclasped my bra; revealing a set of 36C breasts, small by some standards, but well proportioned to my body.  Grazing his teeth over my collarbone, he lavished attention on the milky skin there, while his hands— calloused from working as a mechanic—groped my breasts roughly.  I threw my head back as he continued to work his way lower, his mouth giving the same attention to my pink nipples in turn. I loved the sensation as he sucked on my right nipple, flicking and circling it with his tongue.  Not wanting to neglect the left side, he pinched and rolled it between his fingers, tugging it lightly; each tug was echoed lower, answered by my tight, aching sex.  As he switched nipples, his other hand continued lower, and tugging my thong to the side, he slid two fingers inside my entrance.
    “Yes! Oh fuck, baby!” I exclaimed. Needing more, I rocked my hips against his hand.  Forgetting entirely about my breasts, he crashed his lips against mine; holding me by my long, brown tresses.  Damon set a demanding rhythm as he plunged his fingers in and out, bucking his hips in time to each insertion.  So close, I am so close.  I swear I’m going to—I went rigid and moaned into his mouth as my orgasm tore through me.  
    Still shaking, I slid down and kneeled in front of him, glancing up briefly before kissing the tip of him, sliding just the head past my lips. Flicking the tip with my tongue, I worked the shaft with my hand.  With each motion, I elicited a groan.  Fisting both hands in my hair, he closed his eyes.  “That’s enough,” he said, “I won’t last long if you keep that up.”
    Rolling on a condom and pulling me up into his lap again, he positioned me above him, and with one motion impaled me.  Giving me no time to adjust, he snaked his arms around my waist, lifting me up briefly before pushing me down roughly, helping me ride him.  Still sensitive from my orgasm, I gasped with each thrust.      
Before long, he reached his release; a rosy flush tinged each of our cheeks, as we lie there, panting and spent.  A bit sheepish about what had just occurred, I dressed quickly.  When Damon cast me a glance, I was unsure what to say—conversation has never really been my strong suit—so naturally I filled the awkward, post-coital silence with “Ummm…”
     Thankfully, Damon picked up the slack.  “So what were you saying about us?” he inquired, his voice smoldering, downright sexy.
    “I wouldn’t want you with anyone else.” I replied without hesitation.  
    “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?” his voice trailed off, distracted by a wisp of hair on my cheek.  Tucking the wayward strands behind my ear, he leaned in, placing a light kiss on my lips.  This time however, I did not return the gesture.  With that, Damon pulled away, casting me a wounded look.  “What’s wrong, Sydney?” he implored.
    “Nothing,” I say through gritted teeth, exiting his car.  “I just need some space to think.”  As I walked back up the driveway, I tried to keep my pace measured, even.  At my front door, Damon caught up with me.
    “Don’t do this, Ocean eyes.” He warned, grabbing me roughly by the wrist.  I spun on my heel to face him.
    “Get.  Your.  Hands.  Off.  Me.”  I said, my voice like ice.  When he hesitated, I shoved him, hard.  Not waiting to see if he got the message, I slammed the door.  Setting my jaw and squaring my shoulders, it was all I could do to keep from shaking.  Minutes crawled by like molasses before I heard his footsteps retreating down the driveway.  A car door closed slowly, and even from the kitchen I could hear the old Neon sputter to life.  Faintly, I could hear our song over his stereo, the muffled notes reminding me more of a mournful funeral dirge than our old affections.  
    Shrugging off the memory like a damp coat.  I stalked to my room.  Some flames are best left to burn out, I struggled to remind myself.  Ours went out. In the words of T.S. Elliot, I thought, Not with a bang-- ok, maybe not that sort of bang – but with a whimper.    

***First true sex scene I've ever written.  Awkward as hell.  If you guys like it, it might turn into a novel.  We'll see***