35 comments/ 29641 views/ 126 favorites Coffee & Poetry By: BaalatErotas Ella held her ground out of sheer stubbornness. She needed some form of strength and stubbornness was her forerunner that morning – who was she to knock it? If her plans to have a ten o'clock brunch in a casual restaurant out west had played out as she would've liked... well, basically she would not have ended up in the far glitzier Sandton side of the north instead. Aside from not being dressed for Sandton, she didn't quite feel... qualified to be there either. "No, no, it's not a bad time – I'm glad you called. Lucky for us, I'll be free from noon until about two. But I need you to meet me at Sandton City – we can have lunch on the Square. I need to be ready to bolt should my next appointment call unexpectedly." That had been the phone call between her and her dear friend, Cassie. On a personality level, they had so much in common. Lifestyle-wise, though, Ella always felt out of depth in Cassie's world. Ballet pumps could only walk you so far – which was nowhere near the land of stilettos and botox. When Ella had walked out of her rented cottage that morning, her fitted harem pants, wrapped top and wild afro had felt just right. She never needed more than a dash of lip-gloss and barely made eye contact with the rest of the world from behind her glasses. Part of it was shyness, sure; a hint of her realism in knowing girls like her didn't adorn the pages the world scoured for beauty definitions and tips. But mostly, she dealt constantly with a lack of interest in becoming that glossy girl who wore expensive labels and stayed out of the rain. Besides, she'd never be able to pull off perfection as elegantly as Cassandra did. 10:35 All right then – only an hour since the slightly-less-endeared Kai had abandoned her. And well over an hour to go before Cassie would come to her rescue. Meanwhile Sandton gleamed in the sun – all diamonds and gold. Well, one thing one could always count on was the presence of bookshops. Ella's steadfast life security blanket was knowing there was always one place she could feel at home everywhere. She parked in the cool underground basement in Johannesburg's most affluent shopping tower and rode a glass elevator up towards the daylight. This specific one passed two shopping levels before breaking out into the sunlight on the plaza level. On the way up Ella watched ladies carrying boutique bags and gentleman speaking on their mobile phones. Everyone was busy; each one ignored the others. One man on the level just before the plaza was standing outside a bag shop, looking bored as the woman beside him pointed out four different bags through the window. It took her two seconds to pick favourites that Ella knew to cost the same as a year's rent at her cottage. As the elevator slowly carried her out of sight, Ella took in the man's tailored midnight suit and his fearless light eyes. Money was the last thing to worry him, no doubt. His hands were the last thing she stared at, large and strong. The bookshop took some finding. It had been two years since her last visit and the tower had been renovated since then. At first she'd cringed at the line of restaurants in the sunlight, watching impossibly striking couples laughing behind expensive sunglasses. Then she'd frowned at the directory board: it was no longer the simple map she knew, but an interactive system that kept asking her to clarify her search. After that a security guard had pointed out the nearby library with a shrug then moved on. She didn't mind the delays so much. After all, passing time was the point of the whole exercise. Which is why she was most annoyed the next time she checked her watch as she entered Stranger Than Fiction: 10:45 "Fuck." Coffee & Poetry "Turn to page 44." Coffee & Poetry Then he made the mistake of trying to stutter something polite. "Just go," Rylan barked. He immediately stumbled off. Ella freed herself from his embrace and moved all the way to the opposite end of the couch. Facing him. And he didn't like what he was seeing. "I have to go as well." He shook his head. "No. Don't do this." Her shock was fading, but her embarrassment and resolve weren't. "I shouldn't have done any of this, Rylan. Let's just quit now while we're still ahead – sort of." "Ella, please," he'd never had much practice at pleading and felt he was doing it wrong. "Just stay a little longer and talk to me. Have your tea." "Thank you for the tea, but I can't." She was already standing up as she spoke. Her bag was at her feet. She picked it up then hesitated a moment, looking at the book in her hands. Shoulders straightening, she put the book on the table, hooked her bag on her arm and looked down at him. She wanted to say more, he could see it. But she didn't. She simply left. Let her go. Let her go. Rylan sat back and stretched his arms along the back of the couch. With an ankle crossed over the other knee, he cursed himself even as his eyes stayed on Ella. He still ached for her. She still looked flustered – and upset. She passed the remaining couches then wound a path between the occupied tables in the other half. Instead of heading through the bookstore and straight to the exit, she was at the coffee counter. After a word with the barista, she shook her head. Followed by another more vehement shake. The blonde girl seemed concerned; and after a long sympathetic look, pointed to a corner just beyond the end of the long coffee counter. There were tall potted plants in that corner and he couldn't figure out what the barista was pointing at. Let her go. Rylan picked up his espresso and took a sip. Ella squeezed the other girl's hand then headed off to the corner. Once there she circled around the tall plants and disappeared into what had to have been a concealed corridor. Let her go. When he felt fit to walk, he beckoned for the bill. On his way out, his eyes drifted to the poetry section. "Damn it..." Coffee & Poetry And she his. He clamped his teeth onto her neck, bending her back a bit, rubbing himself along her heat. Her legs came up and wrapped around him. "Rylan... Rylan..." He couldn't take any of it much longer. With his hands on hers, he guided her down to his throbbing erection. Her breath puffed from between her parted lips as she took hold of him, pumping up and down the length of him. He pushed her wild hair back so he could see her face as he entered her. "You want this? You want me?" he watched her eyes darken with each question. Her fingers tightened around him. "Yes... I need you, Rylan." "Then come here." Without waiting for a response, he tugged her off the table and stood her with her back to his chest. His hands kneaded her shoulders then went down her arms, outlined her waist and ultimately rested on her hips. They fit so well together. He wished there was a mirror so he could see if they looked as good as they did in his head; dark and light, both untamed. She was made for him. She pushed back at him, teasing his cock, rubbing up and down until he fit snugly into the crack of her arse, wet with her juices. He watched her move, moved with her, pulled at her hips to make her backward thrusts more emphatic. Then he couldn't anymore. "Now." It was a command. "Yes." His hands wrenched her top from her – something ripped – and he cupped her bare breasts. More than beautiful. He bent her over the table and positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance. She was so fucking wet, there was no other way to – He slammed his full length in. Ella screamed. Rylan gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep still. Her back glistened, the globes of her derriere lush. He stood and took in the light tones of his throbbing penis buried in the dark mocha exquisiteness of her and felt something thud in his chest. He bent forward to get away from the feeling and wrapped his strength around her. "Ella, baby, are you okay?" She nodded, making her hair dance. "Are you hurt? I'm sorry, did I –?" And then he felt it – faint ripples within her, endless ripples: a smaller, longer orgasm avalanching off her previous one. "Bella, shit... I need to –" Her face turned to his, tears clinging to her thick lashes. "Fuck me, Rylan. Please just make love to me now." He pushed further in at her words. His tip grazed her cervix as the rest of him stretched her out. "Yes, like that... God, yes..." He pulled all the way out then pushed all the way back in. Her knees buckled and he held up by her hips, slamming her back into him as he thrust into her. "Ah, fuck... Harder, baby...!" Which was all he needed to hear. He moved forward with her until she was kneeling on the table, her head low and her thighs wide, and he climbed up behind her. He pumped into her, faster, pushing as deep as he could go. Her whole body shook as he slammed into her, passion gathering in waves and washing over her, scorching her. He brought a firm hand down sharply on her flawless arse. Ella's body jerked as she cried out something wordless. When he did it again, he thought she might be trying to say his name but just couldn't form words anymore. He smacked each globe again, yanking her back to him by the hips when she lost control of her body. "Ah, god... Rylan..." Her words were back. "I'm going to come. I, ahh... I want you... come with me. Come inside me..." He pulled out of her then despite weak protests. When he turned her over the sight of her stole his breath again. Her lips were pink and swollen; the hair at her temple sweat-drenched and coiling. Red marks had started appearing along her breasts and hips. His marks. The bruised bite marks on her neck were darker. His. He could only imagine the marks and welts she'd left on him, but he relished the idea. Hers. He entered her forcefully. His. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the idea. This was sex. Mind-blowing, soul-melting sex... but still only sex. No matter how good it felt to be on top of her... wrapped in her. It would all come to an end. That was another thought he shook from his mind, the end – choosing to drown himself in her kisses and the scent of lilies. Her legs were around his waist, her firm calves over his buttocks, her heels urging him closer, deeper... "You want more, bella?" His lips were over hers, his voice a hushed rumble. "Yes..." She kept her eyes on his even when her eyebrows drew together in excruciating pleasure. "More, love..." That word undid him. He kissed her, plundered her 'til her eyes closed not wanting her to see what she had done to him with just one word. They moved together, danced; urgent and primal. Completing an ancient ritual, sealing a vow between them. When Ella's nails scored his back harder than before, Rylan roared. He lost it. "Come with me, Ella." He wasn't sure if he'd actually said any of that. It felt more as if the plea erupted within him and she must have just felt it. The arch of her back sharpened as he held her to him. One hand reached out blindly above her, the other pulling at his hair, making his scalp burn. And the tightness. Ah, fuck, the unbearable blaze of her that tautened around him as her most ferocious orgasm took over. "Ella...!" It was all he could manage before all that he was exploded into her. It was like his entire body pulsated his orgasm out of him as he roared her name. His hips, with a life of their own, rolled and pumped and pushed his very soul into her. And she moved with him, murmuring and kissing. With his eyes closed he could see her there. Always. Understanding him and his needs; saying what he needed to hear, whether he wanted to hear it or not. He could see her kissing him in the dark. He could picture them together. Rylan snapped his eyes open. Ella was looking up at him, a mystical smile on her lips. "What?" He couldn't help easing into her contentment. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it," she replied. He looked down at the rest of her. "Why?" "Because we just made love in a way I never have before. I'm not very experienced, but I do know that what we just shared... it just doesn't happen. Not like this." His eyes were serious as they met hers. "Well, I am experienced – and there was a time when I really thought I understood sex and why I was having so much of it. That changed many years ago – but it's only today that I think I truly get why two people would do this." "Good." She kissed him. "Now hush and let me recover." He chuckled and buried his fingers in her hair, just holding her to him, as his cock subsided within her. Until someone yanked at the door handle. Ella's entire form stiffened immediately beneath Rylan. But the intruder was thwarted: it was locked. Her eyes were still panicked, though. "It's okay," he told her as he stood up, pulling his pants on. "Get dressed and don't worry. I'll deal with this." "But we weren't even supposed to be here in the first place." She was sitting up straight, a hand to her mouth. "It'll be so much worse that they find us like this." He figured this would be the wrong moment to tell her he'd never seen a woman so stunning. Her breasts hung heavy and her hips were a sinful curve away from a waist that constantly invited his arms to hold her. Her hair was a mess and parts of her bruised. As she spoke all he noted was how swollen and sweet her lips looked. There was a knock at the door and a muffled voice. It had to be the blonde barista. "I told you that I will handle this." His socks and shoes were on and he was buttoning his shirt. "Oh, no..." Ella was holding her torn shirt up. Hints of a smile tugged at Rylan's lips, but he bit it back. Something told him she'd cut him down to size if she saw his proud amusement. He picked up his jacket and draped it across her shoulders. Which made her look sexier. Fuck. He lifted her chin and kissed her pink lips. No peck like the last one. A thorough kiss, one that made her cup his stubbled jaw again. "Oh..." He smiled then stepped out the door. Coffee & Poetry "Oh, is that right? Sounds great." Ella's keys were below a book that hadn't been in her bag the last time she'd dug in it. "Wanna know what I did? I went out and gave my heart away." The Dalmatian followed her inside and hopped onto her couch, grinning up at her. "Funny huh?" Ella pulled the book from her bag and sat next to Dali. "Well, one of us deserves a good laugh from all this silliness." It was the book Rylan had tried to give her back at the bookshop. He'd bought it and she'd refused it. He must have snuck into her bag just before walking away. She turned it over. Poetry. "How am I supposed to get over him now, Dali?" The dog snuggled his head into her lap. Ella petted him absentmindedly, not sure what to do next. She paged through the book, not really reading yet, just taking in the sight of poems on pages. Suddenly, about halfway through, the pages seemed to flip themselves. She soon realised why: further along a beautiful, plain white card marked a specific page. Ella moved the card, taking in the words on the page: Pablo Neruda... Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon, dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light, what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars? What primal night does Man touch with his senses? Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars, Through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain: Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages and a genital fire, transformed by delight slips through the narrow channels of blood to precipitate a nocturnal carnation to be, and be nothing but light in the dark. Ella pushed up the sleeves of the jacket she hadn't yet managed to take off, and asked herself why Rylan seemed to insist on imprinting himself on her... and why she had been so receptive. If nothing else, she did love that she got to meet him at all. And she knew that she would never forget him. "And they all lived bittersweet ever after," she murmured wryly to Dali. She picked up the immaculate card to mark the poem again. She would be reading it many times. As she inserted it in its place, Ella realised that it wasn't all plain. On the other side, without any flair or gimmick were two printed lines. Rylan Kade +2711 217 2007 She wondered about this man who owned business cards that needed no expansion or explanation. Below the print, he'd scrawled an extra number. Ella's heart slammed. Having his handwriting on something, even just a card, felt so intimate and special. This was no love note – oh, no, it was far more. Most especially because it was clearly his mobile number he had shared there. Ella's smile was wistful. Bittersweet ever after.