| Straight: Celebrity: A Heartbreaker (1/2) |
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Her back arched, pressing her hot form to his bare chest. He ran his cold hand, sweating, from her shoulder, down her arm, and along her soft, supple thigh. Her ruby red nails dug into his firm shoulder blades as he nibbled her collarbone. He hooked his hand under her knee and lifted her leg as he kissed the hollow of her neck. He could feel her pulse against his lips. She extended her head backwards, sighing. His mouth moved to kiss her veins and tendons of her neck as he lowered her gently to the soft sheets. She closed her eyes, smiling. Running her hands softly over his back, she tilted her head to kiss him with her full, scarlet lips. His nimble fingers traced the intricate black lace of her bra. He lifted his head from her gentle lips. “I love you,” he whispered sincerely. She stared into his copper eyes with her large emerald ones. A soft hand traced his face, fingertips pressing to his mouth. She kissed him. He arose from the warm tangle of sheets. His pulse was irregular. His breath was even, and distantly spread. A bead of sweat ran along his face, down his neck and slowly onto his chest, before a ruby-tipped finger pressed the bead of wetness. He stared at his lovely companion. She returned her body to her lace bra and matching garter. She placed her hands on his shoulders as his ran up her thighs to the small of her back. She leaned in to kiss his head as he kissed her soft abdomen. “I love you,” she whispered into his hair, “I always will.” She turned and sat next to him on the bed, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he said, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. A strangled sob came from her lips. She lowered her hand. Wrapped in her fingers, an orange prescription bottle. She stared at it, her hand quivering. She stood abruptly, staring at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror. She clutched the bottle, and flung it with all her might at her reflection. The mirror cracked. “Baby! What’s wrong?” he asked again as she ran into another room of the Victorian hotel. He stepped carefully to the mirror and fetched the bottle. ‘Ludiomil, Maprotiline antidepressant,’ it read. He followed her into the room. The curtains flapped wildly with a cold, brisk wind. The French doors knocked on their hinges. He walked to them. There she was. She leaned herself against the railing, her chocolate hair whipping around her face as she peered down at the busy street, twelve stories down. “Amelia,” he said, his voice faint. Her hands gripped the railing. “Amelia, no!” He stepped forward as she lifted her frame. “Amelia!” he screamed. She had her bare feet on the railing. She turned to him. He clutched her hand. “Amelia, baby, please!” “I love you, Tom.” She smiled down at him, “I always will.” He ruby-tipped fingers slid from his grip as she fell. Twelve stories down. He collapsed, his naked form shivering in the bitter wind. He buried his face in his hands, curling his body tight. Tom sat in the chair of an interview television show. He played with his fingers, picking at his cuticles. “So Tom Kaulitz, It’s been thirty years since Tokio |
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