The Fault

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The FaultSuddenly the whistling of the wind rushing under the door sends the memory back to her in an implacable flash.Worn by their smoking nostrils, they appeared three days earlier in the cold of the night. The horde with sharp swords, sparkling under the moon, crossed the village at full speed, after having looted and burned the neighboring town pressed against the cliff, a few leagues away. Like others, in the midst of panic and tears, she saw the sky veil from the horizon of the smells of the infernal brazier.Now it’s the same terror that takes hold of her. The wind blows strongly. The rain is heavy. She is alone. The day is long gone. She feels a terrible fear overflowing. They come back ! She hears the noise of the cavalcade. The clatter of the hooves on the approaching pavement. Then, briefly, silence.There is a rough knock on his door.With his throat tied, unable to escape a cry, he had no time to open until he crossed the threshold of the thatched hovel.First, the glow of the fireplace reveals the cut of a six-foot tall figure. Then, when he enters the room further, the impressive build of broad shoulders.As he sheds the wolf fur with pendik escort which warriors disembarked from the dark lands of the North cover themselves, she places a jug of cervoise on the table. A rest of the broth which is still boiling. She hurries to throw a fagot on the hearth which is exhausted in a heap of glowing embers.While the man is eating in silence by the hearth, she is busy sweeping and polishing her home. Avoiding the look she sometimes knows about her. He kept, up to his muscular thighs, his rider’s breeches. The saber with ornate pommel, held in a scabbard. A fine dagger on his belt. Soon the flames agree to wake up, as well as a warmth. Their reflections unfold, golden sparks in its ice blue pupils.He is nothing like the villains of the village who urge her but would not marry an orphan who is too poorly equipped.Almighty God ! Is this the prospect of an imminent end? The unwelcome comparison increases his confusion and fright. However, a strange and unknown feeling – nothing to do with fear – grows slowly, confusedly, in its lap.Suddenly his heart starts pounding.What does this Viking with kartal escort a chiseled face, cut with a billhook, find in her? This barbarian with prominent cheekbones, red hair braided with a leather lace?Without thinking further, as if emboldened by an unspeakable hold, she approaches the fire. Untie the tie from her hair. Then that of his linen coat, and let fall the tinsel at his feet.He wears it to his diaper. Undresses in the semi-darkness of his coals and the rest. Surprisingly beardless chest, pearl sweat, a pungent and intoxicating smell. It mixes with hers, pearly skin where the veins pulsate. Imposing himself as the winner, he does not smile. But under the pleated eyelids shine two horizontal slits.Outside, the sky is purple and the wind howls at the strongest.The man pulls away a little. Carefully observe the juvenile body that offers itself. Then the musk beard is embedded between the breasts. Runs up to the navel the groove of her belly. The storm explodes when this stiffness becomes caressing, and goes up towards the heart, which panics. Fly over the lips. She tries to fight. An immodest maltepe escort language dissuades him from it. A long shiver, which follows the exact curve of the shoulder, reaches the brown tip. Change sides. Linger there before being submerged. Go back down.So she forgets her fear. Ready to die. But he doesn’t want it. So that it straightens up quickly, dominating it in turn. Naked and warrior standing in front of him. Pointing defiantly at the short barbarian blade. He didn’t see it coming, but was faster in the movement. He grabbed her by the wrists. Returns it. Plate the small hips against hers. Then tie her mouth to the simmering neck.The sharpened metal, on the disarmed flank, traces lines in light touches. Fun to rekindle what strength does.She accompanies him in a groan.Tears of blood flow, burning.Delicious.The light of day points through the shutters. A pale, sullen dawn. The rain is crushing on the tiles. Water trickles over the ajar window. Drops drop by drop on the parquet floor.She first perceives the vague perfume of incense that it burns like a rite before love. She is cold but pushes back the sheets. Take a quick look at his laptop screen.”Damn, it’s almost seven!” “She hears the sounds of the revived street.The smell of strong coffee coming from the kitchen. He flew early. Before the end of the night. It’s his habit. At a time when the chimeras dissipate, she did not hear him go. She wakes up alone. Without reason a little sad.

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