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Story Ally’s Storytime Collection


"You’re mine." He said. “That’s hot.” She laughed.
His Woman

The crackling and musical commotion coming from the kitchen a few feet away broke his concentration and disturbed the white noise surrounding him. The only thought that ran through his head was of what this woman could possibly be doing to cause such a ruckus. So being the decently responsible guy, well mildly careful and cautious we should say, he stood from where he knelt at the fireplace and waltzed right up to the threshold between the kitchen and living room. Stopping, he leaned against the corner of the wall and watched the display of domestic normalcy she showcased.

At Last by Etta James blared from the small speakers by the refrigerator and microwave, the lights hanging from the ceiling above casted a small glow onto the dark marble countertops. And the banging continued, she was unaware that he was watching her. Always oblivious, but that was how he liked it. Watching her from a distance, big or small, was like witnessing art in motion. The way her little feet carried her from one spot to the next, the way her dress clinged to her midsection and flowed to halfway down her thighs. How her hair was a mess of tight and loose curls gracefully falling from its clip, how her dainty hands held and worked the utensils. It was all a dream he never wished to wake from. From the small bruises on her knees to her full lips and long lashes. In his eyes, it was perfection.

A couple of light grunts erupted from the short woman as she tugged a chair into the right place and stepped up onto it to reach something from one of the top shelves in the cabinets. She wasn’t the best with balance, that was true. But that didn’t matter too much, it wasn’t really something that required his immediate worry. He would always be there to catch her. She carefully stepped back down and moved the chair back to the table before returning to the stove to stir the concoction her mind conjured up. Her arm worked to make sure all ingredients were distributed properly.

Usually he wouldn’t step in, he would continue his watch until she noticed or something else requested for his attention. Luckily the woman before him had the attention he never gave anyone else, every bit of it actually. He moved further into the kitchen when she began to chop and slice vegetables to throw in the medley she was brewing. Stepping closely behind her, he placed his hands on either side of her on the counter to catch her eye. Once she caught sight of those inked hands, a small smile reached her lips but she continued to work on the cutting board.

“What are you up to in here? You’re making a lot of noise, it’s very distracting.” He spoke out. Her response was a shake of the head and the words, “Cooking for you. Sorry to mess with your concentration.” Her apology was a little sarcastic, but that was okay with him. It was playful. He appreciated her attempting to make him a meal from time to time. After all, practice makes perfect, right? As much as he didn’t really need human food to survive, he enjoyed everything she took a shot at preparing.

Placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, he wrapped his strong arms around her waist and closed his eyes to inhale her sweet scent. Her smile brightened and her hands stopped the work on the counter. Her body turned around in his arms so that she now faced his front. And looking down into such an innocent gaze those weary eyes portrayed, he was entranced once more. He risked everything to protect this woman, to make sure she lived freely and happily. That was all that mattered to him, she was all that mattered. The center of his world, his entire universe.

“What’s on your mind?” Her voice broke his trance and that question was one that he had to take a moment to think about. Then, coming up with the perfect answer, the truth came out. “Okay, I admit it. I was watching you again. I just can’t get enough of you. Ever. And I never want to reach that point, I always want to be able to get more and more.” With that closing statement, he extinguished the conversation with the action of his own lips locked with hers. It was moments like these that he was almost terrified of but couldn’t live without.

There was so much wrong in their world, so much tragedy and danger circling around their lives like vultures preying on the carcasses of their pasts. With old wounds reopening and new battles occurring around every corner, it never seemed to stop. So much to be concerned with and now, all he could do was bask in the ambiance that was his woman.
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"You’re mine." He said. “That’s hot.” She laughed.
The Storm

Speedy gales whipped through the trees, shaking the leaves off here and there and forcing the tops of the giants to sway and bend. Back and forth, back and forth. A creak and a squeak, and big blue orbs shot open as breaths quickened with every beat of his racing heart. In and out, in and out. Frantic nerves sent chills down his spine, goosebumps raised on the hide of his back. Little hairs raised on the back of his short neck as a shiver hit his entire being like a freight train. A tremble here, a tremble there.

Sudden waves rolled and tumbled underneath the foundation of his bed, the windows swung open with such force that one would be surprised that they didn’t shatter. The wooden floorboards under his naked feet felt like an iced over pond, jackhammer noises erupted from his mouth as his teeth chattered. His head whipped to the side to view the large drops of rain flying at top speed through the open space, the floor looked darker now that it was damp.

Too dark, it was too dark. The candle lit in the corner was nothing but a smoking pile of wax spilling over the small plate it sat upon. Its flame had died hours ago and he wished it was possible to rekindle that little peace of mind he had within this raging storm. The only thing keeping him warm was the thought of his mother. How sweet and caring she was, a remarkably strong and intelligent woman gone too soon. Way too soon. He struggled to cope, whimpering in the darkness.

The house shook with every boom of thunder and minutes passed by. And then more until an hour brought the clock to midnight, it rang loudly. A startled gasp came from the child. He glared at the old mahogany grandfather clock hanging upon the wall. He could hear her voice from afar, calling out for him to be courageous and brave. And with that strength, he stood and slowly trudged to the slinging doors of the window. The blonde locks upon his head knotted in the wicked winds, his hands reached out to grab the wood lined glass.

The boy finally managed to slam the doors closed and his heart began to slow down. His eyes closed and his body collapsed onto the wet floor, curling up into a ball of protection. A somber smile adorned his face and he finally spoke. “Thank you, mama.”

And just like that, the storm immediately receded. His anxiety subsided, and he drifted away into a silent and still night once more. All was right in his world. His mother may be gone, but his strength has always flourished from within. Her guidance allowed it to spill out, to flow free. And he was just that, free.

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