As I bring you tea I want to find you waiting for me, naked with a smirk plastered across your face.
“Put it there,” you nod toward the nightstand, “then take off your clothes and kiss me.”
I’m eager to comply, but cautious. We haven’t played before, though our frenzied makeouts have not-so-subtly demonstrated your toppiness. I melt just a little more whenever you grab my hair.
Your lips are full and soft. I want more of you—evidenced by my wriggling hips—but you hold us to a slow, deliberate pace. I close my eyes as you push deeper into my mouth. You’re setting me up to lose our forthcoming wrestling match, my only retaliation to snake my forearms behind you and push my face back against yours. You taste wondrous, of wine and lust and too many cigarettes; of the odd circumstance that brought us together, of Carolina warmth, and salt.
I sit back on my heels and look at you. For all our talk and touch, I feel I haven't seen you yet. You tilt your head just slightly, with furrowed brows and tight, quizzical lips. When I smile you relax, and ask “What'cha looking at?”
“You,” I say, annoying you with my obvious answer. You raise an eyebrow.
“What about me?” you demand.
“Just…you,” I reply again, unable to find words for so many emotions. I furrow my own brow and you respond with arms outstretched: “come here.”
I roll forward and bury my face against your collarbone, settle across your chest with our arms around each other. With a deep breath you press your face in my hair as a sign you understand.
Curled together—especially naked—we won’t last long in stillness. We soon writhe as though limbless, arms frozen and forgotten so long as we are locked against one another. Nuzzles give way to nips give way to deep mauve and lavender bites that ripple from shoulder to toes to cunt. You manage to flip and pin me, my wrists held above my head as you straddle my chest. You lean forward and growl slowly in my ear: “stay right here,” emphasized with a sharp bite to my ear.
I whine as you dismount, curious if it will earn me a slap. Your cunt leaves a wet spot high on my stomach and I realize I just missed an ideal opportunity to mark your inner thigh. I watch you smile as you pull cuffs and lube and gloves from a drawer. The way you bask in your dominance is fucking hot, and my craving for your skin has just about erased any lasting patience. I want you. I want your breath, I want your stern looks and sharp fingers on my jaw. I want to swirl your clit in my mouth, to be startled by your loud moans. I want you inside me, dipping and pushing until both your small fists are engulfed by my cunt.
I want this, but with you I hesitate. With you I’m shy. With you, I worry. You no longer have strings. I…might. I don’t know. I don’t want to be there again. I feel I need permission. Not yours, but theirs. I don’t owe it to them but perhaps I do, if I decide I do. I’m conflicted.
I want you, but for now I’m content with sweetness and bossy cuddles. I hope you are too.
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