The thunder wakes me. Or maybe it is your heartbeat, soft and steady next to me. I need you now, in the night. I need you. Sinuously, I slide against you. Silently begging you to awake. To touch me. To feel my need through your pores. You stir. Your hand slides around my throat, round to my nape and down my spine. Your body turns toward me in the dark.
I hunger. A primal, deep hunger that can only be sated by you. I need your violence. I need your gentle touch. I wrap my body around yours, whispering, cooing, begging. I can feel you growing in between us, and I know you hunger like I do.
“Be inside of me, baby,” I moan. “Be inside of me,” I whimper your name, low in pitch and soft and sacred.
I am near tears already. There is ecstasy in small denial, in awaiting pleasure. My head swims with wanting you. Your hand against my thigh is trembling with one hundred unspoken words, with desires untold, with your own silent need. You grip my thigh and pull it around you. I am too happy to oblige, locking my ankle somewhere near the middle of your back, stretching my muscles taut, opening myself wide.
I stiffen, preparing for that one deep, hard plunge, to bury you inside of me, all the way to the root, to make our pelvises clash together, to feel the head of your shaft press against my cervix roughly. I prepare my body. But instead you employ the long con, the slow game, the exquisite torture. In just enough to tease, just enough to taste, just enough to make my muscles spasm, reaching and grasping after of their accord. But no further. No deeper. No harder. Slow, shallow, lazy pumps of your hips. I can feel my body’s slickness coating you, coating me, staining the soft sheets. My body cries around your cock, gushing sweet, sticky girl juices.
Every thrust a gasp. Every gasp a cry of protest. Every protest full of tears, full of soft, imploring words. I know my eyes are desperate. You are trying for my vacant gaze, for my slack-jawed stare, for my disbelief that I could ever feel this good, for the realization that only you can make me feel this good.
You capture my mouth with yours. Such stark contrast to your gentle strokes. Your mouth is hard, unyielding, ravishing my own. You force me open, tongue traversing the path of my lips into the recesses of my mouth. Savage, you are savage and hunting for an answer in the breath that you are stealing from me. Here, I feel it, all your need, the way you want me in return. The passion, the heat, the fire. It is too much. I cannot take the flame.
I melt against you, giving in to your will, to your need, giving my desire into your hands. I will lose myself in you. My tears are free-flowing, our lower bodies a mess from my arousal. You begin to work me deeper, to punctuate each thrust like the end of an exclamation point. I am half broken already.
The way you touch me is perfection.