Thursday, June 3, 2010

The need.

It was efficiency sex. The kind you can only have when it's been too long and both of you know it. When the pleasantries are almost nothing but, since it's almost intolerable to keep your hands to yourself through drinks and conversation and the obligatory nighttime rituals. When neither of you can be bothered by worrying about how you feel about each other, and no one needs to say much of anything.

When every word you say only barely hides the innuendo behind it, because how could you possibly need to talk about anything when the only thing you can focus on is the need itself? The kind where when you finally start touching, there's an electric charge that doesn't disconnect, and just keeps running through your two bodies, feeding off itself to grow stronger.

Where a finger stroke is all it takes to completely void your mind of anything but the pulsating need to be filled. And a hand is brought to your neck, not bothering with a gentle caress but grasping on, hard, to bring your lips to the waiting pair, only momentarily shielding the tongue and teeth that now have you locked together.

And fabric rips, because you can't be bothered with buttons and zippers and propriety when your skin is this hungry. So nails find fresh, warm flesh, and lungs breathe in stolen air when they remember to function. You couldn't be untangled or properly identify which parts of what you're feeling are your own if you tried, but that doesn't matter for even a split second.

And you almost wince as you finally find the satiation you've been looking for - warm and hard and even better than you remembered. You feel more and more full, drop your hips lower into the sheets to raise them higher and feel it deeper...

So your knees are brought to your chin and your ankles are locked behind his neck before he even finishes sitting up. He leans down to you and his teeth find your bottom lip and pull and you breathe him in and for a moment make this stunning eye contact that bores into you somehow even deeper than he is, with you folded underneath him. You've lost agency of yourself to your desire and can't stop your hips from finding their rhythym with his. He pulls his head up as you thrust harder, and you swear you can feel it in your abdomen, but god is it fucking good. And so you raise your hips faster, and he matches your rhythym with increasing intensity.

Your nails dig into his thighs, and then you drag one hand up his body, shoving two fingers in his mouth. His teeth hold you tight as his tongue licks up and down and circles your fingers and you draw your hand out of his mouth still glistening with his spit. And without hesitation, your hand reaches between your legs, still clenched against his chest. He looks down at you as he fucks you harder and you rub yourself with your fingers, wet from him. His hand finds your neck, and he keeps staring into you as he tightens his grip. Your pulsing becomes more frenetic, raising your ass off his folded legs and slamming back into him harder and faster.

It starts there, as the muscles in your body tighten as the heat spreads from your pelvis to your thighs and abdomen, to your calves and your tits and your chest tightens as does his grip around your neck. Gasping and still holding eye contact, you can feel him slamming into you, harder and harder, filling what you both so desperately need. Finally, the heat spreads to your mouth, and you can't keep your eyes focused on this world as your toes curl and your entire body tightens itself around him, feeling him expand inside you, and everything just becomes heat and you don't know what you're saying but every part of your body is screaming at the same time, releasing everything it's been holding on to in one moment that rips through your body and tears into him, both of you lost to the need.

And everything you had been holding is gone, and neither of you can do anything but collapse onto one another, still unable to tell whose body belongs to whom. For just a minute, you lie there, quivering and afraid to touch but unable to disconnect. As your breathing slows to find its sync with his, you manage to look over at his face, shining with sweat but his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. You manage a chuckle.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

1 comment:

HEDONE said...

Beautifully written. Sensual.

The way you tell a tale stirs one's insides.

-H