Kiss Me
We’re kissing – full-on snogging actually, like horny teenagers in the back row of the cinema, breathless and intense, oblivious to the outside world. Here beneath the duvet there’s only us, naked, sweat-slicked, drenched with mutual lust; lips locked, jaws wide, tongues wrapping and flickering and delving; hungry, urgent.
He cradles the back of my head with one hand, reaches up with the other to cup my jaw and tilt my head, drawing back to regard my reddened lips, the fire and devotion in my eyes. Gently, he moves his hand downward, spreads it wide across my neck. No pressure, just a light touch, thumb and fingers outstretched to make a barrier of the edge of his palm. I watch his pupils dilate further, feel his thick cock twitch against my thigh while he holds my gaze with focused intent.
“Kiss me,” he says and brings his mouth down on mine again, hard at first then pulling away in tiny increments. I follow, my lips clinging to his, desperate not to relinquish our contact. I can feel him smiling, answer with a grin of my own.
“Kiss me,” he commands again, no longer tenderly soft-spoken, now his words are growled and rasping, roughened by demand and desire. To reach his mouth with mine requires me to press myself closer, harder against the inexorable barrier of his outstretched hand.
I fight to obey, straining forward to meet his lips, pushing until I can feel my pulse thumping against the webbing of his thumb, choking and spluttering as the delicate equilibrium between breathe and kiss tilts one way then the other. I can feel my face reddening with effort and congestion, duck away for a micro-moment to take a quick gasp before returning to the challenge. I want us wide-open and locked together again; giving up a little air is a worthy forfeit, an entirely reasonable demonstration of my need for him. I can relinquish this struggle at any time, all I’d have to do to is relax.
Instead, I go harder. Chasing that kiss as though it were a subsitute for the air I’m choosing to deny myself, telegraphing my willing submission with self-inflicted discomfort, suffering in a worthy cause.
He watches me as he bars my efforts to reach him, appraises my writhing and straining and spluttering with soul-piercing, hooded eyes. From the slight twist of his beautiful, arrogant mouth, I read savage desire held barely in check. In his hoarse breathing and the gentleness with which his other hand strokes my hair; pride, respect, triumph. Without the breath for speech, I tell him instead with my eyes, I belong to you, I adore you, I am incandescent with you, I am yours. All yours.
He removes his hand, freeing me to indulge my need for his mouth; cradles my face and returns my passionate kisses. Tender and savage, one moment stroking my cheek, the next gripping my hair; spinning between helpless adoration and animal lust, we roll over until I am beneath him, pinned and grasping, closer, deeper, yes, yes, please, take me, take all of it, take what you want, I want you, and we ride this crazy chemistry, this profound connection, hard and fast and agonisingly sweet; devour each other with full-body, whole-soul kisses that say all the things we don’t have big enough words for.
