I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. I hunger for your sleek laugh, I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
Her quietly panting breath is the only sound in the small, dingy room. Though she's sure the thrumming of her heart is loud. Blood pumping sluggishly through her body in direct contrast to the air being forced to and from her lungs at a rapid, almost frantic pace. Fragile fingers twirling the fine ends of her hair around and around until there is a small snarling mess that she scrambles nervously to untangle. The insurmountable feeling of being completely out of control is clawing up her throat making her anxiety peek even more. She's anxious. The wait is killing her slowly, she just knows it. Her eyes shift for several minutes, several very long minutes, to anything and everything without finding any one thing to focus on. Something, anything to keep her mind from thinking too much about why she's here…she shouldn't be here, doesn't belong. The guilt is crushing, like a bowling ball has been forced upon her sternum. But she needs it. Has gone too long without it. Her body craving the rush that she knows will finally bring that numbing warmth that's so, so good. Saliva pools in her mouth at the thought and she swallows hard to quell her thirst for what she knows is so wrong, so utterly out of character.
She doesn't belong. Not here. But where does she belong? At Sunday brunch gossiping with her friends about who just outside, but also a little inside, their circle has gained weight or is swimming in debt trying to live up to their standards? That's where she's supposed to be. But is that where she belongs? She just doesn't know. All she knows is that right now she has no will power to be anywhere else. And she won't think about that now anyway. Simply can't think about that now. Later, after the warmth has faded and her cold body trembles, then she'll think about it. Then she can dissect why she needs this fix so badly. She'll rationalize it and promise to herself that it won't ever happen again. She can live without it. Later. But not now.
As soon as that cloying smell registers in her brain her body relaxes. Muscles unclenching and tension sliding away. She can almost see it slither away like a snake under the door and down the hall, just waiting for her to leave so it can wrap itself around her body again, constricting with each breath. Later, she tells herself.
"Hi," her voice is quiet, raspy. She's nervous every time but that doesn't seem to diminish the excitement. The shy smile she gives is small but brightens her pretty face all the same. She's rewarded with a cocky smile that's sinister in some way.
"Back so soon?" His voice is arrogant and bored as he towers over her small body sitting nervously on the very edge of his bed. In truth he's elated that she's here, though he'd never admit as much. His indifferent attitude pulls at her like a string in her belly being yanked downward without warning. Stretching her stomach uncomfortably until she thinks she may vomit. That shy pretty smile falters but before she can second guess herself too much and run for the door he smiles again in that way; all arrogance and gleaming teeth.
Not one for delayed gratification, he leans over the black, wobbly night stand pulling open the single drawer, getting what he needs quickly.
Her blood is picking up speed, pumping faster and faster through her veins until she thinks she may actually burst. The anticipation is swiftly climbing up her spine like a vine of bubbles, tickling every nerve in her body as it spreads and stretches. Her finger tips itch and her toes bounce her foot restlessly. She needs this more than she even realized five minutes before. Once she has it, she'll be fine. Everything will be fine. She'll be able to breathe easier and her body will still. His large hand pushes her shoulder gently until she's lying on her back, eyes closed.
This is what she lives for, even if she knows she shouldn't. Her breathing quickens more as she allows her mind to fully absorb all the sensations she knows are only seconds away. She loves the giddy feeling of free falling, her mind spiraling but not chaotic. Body alive. Blood rushing and follicles tingling in the most delicious way. The more she conjures up images of the high she's chasing just by being here, the more she craves it. Just a quick fix to get her through, to make life a little more bearable. To make life truly beautiful for just a little while.
Coarse hands pull softened denim and cotton up, down, away. Delicate lace unhooked, stretched and gone. The air against her naked flesh is disarming and she instinctively shifts trying to cover her body with small hands, thin arms and thick, long, dark hair. His own threadbare flannel shirt is discarded without care and his dirty, over-worn jeans join the pile. She ruminates silently that she likes it that she so rarely ever sees him with shoes on. He's the antithesis to everything her life encompasses outside of these walls. He's the antithesis to everything she represents in the petty part she plays every day. But those thoughts have no place here. Not here. Not in her most secret, dark place. The only place she can let go and be someone else. Be herself. Be no one.
Kneading hands work quickly up her shins, over smooth knees and sticky-hot thighs. And then they stop at that lovely crease separating her legs from aching wet flesh. His large callused thumbs skim lightly and she squirms eliciting a low, devious laugh. Grass- green eyes peek out of thick lashes and she knows he's taunting her. Torturing her for his own fun. Shame and frustration swirl behind her eyes, stirring at her tear ducts. This- what she sneaks away to do here, with him- is already a bitter pill to swallow. Why must he make it more difficult by embarrassing her? It's humiliating that her body is completely out of her control in this room, on this unkempt mess of mismatched pillows and sheets. Dark brown eyes squeeze shut to block out his beautiful, cruel face.
He seems to take mercy on her shivering body and wraps his so-large hands around her hips, pulling her slight weight down towards him. Anchoring his lean, muscular body over her with one hand pressed to the mattress beside her hip, his other hand skims over her hip, ass, thigh until her can hook her knee to wrap it around him. She's so small it's almost a struggle to achieve the position but she doesn't mind. That same hand moves to moist, pink lips.
"You're wet, girl. You're making a mess on my hand," and one finger enters her roughly. "God, that pussy is so tight, hot. Think you can take my cock yet? I bet you can't. You're tight little pussy needs to be dripping. Doesn't it? What do you want? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" She moans in response, past the point of articulation. Later she'll feel degraded to have been spoken to this way, to have liked it.
A second finger joins the first and without preamble he's fucking her hard and strong, without restraint. It's just nearly painful. When she feels the rough pads of his fingertips stroking the same spot so deep inside her over and over she tightens her muscles.
"Don't you hold back! Come on my hand!" he grinds the words out right over her ear. The combination of his ministrations and his warm breath on her sweaty skin make her convulse and without the strength to hold on any longer she comes. Hard. Her legs quiver and shake while warm sticky liquid gushes out of her, coating his hand.
Instead of cleaning his hand off he bring it to his cock as he rises up to sit back, kneeling between her legs. He strokes himself with her arousal and she can't take anymore.
Unable to wait patiently, "Please?" She can't keep the whining tone from her voice but she's past the point of caring. With a cocky smirk he tears the condom open and rolls it down his length.
"Hush, baby. You're gonna feel so good." Rough, calloused hands stroke her cheek softly as the sweet words are breathed into her ear. Without warning the pretty words are replaced with a deep rumble in his chest as his dirty hands thread tightly through her hair, pulling at the roots, as he buries himself inside her. She knows by now to anticipate that small, biting pain right at first but then the warmth will spread until her skin feels kindled and her mind goes blissfully blank. It's so worth it, even though it only lasts for a little while.
And then she's lost in the primal way he uses her small body, making her feel feminine and helpless. She is light, she is energy in his arms, surrounded by his body. His hands grip every inch of her flesh; pinching her small pink nipples, grazing the forbidden spot below where his cock is impaling her, pressing heavily on her throat. It's so much, too much, stimulation and as every inch of him slams into her, tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. And she screams. "Please….I can't….oh god….please, please, please, please…" He doesn't relent.
"Take it, baby. You'll take all of my cock until I'm down with you," he's panting as each word is forced out. She doesn't know how she doesn't break in two.
"Oh god, again….I'm gonna come again…please!" she doesn't know what she's pleading for but he seems to. Slapping her cheek lightly and then grabbing her hair at the base of her neck, he leans further over her.
"Come on my cock baby. Give it to me," obediently she quakes head to toe as she reaches that euphoria she's been chasing. He grunts above her and digs himself deeper into as he fills the latex. But she's still flying high, unable to watch his face in his most feral, beautiful moment.
This fix that makes her flesh feel burnt from the inside out consumes her…she lets it swallow her whole.
AN: Leave me some love. Or hate. Whatever, just talk to me.