Four writers for the price of one blog
Sighed, soft on my face as you passed me by. I took a step, then stopped and looked behind me. You had stopped too, to look. My cheeks were pale, my nipples hard. My throat tightened.
For now, I read in your eyes.
Your arm muscles danced liquidly underneath your tattoos. Your knuckles whitened.
You pointed at me without fingers, almost accusatory. Right the emptiness deep in my belly. You were perplexed, maybe even angry at yourself for aching so to fill it. It has grown from desire to impetus, no matter how much you’ve filled the belly that belongs to you.
I took a step forward, hips loose. You held your ground. I took another, gait opening.
A tremble in the lip, synchronized, and a flick of the tongue. Your mouth is dry, and I am liquid. Your experience whispered that to you.
“Tell me something.” My voice was soft, almost girlish.
“No need. You know it too well.” Your voice echoed my softness. “I’m sorry.”
I looked at the empty palms of my hands. They were dry, although I was not.
You took a step forward, quick, and I nearly butted my forehead on you chest. I buried my head there, clinging to your shirt. Your scent turned my whimper to a growl. I flashed a canine. You shivered.
Your leg muscled its way between mine. You kept your hips away so your heat wouldn’t madden me, but your hands, work calloused and lovely, slid underneath the hem of my blouse and up my back. Your fingertips slid on sweat. I looked up and saw a thin beam shining out from underneath the unlocked door of paradise in your eyes.
Unlocked, and opening.
I exhaled forcefully as you dragged your fingers down the skin of my back. They pulled at my bra strap, made it snap painfully, then moved down to the small of my back. You lowered your head. Your lips were close, their warmth made mine tingle. Your fingers worked their way underneath my jeans. You wrapped your hands around my hips. Possessively. Painfully. The aqua flower of your eyes bloomed and I moaned, softly, just for you. You breathed it in and pressed the promise on my hip, even as your fingers dug in.
“You’ll leave marks,” I said.
“I will leave more, before these have faded,” you whispered in my ear. You squeezed again, and I gasped. Your lips grazed my neck, then moved to my own. You let me let me lick the salt from them before letting me go. Your limbs disentangled slowly from mine. Reluctantly.
“You promise.” My eyes drifted between your legs.
“Soon,” you said, and walked away, dazed at the unvarnished truth of it. “Soon.”