He takes you by the wrists, pulling you to him. "Whoa, steady on," you say as you land heavily in his lap, your chest colliding with his face – as softly as those two body parts can collide. You wriggle around until it's your lips against his instead of your chest.
Phil kisses you readily, hands still gripping your wrists. You want to comment on how rough his kiss is – how sexy – but you don't because you're caught up in the way his lips feel against yours. You shudder and sigh, letting your shoulders slump forward closer to him.
One of his hands lets go – your hand tingling with pins and needles – to trace up and down your body. His fingers lightly trail over your side, which tickles. You fight back the urge to laugh and punch him in the face. You pull your other hand out of his grip and wrap both arms around his neck, pulling until his head lifts off the couch and you can wrap your arms around him properly.
Both his hands start to move along your sides, his left hand stuck at your breast. You want to push it off but don't. It lingers there with a confidence you didn't know he had. The other hand comes to a rest near your arse. You shiver and move away to look him in the eye. He's smiling gently, the hand over your breast finally moving to your face. "Are you okay?" The hidden question he asks is: is this okay?
You nod, because it is. It's everything. It's exactly what you want. You bite your lip before closing your eyes. You wonder how he'll take advantage of you. His lips touch yours – only briefly. Then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, the soft flesh where jaw meets neck, and finally, your neck. He nuzzles your neck gently. Though you can't see it when he's looking at you, you can feel the fine beginnings of his stubble against the tender skin of your neck.
It starts in your tummy and slowly claws its way up to your chest, and it's strong. It feels like burning desire and an aching want. It's the most sexual feeling you've ever had around him. It makes you open your mouth wide and let out a surprised moan.
He smiles against your neck, hands both reaching to lay over your breasts.
"Steady on," you whisper, unlocking your arms from around his to trace the fine lines of his body. "Full steam ahead," you say, accentuating with a kiss.
He gives you a questioning look – perhaps unsure that you want to follow through with it. To answer, you kiss him as heatedly as you possibly can.
Somewhere through this kiss, your shirt becomes unbuttoned and thrown on the floor. His jeans are also unbuttoned, but not off. He's got a hard-on.
It should probably embarrass you to be topless in front of a clearly aroused Phil, but right now all you can think about is his beautiful body. You don't give a fuck about your own. You just want his. You help him pull his shirt off, and he unclasps your bra. You chuck both items of clothing on the floor and lean in close, the chilly air a thousand times cooler without clothes. He's hot and warm, big enough to cover your body with his.
As if reading your mind, he pushes you down onto the couch, lying on top of you. While it's a stretch to say that you're completely covered, you're warmer than the warmth that any jacket could give you. You can feel his body heat pulsating with each throb of his heart.
He kisses you once more, pulling at your pants until they're abandoned and on the floor.
He pulls his own off, and his legs trap you, each knee on either side of your hips. He sits on the tops of your legs, hands going to your breasts.
He touches them gently at first, getting rougher and rougher until his fingers start to hurt. But you surprise yourself once more, groaning and fidgeting. You close your eyes and the feelings vibrating through your chest become loud noises, and somewhere in the middle of this you forget to be embarrassed about the moaning. You try to reach yourself, each heartbeat pounding through your core, which is positively begging to be touched. You can't reach past his hips, his erection.
So you hold it. He shivers and moans. You touch it a little more gently, running your fingers along it. His weight on your legs is alleviated as he rolls backward into a lying position. So you climb atop of him, kissing up and down his perfect body. His skin is soft and smooth, perfect. His arms touch your sides every now and then, his eyes are closed. You work your way down his skin, pulling at the waistband of his boxers before kissing his erection. You know that he's having way too much fun, so you keep travelling down, running your hands down his legs, picking up his feet and giggling.
You work your way back up to his mouth, kissing to distract him. He kisses blindly, eyes closed the entire time your mouth is on his body. You use this to your advantage, reaching down with one hand to grip him once more. You pull his boxers down one-handed, taking him in your hand.
There's a pause before he moans once more. You don't move, knowing that will drive him more crazy than anything else you could do. He starts to whimper quietly. "Oh, God," he mumbles, thrusting his hips to create his own friction. "Oh fucking God."
You put your hand over his mouth. "Slow down speed racer," you whisper into his ear. "You don't want to kick things off too early." You wink even though his eyes are closed.
He grumbles something inaudible before opening his eyes. They're lit with a crazed hunger that you can't wait to see put into action. He bites your lip when he kisses you, dragging his teeth along it.
You pull gently on him, waiting for a reaction. You don't get a reaction. He reaches down to take your underwear off as if nothing has happened. There's a brief pause, and he looks up at you. Your eyes meet and his twinkle dangerously. You love that look.
And then you've stopped being two people. Connected at the hips and both groaning with pleasure. You expect the sexual feeling in your tummy to quieten down now, but it doesn't. It claws a little harder, wishing for unspeakable things.
He starts to move, and you make the loudest noise that either of you have made to date. He grins at you, cheeky and somehow a little desperate. He moves harder, faster. He slams into you, he pulls you close and kisses along your jawline as he sends waves of ecstasy through your body. You hardly feel real at all. You feel as though you're floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching down on it all; you'd believe that you were if you couldn't feel him – ridiculously hard, scorching hot and blessedly inside you.
You feel kind of faint, your poor body completely overridden by emotions, trapped underneath such a maniac. He just doesn't stop, not even to catch his breath. He even kisses you breathless. His hands hold your hips up, his erection managing to hit the sweet spot every so often. You know he knows when he's hit it, because you moans become squeals, your breathing completely cuts out.
You wonder briefly what he's feeling, and if it's anywhere near as much as what you're feeling, when he suddenly falls forward, crushing you into the couch. He's still for maybe three seconds, and just as you reach up to mess his hair, he grinds harder and faster than possible, calling your name.
Watching him is enough to push you over the edge. Instead of a smouldering fire in the pit of your belly, he's pushed you off an edge, right into the flames. Your body thrives on and in the flames, reborn like a phoenix. Your body is engulfed in a red-hot burn, one so pleasurable that you almost lose consciousness. You know that he feels the fire too, because his fire burns your insides, making it three, four, five, six times as hot as any fire. You didn't know that he had a light in his eyes, but it fades and he closes his eyes, sighing and gripping you tightly. You feel like you're rocketing over the surface of the Earth, a thousand times faster than anyone has ever travelled before. You only realise that you've started to shake when your blissful high starts to wear off and you realise that he's holding you down, pinning you to the couch as he whispers your name over and over and over. Your heart is pummelling your ribcage like there's no tomorrow, and you realise that if there was no tomorrow, you honestly wouldn't mind at all. Today has given you the absolute best that the world could offer you.
Your name is musical, a melody on his tongue. You never want him to stop saying your name.
His hair sticks to his head ever so slightly and you brush it away, the feeling of falling still strong in your head. You know that no-one will ever fuck you like you've been fucked, and you vow to yourself to never let anyone else ever fuck you; it'll only lead to disappointment.
"I didn't realise," he whispers, kissing you again, "that you'd respond like that,"
You smirk and grin, glad to have shown him up. "You'd better try harder next time, hey? Give the performance of your life?"
He bites his bottom lip, something shining in his eyes. You hope that you'll find out just what that something is.