Burns with Bruises
You feel heat…his scrutinizing stare on your face…your lips. His eyes darken with…lust…maybe even anger. Certainly anger. Your breath hitches when he leans forward, face only inches away and your eyes drift shut.
No soft brush across your lips. He consumes, burns with bruises, his hand grips your head, vise-like, almost cruel and he plunders, scrapes…tongue pushes…battles with yours until the air seems to disappear, leaving you sinking into endless need.
It was nothing like what you expected. No Puccini in your head. No colorized chorus of dancers. Nothing but warmth, carnal desire and the taste of coffee on your lips.