Riveted
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It's just a game. Sort of.
It's how it started anyways. Games, mind-tricks.
I wanted to watch her stumble, wanted to watch her fall. I needed to see her. Her face, her luscious mouth, those red painted lips moaning my name. And especially her eyes. Her eyes, soft golden specks dancing within whenever she made a joke at my expensive. Darkening whenever she was mad.
And now they're almost pitch-black with lust. Dripping with desire. Eyelashes fluttering in the throes of our passion.
It wasn't a game for that long. Just started out like that.
She was the one with the innuendo, but I was the one that made the move. At the time she really hadn't expected it either.
I wasn't as innocent as she always believed I had been. But I don't wanna dwell on that now.
I just wanna watch. Like I watched her.
When I pressed her up against the sink, when I held her eyes with my own, biting my lip to stop myself from moaning too loudly. I couldn't have stopped even if I had wanted too, and especially not with those dark, slightly hooded eyes staring right back at me.
I knew then, this thing between us...but I didn't name it. Didn't speak a single word. I just fucked her, right there against that sink. I smirked at her confused expression. Had she really thought I hadn't smelled her arousal when we had been dancing just now? Did she really think I never noticed her stolen glances my way after we returned from slaying?
Her surprise was soon replaced by pure unadulterated lust. I could feel her try to push back at me, to move faster, to move harder. But it wasn't about her. It was about her eyes. Her eyes, changing color, changing depth, as I entered her with another finger.
I could see the signs. The coiling of her muscles, the labored breathing. But I wouldn't pick up the pace. Not just yet. Not until she finally dropped her head and surrendered.
Games. Mind-tricks. Maybe at first. Not anymore though.
I still watch her, and she watches me. Her body surging above mine, her breasts pressing into my back, her mouth fastening to the back of my neck. But still we hold each other's eyes in the mirror.
She smirks, ever so slightly. Picking up pace finally, moving our sweat-soaked bodies together in an agonizing slow rhythm. I push backwards with every stroke, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
I can't look away. Even as I feel her hot breath tickling my ears, her lips inching ever closer to mine.
I can't look away. But when she starts slamming into me, I have to anyways. I whimper softly, my hands digging into the sheets, ripping them to shreds, trashing around as my orgasm washes over me.
It used to be a game. Not anymore though.
And if it was, I'd lose every time.