Our lips smashed together with a ferocious intensity that simultaneously scared me and excited me to no end. I could not begin to fathom how such an obnoxious, whiny, crude person who barely qualified as a man could get under my skin to the point that I could no longer string together meaningless words to make silly sentences. Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III roughly twisted my hips around so that I could no longer see his face as he ground his rock hard erection against my slightly arched back. He breathed in my hair while keeping a tight hold on my black tee shirt. Fitz's kisses were less affectionate pecks and more harsh, nearly violent smacks on my nape and shoulders.
"Pretty dark in here, huh?" I felt the heat of his powerful baritone on my neck and clavicle. His long, thick legs roughly guided me to the wall of the bunker. As he laid more kisses on my neck, his left hand, the dominant hand, perused my chest, stopping to repeatedly pinch my left nipple. His right hand pulled at my hair, causing me to writhe in an odd twist of pain and pleasure that I had never before felt, not from a man or a woman.
"The SUN. Is this the SUN?" His voice took on a demanding tone that hit me in my head.
This felt nothing like the sun. I felt like I was being dragged into darkness, a darkness that against my better judgment, I found myself willing to enter.