I know her.
And she knows me.
I know how to press against her, press her buttons in a way that makes her succumb to me. Submit, to me.
I know how to make her beg. Scream.
Even now, when we're in our bedroom, she's still fighting me. Wants to get on top. My answer is the sheets, I pin her against them. Her pupils are dilated, lips are tinted red from the times she's chewed on them.
Lossless audio escapes her, deep and needy, clings onto my ears like a vice. I can only give her what she wants- what she needs. Of course, I have fun with it. It's a joy to feel her squirm beneath me.
It makes me feel real.
I curl into her, and her back arches, like the finest art I've ever seen. Every move, every kiss, is monitored by her furor. Her desire.
She gets on her stomach, her knees, shows off what she knows I like.
She knows how to press my buttons as well.
I press into her back, drag my tongue across the back of her neck. She's warm around my fingers, slick- wet.
I can feel her moan, muffled by the pillow underneath her. She needs me so badly.
She grabs my arm, holds onto it. Another hand joins mine, rubbing at the sensitive bead atop her mound. I know she's close, from the way her breath is hitching, her limbs are tensing.
I whisper things in her ear, things that drive her to the point of insanity. She loves it.
It came to the up-most satisfaction when she rides out her orgasm on my fingers, body jerking with every movement I make. Even then, when I slide out of her, she moans, like she wants to go again.
I brush pink strands away from her face, look her in the eye. Blue hues, crystal, plead me for more. More. I push her into the sheets again, straddle her gently. She wants it different.
Soft, tender.
I kiss away the sweat formed on the crown of her head, and her eyes flutter shut. "I love you."
The words were uttered, fell past my lips in the swing of the moment. She looks at me, strokes my face.
"I love you too, Fang."