The words in like boldnitalic is from the song "Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades" by Brand New...Well I hope you enjoy this considering the fact that I am writing this at 3 in the morning, and for the fact that I crave reviews.
-Jen
June 02
Her face stoic, sitting in his chair, noting how her legs delicately sprouted from underneath the lace cross legged agonizingly. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She sat still, her eyes glued to the fireplace. Ever so slowly she turned her head, unafraid to show the tears that were decorating her porcelain cheek. Her eyes mirrored how the fire danced, roaring with rage, just like the fire that was crackling in the background mesmorizingly.
He had to get out now. But his feet became motionless the moment she stood up. Her eyeliner painting a line from the tears she had obviously shed. Her scarlet lips too clean. Her hair was pulled up leaving her neck bare, leaving him to stare with a dry tounge. Her off the neck dress, laced at the bottom clung to her every curve, the very curves he had memorized the first time he had seen her clothed with nothing but her skin. She had swallowed, again bringing his attention to her neck. Lifting her hand up, her finger tips trailed her collarbone, the very same finger tips he had French kissed months ago. Scanning her straps with her fingers dropping to the shoulder, she did same to the second strap, in a matter of seconds the dress was on the ground.
"Rory." He had managed to say through heavy breaths.
He feels her tongue on his neck, flicking furiously at his flesh. Her hand pulling his head back painfully, her nails traveled down his body positively leaving red marks down his skin, stopping at his zipper.
"This is so messed up." Barely whispered through his coarsed breathing.
Her lips again assaulting his neck, her sucks becoming harder and harder. Scraping her teeth against his throbbing pulse her words arrived.
"This is how much I hurt..." Scraping her teeth again, only digging deeper, she opened her mouth and bit at his flesh. His moans having no affect on her, except clenching her teeth harder. The pain pairing with something stronger. Lust and desire.
He keeps his hands low, he doesn't wanna blow it. He's wet from head to toe and his eyes give her the up and the down. His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up. But the body on the bed beckons foward and he starts growing up.
"This is the first and last time," he said. She fakes a smile and presses her hips into his. He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
He's holding back from telling her exactly what it really feels like. He is the lamb, she is the slaughter. She's moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her. Nothing that he touches is really having an effect. He whispers that he loves her, but she's probably only looking for...
They straddle in rhythm, locking lips, locking hips. Through muffled screams in pillows she screams "I Hate You." But I still love you he says in his head. She screams at the top of her lungs telling him "Faster. Faster" Their sweats fall through ruffled sheets. Both arrived.
She squirms away, her hand clutching at the sheets around her body. He badly ached to hold her, to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. He badly ached to hear her heartbeat slow down, like how they used to, tell one another how they were good in bed, and then familiar exchanges of I love yous. But its better this way...for now...he reminds himself.
He watched as she frantically searched for her clothing. Dressing openingly knowing this would make him ache more, remembering the times she would do this for him. Agonizingly slowly. He had noted every single motion she act, her hip would swing, how her leg tensed, how her hair would fall in her face when bending down to pick an article up. Never once doing this discreetingly, he had done it now. Feeling guilty for looking at her like that, after what he had said, what he had done.
"I hate you." She had said, the way she had said it betrayed the words, the soft tone and the delicateness proved what she had said meant the total opposite. He felt sick.
His body still clad in sheets laying motionless on the bed. He felt like he could throw up, and thats what he did, fumbling over his feet as how a drunk would. He was definitely drunk...drunk off of her.
Being present in a now empty room hadn't surprised him. Running a hand through his hair he mumbled frustratingly in his hands.
"This is the first and last time."
His words deflated into air. His words witnessed nothing but the opposite days after.