"Look at you, a mess. I open my legs and you're scatterbrained." she said with her classic, cunning smirk.
she leans her body on the cool kitchen counter. the fridge whirs. a bowl of sweet, vanilla ice cream rests on the surface.
he traces his textured hand upwards on the back of her thigh, then gradually moves his hand to her stomach. he hikes up her oversized tee, loving the sensation of her delicate skin. her feminine perfume— faint, floral, fragile. his olfactory senses couldn't help but be immersed in it.
god, it was like he was taking a trip. he was smelling scents and seeing colors he would have never imagined. the world around him was in deep distortion. shapes and sounds smeared together like paint blending on a canvas. he was seeing stars, feelin' a lil tipsy, real weak in his knees. his motor skills were shot. drunk on every kiss she gave, high off of every word she spoke.
this woman made him forget who he was.
she just wouldn't understand.
his breath, a tremble against her blossom-pink lips, "Sweet Christ,"
the smooth curves of her tattoos yield to his touch. her face was woven in moonlight. the shadows and fluorescence contrast perfectly with her persona. her dark hair, in a messy updo, waiting to get undone in the best way possible.
she takes the metal spoon from the serving of ice cream, and eats a spoonful. her eyes are hooded in pleasure as she maintains her gaze on her lover.
he nearly snaps when he watches her lips part from the spoon.
oh, how he was ready to do her. her legs will part by instinct, and welcome him home. she'll pull him in like she always does, 'cause she loves, needs, him. to feel her back arch into the bridge that held their intimacy together. the explorations, the swelling, the enveloping, the submission. steady strokes, sharp hisses, bruised lips from kissing too damn hard.
to hear her cry out his name like it was a magic word.
to venture into her hidden flesh, read every sodden corner like a book. read it fluently. thoroughly. carefully. intensely. leave every page within her thumbed and turned. her ending will please him. every cliffhanger will be resolved, every question will be answered.
he's ready.
to make the entire street look out their windows to see what's all the ruckus is about
to confuse the fire trucks, and know they won't know if there needs to be a rescue or distinguishing
from the heat they're about to kindle in
she's gonna smile.
laugh
whimper
beg
arch
throw her head back.
her epilogue will come to his mouth like how the tides rush to meet the sand
he's gonna pull language out of her, extract her most unruly, carnal character
it'll be demonic.
he positions her on all fours. he assesses her from the rear view.
"Don't finish until the ice cream melts," she commands.
he plays a series of circles and kisses on her skin before he gives her a flat-tongued lick from hell.
she writhes, and a tender melody tumbles from her mouth. sex with her was never like the last time. it was remixed and refined. each time came with more depth and discovery. more passion and power.
he was about to eat her out as if she were a delectable essence of vanilla ice cream. lick her, swirl her, make her melt.
"Thatta girlie."
