Thursday, June 29, 2006
ExpenditureHands, grasping at the mattress. Teeth clenched hard, eyelids slack and half-open. Your hair spilling against the pillow, pattern changing with every thrust.
You dig your nails into my shoulder blades, long furrows of red left in their wake. I'm bleeding all over the satin sheets we just bought and I don't care. My sweat runs into the cuts and stings, breaking my focus and helping me hold on just that moment longer while I build you up.
Warm pink flush blooming on your chest. Nipples tight, engorged, bouncing in rhythm with our motion. Legs wrapped around my hips, setting the pace. Your voice, a mantra urging me to fuck you.
I see the flush rising up your neck, to your face, and I hear your breath become erratic. I know you're close, but not how close, and already the feeling of my own orgasm is climbing my spine like molten gold. I hear my own voice from a distance, warning you that I'm about to come.
You clench, pubic muscles like a vise, my vice. And then --
And then --
Fireworks for you and free-fall for me. We dance together in zero-g while the stars burn brighter. So much power released, a god would die basking in its glory. Eyes wide, locked on each other and giggling like two virgins discovering the joy for the first time.
You're never boring.
For the record: this is not about any specific person. It is about you, the reader, if you are a woman. It is about you, the reader as a woman, if you are a man. That is all.
Posted by rightshu at 6/29/2006 12:05:00 PM ::