Thumb.
Every time I read a variation of this I read it through… then starting to measure it. Is this wrong? :D
“It’s raining in the city tonight.”
“We’re twenty miles from the city.”
I turned from the dusty wood of the window and looked at you, wondering if you realized the sentiment behind my comment. If you knew I was thinking of him.
Again.
You leaned into your leather chair and went back to your book, so I retreated to my head, my glazed eyes watching the twinkle of the moon off the leaves. Seconds, maybe minutes later you were behind me, your hands wrapping around me, your lips on my neck, nuzzling into my skin and burning my bones to a smoldering ash.
I melted into you- caramelized sugar under the pressure of your heat. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his lips. They were thinner, not as plush. They pushed against mine with more intensity. Yours were slow like spreading melted butter on bread. I wondered which would burn me more- the fire of his lust or the flame of your love?
You peeled back my clothing like petals off a rose, laying tiny, teasing kisses along my shoulders and up my neck. Your fingers closed around my breast. Your thumb played with my nipple. Pushing it back and forth. Stopping time with its metronome. And when your nail etched your initial in that sensitive nub I thought my body would rise in the phoenix flames.
Your hands were under my knees and I was in your arms, clutching your thick neck and feeling your heart beat its way out of your chest. You laid me down along that leather sofa, my white skin contrasting its midnight black. I arched my hips while your fingers slid beneath the soft silk of my panties, removing everything but the air between us.
You didn’t fuck me like the world was ending- like he did. You moved above me slow like molasses. Your fingers found their way to my folds. Found their way into me. He moved with purpose. He was a conqueror- he wanted liquid gold. You were the archeologist, excavating with precision. With respect for buried treasures you would give anything to understand.
He made me explode in pyrotechnic fireworks over ocean waves. You simmer me until I boil and bubble over into myself. Like cooking a lobster, I didn’t know what was coming until I was lost in your rolling water. Until your cock was buried deep in me and my body was no longer my own. My hips arched to meet yours, our lips fused together and you captured my screams in your breath.
The pulse of your cock joined the beat of your heart and the drumming overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember if he ever left me so breathless. Only your voice revived me.
“Is he a substitute me?”
“No, he’s a counterfeit you.”
-=C&C=-
This may be my favourite so far.
