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ScarletOnIce last won the day on October 1

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About ScarletOnIce

  • Rank
    French Kisser
  • Birthday 09/29/1990

Profile Information

  • Music
    Everything, from Classic to Punk to Hip Hop. It's just, music' so GOOD!
  • Location
    Beautiful French-Canada!
  • Interests
    When I don't work or worry, I listen to music, read or write. Too many passions to fit them all in a lifetime, but I try! I enjoy a cool glass of white wine when I feel classy, and a neat bottle of whiskey when I'm feeling myself. Currently in a quest to find my own happiness.
  • Signature Fragrance
    La Vie Est Belle - Lancôme
  • Favourite Book
    The Secret History - Donna Tartt

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  1. 37.Slow, Sensual. Intense In your dream, she’s so fucking soft, and oh so fucking wet, and time seems to stop. The moment you lightly trail your middle finger upon her sex, barely parting her folds, she breathes something heavy and low, pressing her brow to your collarbone. It makes your head spin, your skin prickle, your heart stammer. It’s everything, everything that matters at the moment, and it ceases at you enough that you don’t think you can take it. She’s slick with want, twitching and tilting with every hair’s breadth of very slow progress you make along her slit. A breathless, all girly sigh crosses her lips as you barely graze her clit, and you have no fucking words, no fucking thoughts to explain how it feels. The tight feel of her sodden flesh. The jerking, subtle push of her hips every time you move. You don’t know what kind of headspace she’s in, but she lets you touch her as slowly as you like. You’re back to wanting to swear as much as you want to melt. You reach down to just before her entrance and you feel her clench in anticipation, a heavy breath spilling from her lips, and it makes you almost moan. She glides under your fingertips like you’re stroking silk, only softer, warmer. Her hot breath tumbles across your skin before she presses a kiss below your collarbone. It’s overwhelming and it rips the oxygen from your lungs, the beauty that comes with this infinite world seemingly spinning around the tip of your middle minder. You rub her slowly, like you barely dare to touch this priceless little perl, and every single one of your surreptitious, finite moves are coupled with stuttered breaths ghosted across your skin. Harder, she presses her brow to your collarbone, your cheek – stumbling towards your lips – slow and clipped yet fluid like she’s melting against you. When she brushes her lips to yours, you slightly pull away and press your fingertip slightly harder into her. It’s all so slow yet so heavy, like time has stopped and the world outside of you two doesn’t exist. You touch the tip of your tongue to her top lip as you touch her and press your nose to her forehead for her to lift up her head. As she does so, she slowly, heavily blinks dark horizon-eyes open until her gaze is locked to yours. Lips parted, cheeks flushed and eyes burning yet unfocused, she’s never captured your full attention as much as she does with every soft, girly sigh spilling from her lips. There’s a thread of arousal and something more, something powerful and unwavering, that links you to each other through this unfaltering eye-contact; it grows thicker and unraveling as you witness it all being being played out around her blown out pupils – every slow movement against her body being mirrored with precise detail in the way she looks at you. You hold her gaze for as long as you can, delighted yet burned with every flutter of her eyelids, with every which way she looks at you with more and more intent and intensity, like she’s seeing and reaching deeper within you with every blink and every breath. When you finally can’t take it anymore, when she’s gotten you so mesmerized, so pulled inside-out and so fucking vulnerable, you can only crash your lips to her in a searing kiss that you hope will breathe some air back into your starved lungs. Just as she kisses you back, she whimpers a fleshed-out, full moan that makes you whine against her lips, and she tilts and rolls her hips in a way that has you effortlessly slide inside her. She hisses something deep and breathless and you can’t help but arc into her as she bites on your bottom lip. Time doesn’t stop, this time: It simply ceases to exist altogether. Your whole reality, your surroundings and your sense of self all tip over and fall into nothingness. Nothing’s ever been as pivotal, as mesmerizing as this one move, as this one second that seems to stretch for fucking ever, like the heart-stopping moment a rollercoaster reaches the top of the highest drop, how, regardless of how long it took, the twists and the turns, and all these touches you stole and all these words you held in and wouldn’t return. At last. She’s finally yours.
  2. 36. Making Magic You thought you could keep a level-head, in your dream, thought it wouldn’t all pass you by in a blur, in a flash, in a burning, distracting, overwhelming explosion. You were wrong. Every time you make a conscious effort to stay in the moment, trying to commit it all to your memory, she moves just right, making you lose your mind in a shiver. You can feel the whole of her pressed into you, bare and soft and boiling, the jut of her hips pushing into you with every roll and every move. Both your hands are at her tiny waist, clenching and squeezing and trying to pull her closer; as if there was any space between your two bodies. You just can’t get enough of her lips, kissing her with reckless abandon and meeting her halfway with each change in the slant of her mouth. She sucks at your bottom lip, tugging and biting and licking while her free hand travels the length of you. You don’t know how long you get lost in her proximity, in everything she does to you, in everything you do to her – it seems to last a lifetime yet be done in a flash – but you’re once again forced back to conscious thoughts when you realize you’re lifting your hips up and off the carpeted floor: She’s pulling your underwear down and away from your body. You’d label it as frantic, the way she trails her lips along your jaw to bite your neck while she tugs at the cloth, if you weren’t equally as passionate, bringing your hands to her back and scratching lightly, moaning freely as she licks and sucks the soft patch of skin she just bit. Dark, damp underwear slide passed your hips – the warm air of the room hitting your core in a gust of want that makes you shiver – and she has to move and maneuver above you to guide them along your thighs. She’s almost on her knees, still kissing and nibbling at your neck, hips farther away from yours so she can bare you, and you can’t help but bring one of your hands to the nape of her neck as she tugs and suckles just above your collarbone, blunt teeth closing around your skin making you breathe heavily and press her mouth to you, fingers threading between soft strands of blonde. You’re going to lose your fucking mind; so many thoughts are assaulting you in flashes and you can’t grasp a single one. Your underwear getting pulled lower on your thighs, the soft yet delightful press of her body, the idea of love bites she could be leaving upon your skin, the way she breathes heavily just above you – and could you really cum just from all of this, ‘cause your body certainly reacts strongly enough that you think you might very well tip over the edge were she to push just a little step forward. But, mainly, the thought that keeps on looping at the forefront of your mind with every breath, every move and every moan is focused on the flat, tight strip of skin between her hips. She keeps on tugging at your panties, making progress inch by inch as she seems to get distracted every time you sigh, until she has to shift so that her knees are on each side of you, until she’s straddling you. And maybe you flash forward, maybe you leap in time enough that you don’t fully comprehend what you’re doing but, one instant she bites at your collarbone, the other you’re trailing your fingertips up the inside of her thigh, up and high, until you’re touching her.
  3. 35. (Come And Take A Leap) Over The Edge In your dream, it’s easy as much as it makes you blush, how you glide a lone finger down to your core to drag it along up your slit to your swollen clit. Sparks ignite along your spine, making you shake at the contact and at the way she watches with hungry, watchful eyes. You take your time touching yourself, twitching every time you graze the tight bundle of nerves and moaning every time you slide back down, burning under her gaze. She looks so alluring – thighs parted and so focused on you and what you do. There’s a dirty, intimidating and starved quality to you touching yourself in front of her, barely for your selfish pleasure. Sitting above you, she shifts with your every swallowed moan, eyes skipping from yours to your hand slowly moving inside your panties. She licks her lips, eyes wide and dark – captivated. You can’t help the way your hips buck or your eyelids flutter whenever your middle finger – coated with your arousal – finds its way up your slick clit. The teasing works in making you damper and her more entranced; she scoots closer to the edge of the bed every few minutes as if to be able to see you better. The mix of haste, arousal and expectancy makes you breathe a lungful of air before you slide your middle finger inside yourself, the digit meeting no resistance as it glides amongst your liquid want. You’re swollen, tight and warm, and you close your eyes and throw your head back with a moan when you curl your finger, grazing your front wall as you slowly pull out. It’s surreal and it has your whole body quake, how she watches you while you do something you’ve done to yourself countless times before, imagining it was her inside you. A few thrusts have you sighing almost loud enough to be shameful, and your hips follow the rhythm of your hand until it’s not enough. On the next withdrawal, your index joins your middle finger, your left hand landing high on her bare thigh so you can hold on and sit straighter. The material of your panties is hindering your movements, but it’s all made up for by the way she devours you with her eyes, the way she puts her hand atop yours on her thigh and squeezes. You’re so close already, the hours of build-up having breathed tension through your veins, having made you sensible to the softest touches. You inhale deep, trying to stave off the orgasm that already threatens to crash into you like a tsunami, feeling your walls tighten around your digits, when she moves her hand to intertwine your fingers and squeeze again. You can’t help it, it strikes rampant like a sudden wild-fire within your body, how you think she tells you, begs you, to cum for her. You quicken the pace, eyes still locked on her, and it only takes a few more thrusts before you close your eyes again, so close to the edge a warm trickle glides along your hand. It seizes you almost by surprise – like a push against your chest that rattles along your whole body to focus between your legs. You come hard, fast, biting back breathy moans and a need to cry out as you clench around your fingers and feel your cum dribble down your digits and soak your already damp panties. She squeezes your hand almost too hard and it makes your orgasm last a few more seconds – body tensed and not a breath spilling from your lips. When it finally subdues and you can hear your thundering heartbeat hammer at your temples, you slow your fingers to a stop and shakily breathe-in, head spinning a short way. Tight tingles swim all over your body, skin prickling down to your fingertips, and it’s almost enough to quiet down the hungry, desperate need for her to get closer to you. When you finally blink your eyes opened and can focus on her face, pulling your sticky hand out of your underwear, a powerful tremor of arousal sparks from your throat to you core – still throbbing from bliss but not content in any way: You know that look in her eyes, you recognize the blown out pupils, the flush that took over her cheeks and neck, the way she looks fuller, heavier, about to pounce. As you’re about to say something, hoping your voice will carry your words out regardless of how shaky, she slinks forward, down the bed and against you in a starving, heart-stopping slew of seconds. Her lips crashing to yours and her hand at the nape of your neck while her body presses against yours has you moan louder than you have while you came, and bend backwards until you’re laying down on the plush carpet with her undulating above you. You bring your cum-sticky hand to her ass, squeezing and pulling her more fully into you as she devours your lips with teeth and tongue. You slide your thigh between hers, feeling her bare, sodden core press into you as she rocks her hips and moans across your mouth; you don’t think you’ve ever felt this breathless, this light and intoxicated and consumed – all-encompassed. She takes up all the room and all the air you breathe, from the way she kisses to everywhere her body is touching yours. You trade kisses like oxygen – passionate and starved, hungry for each other – as if you were threading the stitches of your being and needed her like a string, vital and necessary. When she breathlessly grinds against your thigh, licking the roof of your mouth before biting your bottom lip and pulling, when she lifts up barely enough to slide her fingertips below the edge of your panties, she whispers a “take them off” across your mouth that has you whine. You’ve opened the floodgates, the tides have come; the waves are raging. You hope to God you remember how to swim.
  4. 33. [Interlude] In your dream, this heavy, endless moment that stretches around you as you put both hands to her knees and scoot closer, it feels like you’re living a thousand fantasies as much as you’re about to throw yourself in the unknown. You can’t describe it, this sensation of everything, and nothing at the same time. Behind you, there are countless moments, touches and smiles – desire and imagination – and you find your mind summons it so easily, this memory, the one that has been following you around for months, of the first time you kissed. Her eyes – questing and sparkling. The breath you took before you stepped forward, and the one you took as you brushed your lips to hers. The surreptitious way she moved into you. The first tensed, shy, starving kiss. And the countless ones after that, leaving you breathless and wanting. Your palms tempt and discover new, smooth flesh as you drift higher up her thighs, parting them a slight way. You take a quick, teasing look at her core – glistening lips and dark pink folds – before your eyes follow the curves of her body as she leans backwards onto her hands. In front of you, there is an edge you’re about to cross which you know nothing of. Will she moan? Will she tremble? Will she call out your name? You can’t separate this feeling from everything else you’ve shared with her – every time you had her you didn’t, every time you reached out to touch her you stole something. Is she really yours in that moment, you wonder, are these 12 hours stolen as well? She’s bare now, completely so, and you’d never thought you’d find it so hot, so enticing, the strip of skin below her hips that had been kept away from your eyes, your touch, for too long. Her skin is warm where you trace your fingertips and you can’t help but bend down and kiss her thigh just once. She smells good, she feels good before you, a little scorching and a little soft, sweet and tempting, with a slight tremor of something like danger vibrating upon her skin. As the 12 hours are about to shift onto their axis, you let it all wash over you, expected and unfamiliar altogether. The way she watches you silently, just like she always does. The way she feels so good, just out of reach, like thousand times before. The way she’s so fucking pretty, like always, like ever. Things in this very moment are so different yet exactly the same. Nerves and want collide in the pit of your stomach, adoration and wonder coating your tongue with a layer of sweet nonsense as your heart thunders in your chest. In this very moment, you realize that through all the uncertainty of this newly found nudity, this finally-allowed intimacy – now that you can finally act on the burning want setting your heart, soul and body aflame, this unknown feels a little like coming home. 34. Sailing The Sea In your dream, your gaze falls onto your hands, fingertips lazily sweeping up her parted thighs, the pad of your thumbs grazing the soft curve where her legs meet her hips. She shifts between your hands, following where you touch with subtle tilts of her hips. When you sweep back down, you caress the hollows under her navel, thumbs closer together. You follow the line of short dark hair that leads to between her lips. You take one hand to her hip, bending forward to lightly kiss its dip, while your other hand glides lower still, the pad of your thumb barely grazing the short length of her slit. She exhales a heavy breath, eyelids fluttering while her left hand clenches at the bedspread and her hips lift up a short way. She’s gorgeous with want, eyes hooded and dark yet alert, like she’s devouring your every move. There’s something defiant and submissive in the way you bring your thumb to your lips, licking at it and remembering her taste. A shiver races along your spine, deep and shaking as she bites the corner of her mouth, gaze jumping from your tongue to your eyes. There’s a pull, something powerful that has an almost moan scratch at the back of your throat as you realize that she’s still the one in control. You’re kneeling before her, between her opened legs – she’s towering over you and pins you down with her eyes. You suck at the tip of your thumb and almost whine at the thought of how bad you want to please her. You don’t know that your gaze conveys your feelings, but she looks into your eyes for long, scorching seconds before she shifts her weight to her right hand and motions with her left for you to get closer. You sit up straighter, burying both hands in your hair to tie it in a messy bun, revealing the burning nape of your neck and framing your face with stray strands of blonde. You move closer, then, and she inches forward until she can touch her fingertips to the back of your neck. You keep your eyes trained on her as she lightly guides you to her core. It’s wanton, dirty and compliant, how your eyelids flutter as you brush your lips to the inside of her thigh. She barely pulls at you, centering you closer to where she wants you, and you don’t look away while your tongue slowly inches towards her glistening folds. She fights to keep her eyes open as you take one slow, long lick along her slit, and you can’t help but moan at her taste while her fingers clench at the nape of you neck. She pulls you surreptitiously closer and you dare another lick, touching the tip of your tongue to her entrance and lapping up, parting her folds. You lightly press against her clit and her hips jerk downward, drawing a half circle against your lips. Her taste and scent surround you, the hand she has at the nape of your neck grounding you, and everything seems fuzzier yet clearer as you lick down again, teasing the tip of your tongue under the hood of her clit. She’s swollen, wet and responsive as her hips move along with the flicks of your tongue, long and slow licks making her breathe slightly heavier. Until it happens. When you trail your tongue up her length, graze her clit with your teeth and close your lips around it, sucking once while you lick, a low, barely contained moan – all breathy and girly – tumbles passed her lips and rattles you to your core. She plays with the fine hair at the nape of your neck and rolls her hips as if to have you do it again. You move your knees, clenching your thighs together in search for some relief from the arousal that numbs your sex, and then it dawns on you. What it is you can do. You take a long more purposeful lick along her slit, making her exhales and tilt her hips, before you move back on your haunches and away from her. It’s enough to have her fingertips fall away from your neck, and her hooded blues shine with puzzlement and expectation. Her gaze doesn’t leave you as you slowly lick your shiny lips, shocked at how good, how hot she tastes, at how you were able to find the strength to pull away. There’s a hint of defiance itching at your movements, but it’s nothing compared to your deep-seated desire to please her, to arouse her. You know what she wants, more than getting off by your tongue. Her eyes quickly snap to your hand as you bring it to your chest, following the curve of your breast and pinching your nipple lightly. The look in her eyes steals the air from your lungs as it morphs from turned on to possessive. She sits a little straighter so that she can see your fingertips glide down along your stomach and towards your underwear. When you tease your fingers under the hem of your panties and reach your core, you moan – and you think she moans a little too. You can’t stop looking at her and at the way she looks at you too, hungry and commanding, curious; starving. You’re so wet and you just want her to see – the effect she has on you, how bad you want to be good to her by being good to you. Because you want to set her aflame and have her come undone, you want to show her. How you cum.
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  6. 32. Under Your Spell In your dream, this feeling, of her hands meeting at the nape of your neck the instant you close your lips around one taunt nipple, and the subsequent wave of warmth and devastating desire that rolls around, loud and heavy - all the way from your lower half up to your throat, it makes you breathe a full breath that cascades down your body like you’re drinking fresh water. The air feels so dense and your ears are ringing like you’re drowning, yet you ignore it all as you hollow your cheeks, suck and pull away. You take your time licking from the bottom of her breast up to passed her nipple, just to feel her shiver, just to feel the soft curve of her flesh up the ridged edges at the tip of her breast. Half-closed eyelids blink with lust-heavy lashes as you slightly pull away, blowing warm air on the wet trail you left on her skin, and delighted to feel her shiver once, hard enough to tremble. You roll her right nipple between thumb and forefinger while you nibble on the left, snaking a hand around her waist to pull her closer. When she makes a fist at the nape of you neck, catching stray strands of blonde, and when she exhales a shudder that has her whole body subtly quake, you close your teeth around her softly before soothing the bite with the tip of your tongue. You kiss and lick up her body as her free hand travels the length of you, stroking your hips, your ass, your waist – shyly climbing up to cup your breast. When you finally reach her mouth, when you lick at the corner of her lips and nudge at her nose, sucking on her tongue, you think you can taste white wine on her mouth, faint but intoxicating. You indulge for a few minutes, mind reeling, as you kiss and pull away, change the slant of your lips only to kiss her deeper, longer. Your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen but this feeling, this feeling, of her lips pushing against yours, her body undulating against yours, it’s enough to distract you for long seconds as you just kiss, push and pull and want and indulge. You don’t want it to stop, the way she softly bites at your lower lip when she kisses you, the way the tip of her tongue catches your upper lip once, twice, before licking inside your mouth. There’s something so sensual, so dirty and so addictive, in the way she kisses – hungry but teasing, forward yet restrained; like you hold all of her but know nothing of her at the same time. Every press of her lips pulls at something deep within you, like you’re under water and she’s your lifeline. The way she breathes – long and low and heavy – has a continuous spark of fire race everywhere in your ribcage, painful thumps of want squeezing at your heart until your whole chest burns. Every kiss exchanged, every caress provided and every subsequent way her body moves empties you a little more, leaves you more breathless, more starved, more aching for more. Your hand traces back from her waist to her breast and you cup both her mounds before you finally allow yourself to part from her lips for one much needed breath of oxygen. You breathe in deep as you glide both hands to her ribs, kiss at the corner of her lips, below her jaw and under her earlobe, biting at the soft side of her ear. With your head spinning a short way, tangled and heavy like she’s put you under her spell, you move back slowly, your hands following the curves of her body up to her shoulders and down her arms so you can loosely hold her hands. You pull at her fingertips softly, enticing her into following you as you climb out of bed. Once you’re both standing, she pulls you to her with one hand around your waist and the other to the side of your neck, guiding your lips back to hers, your body back against hers. You push her backwards gently so that she sits on the edge of the bed and, for a second, all this movement in the still, heavy air feels jarring, reminds you that you’re two separate entities that leave and breathe away from each other’ skin. Her eyes fall into yours and follow your decent as you kneel in front of her, parting her thighs so you can scoot closer. You put both hands at her hips, thumbs following the hollows and dips, climbing slowly on both side of her stomach. When you trail down along devastatingly smooth skin, your gaze leaves the pretty patterns your drawing upon her to lock your eyes to hers instead. Slowly, with purpose and a thundering heart, you hook both thumbs under the edge of her panties and watch for a sign that she doesn’t want you taking them off. Something does indeed flash around darkened irises, but it’s not hesitance or refusal - maybe a slight jolt of nerves and something hungrier. You lean forward between her knees, kiss and nuzzle just above the top of her underwear – taking in the soft, sweet smell of her skin – before you slowly peel them away from her core and along her thighs. Once their off, a thought fleets to your mind, about how you should put them in your back pocket, as a keepsake. You’re not wearing anything that could possibly have something even resembling a back pocket. It makes you smile and breathes warmth along your veins. You make sure you remember where you drop them, close to the edge of the bed. You might pick them up later, once the 12 Hours are up.
  7. 31. The Calm Before the Storm In your dream, you drop a kiss above her sternum, where the skin dips just below her throat, and trail your lips along her collarbone, fighting a smile. The two hours that have already passed have been such a rollercoaster of emotions, from arousal to passion to silly and terrifying, that it feels good to take a deep breath and rest against her skin. She plays with your hair and traces her lips along your temple while you kiss her shoulder, her neck, unhurried, letting the pieces fall into place within the recess of your mind. As it’s happened a few times before, you realize with stark clarity that you’re both almost naked, pressed against each other, touching and kissing and feeling. The dim lighting helps soften the edges of the situation, gives it an ethereal and unreal sensation, and every time you want to make sure she’s really there, that you’re really doing this, when you let your fingertips slowly draw a path up her spine and down again, her skin is so soft, so smooth, so warm, that it ends up adding to the dreamlike texture of reality. How can something that feels so good - so compelling - be real? She brings a hand to your throat and presses, guiding your lips back to hers in a slow, deep kiss that pulls at your insides. You expected something else out of the first hours of being with her. You expected fiery passion and jerky moves, clothes being torn off and a deep-seated desire to tear into her until you’re both exhausted. You didn’t expect vertigo and heart-thumps like electricity coursing through you whenever you touch her, whenever you don’t touch her. You lick at the tip of her tongue and move your hands from the small of her back to her hips, thumbs stroking along the two lines of muscle drawn upon her stomach. You follow the smooth curve of her body up to her waist, fingers tightening around the natural bow above her hips, and you’re pleased at how normal it feels to be holding her like this. You think of all these times you’ve watched her, in the past, admired the shape of her, wondered what she’d look like, in this exact position. She exhales loudly and you trap her bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on the full flesh once before you let go and pull a slight way away. You have to do this. You know you have to, you know you’ll be able to for the next few hours, but the desperate urgency that swells between your ribs makes the want almost painful. Using the hands at her waist, you push some distance between your two bodies. You fall into her eyes, first, and a part of your mind thinks it might be a trap. As always, you find yourself captivated and breathless as you gaze into deep pools of blue, blinking slowly and watching back at you. You resist the temptation to stay lost in her eyes, to kiss her again – instead, you let your gaze drift lower and finally take the time to look at her. Gorgeous as ever, pale and soft and tempting, the dips and curves of her naked body catch your eye wherever you look. The swell of her breasts, pink nipples pebbling in a shiver. The slope of her ribs culminating in her tiny waist. The sharp arc of her hips. The smooth stomach and adorable belly-button. The dips at the hollow of her hips. All this vast expanse of soft, beautiful skin, it makes you tingly like heavy clouds rolling around in your insides. She’s so damn pretty, so damn fascinating in the way shadows play across her body, highlighting features while shrouding her in mystery. She kisses at the corner of your lips, hands drifting from your shoulders to your arms, and your breath catches in your throat as you watch the way you trail your palms from her waist to her ribs, thumbs testing the bottom swell of her breasts. When you slowly cup her, nipples hard and resting between your thumbs and forefingers, your head spins a short way and you swallow back a moan. Your eyes flit back to hers – they’re dark and they shine something you don’t think you’ve ever seen – before tumbling back down to your hands. You bite your lip as you tease her nipples, stroking and barely pinching, fascinated by the rise and fall of her chest, the quickening of her breath. You lift your head up and search for her lips, kissing her as hard as she kisses back. You close your hands around her breasts, pushing lightly, and the way an almost whine scratches at the back of her throat has you press your hips into her. The rolling clouds teasing at your insides, lower and lower still, swell and become heavier. The more you touch her, the more you feed an impeding lightning storm. As you bend forward, catching one pebbled nipple with the tip of your tongue, the rush of arousal that shoots from your temples, along your spine and straight to your core makes it seems like crackling thunder.
  8. 30. The Moment I Knew In your dream, you move through an exhale and find your way to the side of her neck. You ghost butterfly kisses below her ear, slowly, gently, lips barely parted. You rub your nose along her soft skin, enjoying her scent, her taste, her smoothness. “Do you remember the car ride before the Christmas holidays? Our ‘last car ride’?” She chuckles against your skin at the mention of the “last car ride” and moves her lips to your jawline, but shakes her head no. You kiss her temple, her cheek and glide your lips back to below her ear before you keep going. “It was gray out, I think. It might have been the last time we saw each other. I took your hand. Laced our fingers. Every time you’d squeeze my hand I lost track of the conversation, I was trying so hard to be coherent.” You breathe-in deep and smile, your heart pounding a little harder as you remember how such a tiny act had made you feel so light-headed, so nervous; so content. “It wasn’t too long before you moved your hand away, and I thought I’d gone too far, that you didn’t want me touching you.” You kiss lower along her throat, slower, heavier, with more purpose. You fingertips dance from her ribs to the small of her back and you softly pull her flush against you. She’s warm in a way that almost burns where she touches you. When she moves both hands around your neck and leans into you, lips to the soft curve above your collarbone, your heart ceases and squeezes something low and heavy, something so familiar – something you can’t help but feel when she’s around. “I stopped trying to touch you and we talked. And then you put your arm atop mine on the armrest, fingertips reaching under the sleeve of my coat to stroke my wrist. I remember it was shy, forbidden – it was soft and almost nothing.” You feel her smile against your skin. “That’s when I knew. That you liked me too.” She hugs you a little tighter and kisses low on your neck; you can feel her smile stretching at her lips where they touch down on you. “I missed you”, you exhale. She chuckles again and you can just feel the smartass comment coming before she even breathes a word. “You missed me almost naked in your bed?” She thinks she’s so funny and you bite down below her ear, repressing a roll of your eyes and a giggle. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant”, you reply, tone dripping with sarcasm. When you pull away to look at her with a reproving look, she smiles something big and proud before catching your lips in a searing kiss that has your heart stop, just like her fingertips did when they danced across your wrist some many months ago.
  9. 29. I’ll Be The Moon In your dream, you don’t move when her lips leave yours – your heart still and ceased as it hovers on a tightrope between arousal and doubt. You lower your head, watching the way your fingers are poised against her pretty skin. There’s something soft and reverent in the way she brings both hands to your temples, fingertips softly gliding over your brow and pushing light strands of blonde away from your eyes. Slowly, she tilts your face up and searches for your gaze. It’s penetrating and a little heart-stopping and a little jarring, the way you stumble into her blues – the way she looks at you with tenderness heavy enough to cut. You bite the corner of your lips and frown, letting yourself be wrapped up into that twinkle of warmth that always seems to shine in her eyes whenever it seems like she’s on the verge of speaking. You think you know what that look in her eyes means; you’re throbbing and starved and hurting something deep and unsure, and she looks at you like everything she wants in this instant is for you to be okay. You blink once, twice; slow and heavy. Take a step back within your mind. Her pretty, comforting, re-assuring gaze digging deep into you like she knows and she can read your mind. Except she’s there, breathing about and ghosting over your lips while you wait, still and frozen. You feel tired in the way you want her – starved and grieving. She kisses you, then, soft and slow and reverent; understanding and patient. Like she wishes you weren’t to spend a single day alone. She presses her lips to you like you’re not just a girl, like you’re not exhausted from wanting her; and she wraps you up and around in a wave of warmth and comfort, some sort of heat and devotion clinging to the tip of her tongue as it licks at yours. You respond as if you were made for it, kissing back with the same passion and the same wish to lose your mind. You don’t know, you never will, what happened in her mind when she stopped you and when she made you shiver. You push against her skin, fingertips wondering yet delighted, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in the way you breathe nothing but her. You don’t want to listen but she has this aura like sweet relief, and it rips at the papercut, just then, the way she presses her brow to yours and changes the slant of her mouth slowly enough that her nose rubs against yours, meaningful enough that your tiny heart gives one loud, powerful thump. You change the angle of your hand after one long desperate exhale, and you let your fingertips climb up her body ‘til you touch at the side of her ribs. You’re hungry for her, you really are. But you’re also drunk off of the way she makes you feel; breathless and powerless over what you should do – like you’re a song waiting to be sang. Nothing’s stopping you. Nothing’s forcing you. You’re just there, touching, thinking; reflecting while your fingers softly explore her body. Maybe, somehow, if you breathe-in deep enough, you can believe that there is no urgency.
  10. Waves and Goodbyes *new message* “My flight leaves in 2 hours. Flight AC 1636, gate 75.” *new message* “You sure you don’t wanna risk doing something just for you, for a change?” She has not much hope that anything will come of it, but She still reaches out one last time before the plane to Orlando takes off. She knows Her Queen, and has been told several times before, how some time under the sun would do some good to the pretty blue-eyed, pale girl. ••• While She waits, She reads and She forgets, slightly nervous but otherwise unbothered. The 2 hours until boarding seem to pass by in the blink of an eye. As She gets up - way after all the other passengers, wanting to make sure She’s not sandwiched between throngs of people - She smells it. Vanilla, and something sweeter. She frowns as Her heart gives a strong, thundering thump. That dreaming mind of Hers always tries to make Her want and believe things. Still, pretending to look around while waiting to be processed, not wanting to give Her heart the satisfaction of actually believing, She looks behind Her. And, as surreal as it is, she’s there. Her Queen. Walking towards the gate with a passport, a luggage and a laptop bag. With bright, twinkling eyes and a big smile. She smiles back, something simple and satisfied. Stretches a hand towards the hurried Queen. When the plane takes off, She pretends She takes the Queen’s hand because She doesn’t like to fly. Their fingers remain laced for the duration of the silent, peaceful flight. They don’t exchange anything but settled smiles and content looks as the plane races towards the sun. ••• The late evening is reaching its last stretches when they land. The air is warm with an impeding thunderstorm, so much heavier than the cold winds from where they come from. They don’t speak when they pick their bags up, and She thinks Her Queen looks a little like she’s nervous, and a lot like she’s relieved. Her cheeks have taken a slight pink hue, either from the warmth or from slowly realizing where she is. She thinks it suits the Queen, to be a little reckless. ••• The Queen follows as She walks the short way to the hotel. They exchange a handful of words about maybe grabbing something to eat; always in hushed, low tones, as if they are sharing a secret that they don’t want the world to hear. The Florida air, even at 9PM, is so much warmer than they are both used to at this time of year that She starts to feel herself mellow and relax, something lazy and content swelling up along Her smile. They both giggle and their eyes take a different, unworried twinkle, despite only having landed for a couple of minutes. The check-in goes on without a hitch and they both go up to the hotel room. It’s classy, bright and welcoming, and She can’t help but quip about how She had to be a bitch to obtain this room. Her Queen lightly touches two fingers to Her wrist. “No more of that while we’re here”. They smile and unpack. There’s only one bed but She doesn’t really think about it, more drawn to the sight from the big window. Orlando doesn’t look like it’s sleeping, there are lights on everywhere around, palm trees and large roads, and big clouds rolling up above, dark and full, coming their way. “Wine?” She turns around to see the Queen, fingers on the doorknob, ready to leave. She nods. If only everything in life could be that easy. ••• They don’t have to speak to agree to sip on their wine outside. The waiter sends them weird looks, it’s getting to be a little cold out, but the air smells so good, and is still so warm compared to up north, that they are delighted to be basking in the gentle, heavy wind coming from the impeding thunderstorm. There’s a scent a little like rain floating around, and She can’t stop looking at Her Queen. She’s never seen her with such a smile, part youthful, part gleeful, part guilty. It’s a cutting mix but She thinks the Queen enjoys herself. It pleases Her, this new smile and this new energy, like things don’t really matter here. She thinks it pleases Her Queen too. ••• They are on their way to the pleasant side of tipsy when it happens: The sky breaks open without a warning - warm, thunderous rain falling like a heavy curtain, soon followed by the flashes of lightning and the rumbling of thunder. They get up, swaying and utterly amused. When Her Queen turns towards the entrance, She grabs her wrist and stops her. Their hair plastered on their faces, clothes soaked, they should be seeking shelter yet She stays. She wants to enjoy it, this moment. The tipsy, lazy smile Her Queen is sporting stretches in brightness and in playfulness as she seems to understand. They spend a couple of minutes splashing around, running and yelling, barely hearing each other over the raucous sound of the storm. If the waiter is not impressed by the state they walk back in, he seems amused by their bright smiles and unfocussed eyes; childish laughter still bubbling up their throats as they find the sound their soaked shoes make on the linoleum to be atrociously hilarious. ••• The walk back to the hotel room is punctuated with tired giggles and wet sounds, filled with a sway and the pitter-patter of the rain. She doesn’t turn the light on when getting inside the room, and neither does the Queen. They shed their soaked clothes in the dark, unworried and unbothered. She fumbles for PJs only to settle for a t-shirt and briefs, and decides to open the window big enough that She gets it all and can’t tell if it’s the rain, She hears, or the waves coming from the sea. She falls face first on the bed with a giggle and a deep, satisfied sigh. The Queen is already under the white covers, smiling and pushing at Her with her elbow. When she speaks, it’s teasing and light and half asleep. “Don’t drool on me.” “Wouldn’t dream to.” “You’d love to.” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk, I’m awesome.” They fall asleep quick and She dreams of soft skin and warm sand, swayed by the sound of the storm and the Queen’s light breathing. There’s a feeling a little like this place doesn’t exist or can’t be real. She doesn’t worry for too long about how surreal it all feels. She thinks about Her pretty Queen, instead, coming with Her on that trip. Her Queen seems like she feels okay and it makes Her happy. She hopes it’ll do her some good, to relax and rest. Maybe she’ll even be able to shake off the illness. ••• There’s nothing waiting for them tomorrow morning. Nothing but peaceful slumber, lazy breakfast, and whatever Orlando has to offer to two girls that don’t care about what they do as long as they get to just breathe. ••• When She wakes up the next morning, Her hair smells a little like the sea. The air is as heavy and sticky as it was before the storm, despite the pouring rain. Her Queen is already up, dressed and showered, and there seems to be a calming quality to her walk, a comforted sway to her hips. She still can’t believe it’s real, that She is here, that the Queen is here too; more than anything She can’t believe the energy that surrounds Her Queen, the unworried, the selfish and the tender. ••• They have coffee and they barely speak. She watches Her Queen smile a little more easily, and speak a little more freely about these things that never weigh down a mind but that might be harder to share. The Queen speaks about the book she’s reading; She only has to nod with a smile and tell her to keep going. The whole morning is spent being okay. ••• In the late morning, She has to get on with work and She regrets it a little – having to leave Her Queen to fend for herself. Except the Queen has got a short skirt, a light tank top and a bright smile on, and she tells Her that she’ll go check the beach out, and maybe stop by that tea shop she read about online. And She can’t feel anything about that but happiness. ••• When She comes back from Her supper that night, late and a little more than tipsy, She gets to the hotel room to find Her Queen sitting on the bed, with a handful of books surrounding her. She feels inspired and She wants to talk about all these beautiful things this place makes Her feel, all this warmth and being with Her people. Somehow, though, having Her Queen happily talk about the books she bought, the things she saw and the probable sunburn she got, makes Her smile something delighted and proud, and She forgets She ever wanted to say anything, preferring the easy glee of Her Queen gushing about the weather. It’s only day two and it already feels like She is meeting a new Queen; the one her heart would be if she didn’t have to worry all that much about past, present and future. ••• That night, they climb in bed together and fall asleep while making plans to go and see the ocean together. Before drifting too far into slumber, the Queen breathes a happy sigh of content and tells Her she’s glad she decided to come. She is so heart-warmed by this half-asleep confession that She tipsily rolls towards Her pretty, relaxed Queen and lightly kisses her brow once, hoping with everything She’s got that She’ll get to see more of Her happy Queen tomorrow. ••• On the next day, She wakes up earlier than Her Queen, which is a feast in and out of itself, so She stays put for a handful of minutes. Listening to the Queen’s peaceful breathing. She thinks maybe the last day’s warmth has really helped with the Queen’s cold, she doesn’t seem or sound all that sick anymore. She turns to the side, Her Queen is facing Her, covers bunched up in her fists just under her chin. Her Queen looks gorgeous, in her restful slumber - rosy cheeks contrasting against the white of the sheets, face perfectly relaxed. After several long seconds of still observation, Her heart filling with gratefulness at the sight of Her peaceful Queen, She gets up and gets dressed. Goes get coffee – it’s not really good but it’s coffee nonetheless – and jumps in the shower. It’ll give time for the coffee to cool down enough for Her Queen to drink it when she wakes up. Life is good, She thinks, if Her Queen feels as much calming bliss as She does. ••• The day is crazy and She only gets back to the room around 10PM, tipsy and exhausted yet again. The Queen is still up, sitting on the bed with teary eyes. She misses her kids and her family back home. The air is still warm and the sky is clear so, despite the late hour, She suggests they take a cab and get to the beach. It’s an hour long ride, but they buy tequila on the way and pour it into two water bottles; it’s like they’re 16 again. ••• The wind is a little cooler, so close to the water, but the tequila warms their blood, and the sound of the waves feels good on Her heart; the sight of the countless stars in the sky feels good on Her soul. They sit on the sand, water lapping at their toes, watching the ocean as it unravels as far as the eye can see, and they speak about hopes and dreams. The Queen talks about what she’s starting to discover she likes, about what she wants to do with her life; what little of it she has known to discover. It’s peaceful and light, it’s funny, and it feels a little like making peace with the world, the way they both speak like nothing can break this moment. ••• When they kiss, it’s because a shoulder bump made Her Queen stumble sideways on the sand, and giggle something carefree and gleeful, and She can’t help but print a small, reverent, short kiss on Her Queen’s lips. They exchange a look that’s both surprised and content before they burst into laughter. It’s a good thing none of them are driving; they’re getting to be a little tipsy. ••• That night, the hotel room is cold from having left the AC on while they were gone, so they change, take turns showering and get to bed, scooting closer to each other with Her Queen’s back to Her front. She can feel the pull of the waves making Her sway, or maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s this aura radiating from Her Queen, something so simple and untangled like she’s at peace. The Queen, whispering around a smile, makes a happy comment about sand getting everywhere and sighs something content and sleepy. She smiles against hair darker than the usual blond She’s used to and falls asleep. ••• The whole week is spent following the same path of peaceful mornings, crazy-busy days for Her and lazy, discovery-filled days for Her Queen. It’s beautiful, it’s insane, the way Her Queen feels to Her under this sun, around this air, over these activities where she’s allowed to be lazy all day, with the patio door open and a book on her lap. When She gets back to the hotel, She’s usually gotten a couple of drinks with the team, but that doesn’t stop them from sipping on wine or trying weird flavours of daiquiri. The mornings are a soft kickstart into one new endless day, the days are spent fulfilling their own story, and the nights are a moment just for them to share, outside of time and constraint, where all they have to think about is their individual selves, and enjoy the support of the other. ••• They don’t kiss again and it’s okay, it’s far from what She thinks about on this trip. All She thinks about is making sure that Her little Queen is okay. One night, Her blue-eyed partner in crime takes Her hand, though. They’re walking along the boardwalk, having taken a liking to late-night ocean seeing – She says the waves make Her feel like She could run away, Her Queen feels like it’s a call to being home – enthralled in a tipsy conversation about the things they’d do would they have only a 100 dreams to achieve and all the means in the world. They half-heartedly argue just for the sake of it, they laugh because they can’t help it and, when silence falls upon them after a round of giggles – the first lull in the conversation since they got into the cab – Her Queen softly takes Her hand, fingers intertwining like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She turns Her face sideways to look at Her Queen, questioning, and the smile She’s met with is so unbothered and kind – free from the storm of thoughts that usually swims around their warm blue – that She doesn’t ask a thing, just happy to be happy if Her Queen seems to be too. “I don’t ever wanna say goodbye”, Her Queen tells Her one night, after they’ve gone to bed. She doesn’t know if the Queen is speaking about Her, or about here. ••• On the last day, She has no meetings, no calls, and decides not to check Her emails. She’s free to spend Her day however She likes before it’s time to return back to reality. ••• They take their usual ride and go back to the sea, in plain daylight for once. There’s something a little gloomier about Her pretty Queen that day, but She doesn’t mention it, just watches from a step away. They walk along the beach and the Queen is silent, she keeps on sending mournful looks at the ocean. Wanting to give her the space She feels she needs, She stands back and lets Her Queen walk to the edge of the water. It feels like it already started to disappear, this calm, beautiful, carefree aura the Queen has developed ever since she set foot in Florida. Her heart breaks, but only slightly. When She seems to see a glint suspended at Her Queen’s lashes, She steps towards her, barely a foot away from the Queen’s back. “It’s over, isn’t it?” Her Queen says, something like defeat clawing at her voice. “What is?”, She asks. She thinks She knows but She’s not sure. There’s a few seconds of silence before the Queen speaks again. “I don’t know.” It breaks at Her heart to have Her Queen somewhat revert back to the way she was before, unwilling or unable to speak. ••• In the end, as they board the plane, it feels like this whole week never happened. She doesn’t speak about it, though, doesn’t bring it up, because She knows it has. She knows, because She learned a lot about Her Queen during that time, She got to see an amazing, joyful and unworried girl, and She knows She’ll get to see it again, if She learns to look deeply into Her Queen’s eyes. She’ll learn to search for waves and goodbyes.
  11. 28. Tic-Toc-Time In your dream, she moans something throaty and light against your lips, pushing her body into yours as she kisses you. There’s impatience in the way she touches her hands across your skin, fingers getting lost in your hair, gripping and pulling and holding on. There’s this craving, low in your gut, to raise your arms and circle her waist, to bring her even closer to you, and it takes what little is left of your consciousness to stop picturing your hands at her hips, embracing the way they moves against and away from you. She kisses you like you’re everything she can breathe – hungry and itching, and every sweep of her tongue carves something deep inside you, like she’s eating away at your insides with every breath she takes against your lips until you feel so very paper thin again; vibrating under her touch. Your whole body’s shaking from the sheer strength required to not take control, to not pull her to you, until her lips glide from yours to your chin, your neck, to just below your ear. She takes a long, heavy breath against your skin, then, before she licks up, taking your earlobe between her teeth and nibbling. The way it travels along your body, halfway between tickling and scratching, the rolling wave of want and arousal, it makes your heart stop for one long, painful second. When its beat picks back up again, you move without thinking and wrap an arm around her waist, the other pushing against her hip. In one impulse, you kneel and lift her up and off of you, locking your lips to her collarbone and sucking at her skin. You feel it in the way her hands snap to your shoulders, how she tries to push you back to submission, but you hold her tighter to you and she follows until you’re both on your knees, bodies tight against each other. There’s still this whisper of defiance that makes your blood boil as you devour her neck, her throat, pull at her skin, kiss and lick and bite. While one arm remains locked around her waist, making sure you can feel the whole of her pressed against you, you push your other hand to the middle of her back and scratch, hard, just for the selfish pleasure of feeling her arch into you and away from the bite of your fingertips. You don’t know how you could hold out for so long and you don’t know which way to turn; you want everything so bad it burns at your lungs likes she’s a forest fire you’re desperate to breathe. You want her to twist you to her needs. You want to take her, hard and fast and now. You want to worship her and make her yours. Time’s ticking, though, you can hear it like clockwork within your heart; you don’t have time for it all. It breaks at your heart, pulls at the papercut, as much as it makes you move. The hand that scratched at her back grazes back towards her front, stroking her ribs, her stomach and her sides in an impatient, hurried hold. Once again, when you flip your wrist, caress along the hollow of her hips and reach the hem of her panties, she snakes a hand between you and catches your wrist. The arm that held her close at the waist lifts up, then, along her spine, until your hand is at the nape of her neck, guiding her lips to yours in a bruising, demanding, pleading kiss. She sighs something deep and wavering – starved - then, something that makes you kiss her again, that makes you pull her into you with more desperation. You don’t know why she stopped you, and you don’t know why she pulls your hand harder against her skin for a second before she relents her hold on your wrist. When she does, your heart gives a loud, punishing thump that makes you dizzy. “Are you sure?” You ask, doubting, because twice she stopped you already. She doesn’t reply right away, just nods against your brow, and you’re not sure she’s really okay until she breathes against your lips, something heavy and burning with arousal: “Yeah. But slow.” She bites your lip, then, and it’s all you can do not to pass out.
  12. 27. Tempting the Flesh In your dream, she takes her time watching you. Slowly puts her hands to your ribs, her gaze following her fingertips as they touch down on you, slowly sweeping to your waist, your hips – forefingers lightly hooking up to your underwear and pulling just enough to have them move slightly before letting go and stroking back up your body. Once her hands are back onto your ribs, she clenches at you and shifts her hips back a little way down your body. Your gaze runs from her face to her thighs and her breasts; desperately wanting to move and touch her but forbidden to. Once she seems settled, she lowers her hips until her core is lightly pressed against your pubic bone and your heart rate picks up yet again. She leans on you using the hands at your waist and locks her gaze to yours. Your arms are burning to move but you stay put. In a slow, purposeful roll of her hips, she presses herself against you from front to back, rubbing herself into you just once – eyelids fluttering. You moan something low and deep, from the sight of her to the feel of her – head titling up and arousal shooting down your body in such a powerful wave of arousal you think you might black out. Your arms shoot a short way above the bed before you manage to catch yourself and pull them back. When she does it a second time, your eyes are at her hips, watching the slow roll and the way you can see her press into you; you inhale sharply and close your eyes. The scent of her arousal, and yours, is permeating the lust-heavy air, and you don’t think you can handle her being so wantonly desirable without touching her. The hands at your waist give a clench as she lifts up slightly, repositioning herself before she settles back down, lightly pressed into you. When you open your eyes, she’s busy watching you, wondering fascination twinkling around her irises as her gaze lazily sweeps up and down your body, along your curves, your dips and your tattoos. Her hands resume their journey over you, slow and testing, discovering your shape and your texture. Her fingers graze downwards, the pad of her thumbs lightly moving in a soft, indulging caress down your body, along the lines of your stomach, like she’s chasing the way the dim lighting of the room plays on your skin, like she wishes she could take a picture with her fingertips. When she sweeps back up, she applies more pressure to the flesh she’s tempting, like she really wants to feel the shape of you. Both her hands climb up the ladder of your ribs in one tantalizing, rhythmic tandem and, when she reaches the bottom curve of your breasts, when she cups you and closes her hands around you, your knees fall a little way open and you arch into her, moaning a hushed, shameless breath – your back drawing a half circle off the bed. She pinches at you, light needles of pain shooting from your nipples to your core with an intensity that make you shiver up in a sitting position. You’re not disobeying her as you lean backwards on your hands, fingers away from the bare skin of her waist. You just need to touch her, feel her. Her hands leave your breasts to climb up both sides of your neck in one reckless impulse, and she presses her whole body to yours and kisses you, lusciously licking at the roof of your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever been so conflicted before, wanting to touch her, tease her and devour her just as much as you want her to simply, fully, freely have you.
  13. 26. Hands Off In your dream, you let out a long, low moan that is half her name, half a plea when her teeth graze the tight bud of your nipple. You pull her closer to you and tilt your head up, desperate for a breath that could squander the burning fire growing rampant within your lungs. Your head is spinning and you want her, so much, that it hits you full force as she hollows her cheeks and starts to suck on you; it pulls you to a full stop and wrenches you from the lustful fog of your mind back to sharp reality. Your hands glide back down to her shoulders and you become aware of the level of your arousal, biting back sighs and groans as she alternates between sucking and licking. She’s in a position where her hips are farther away from you, kneeling into you with one hand holding her up and the other tracing lazy circles onto the heated skin of your waist. When you feel her fingertips start to climb up your body towards your breast, you breathe-in deep and close your eyes tightly. With one hand stroking up and down her back, you let the other rub at her ribs, her waist, following the curve of her hip, twisting your wrist so that your arm snakes between your bodies. As your fingertips reach pass her navel and graze the top of her panties, the hand that was on the verge of cupping your breast shoots to your wrist and stops you with a shiver and a surreptitious roll of her hips. She sucks at your nipple, hard, before sitting up, straddling you and grabbing your other wrist, lifting both your arms above your head and pressing them into the mattress. “Don’t move”, she tells you, voice low and throaty, a heady mix of arousal and authority. You don’t think about moving one bit anymore, not when your lust-heavy eyes can freely tumble across her bare body made visible by her new position of control. You take the time to take it all in, slowly, with rapt attention, as you look at the whole of her. Her dainty figure, her jutting collarbones, her small tits, her flat stomach; and this tiny pair of underwear, the only piece of clothing remaining, stark against the rest of her revealed skin, taunting you and keeping your prize away from you. She clicks her tongue something possessive and impatient, and it has your eyes jump back to her face with tamed obedience. Hands still closed around your wrists, she bows down to kiss you, slow and demanding and breath-taking before she sits back up after a nip at your bottom lip. “Don’t move”, she repeats, pushing your hands against the mattress, bright pools of blue shining with confidence, patience and something a little darker, a little more hungry and devastating. You find yourself nodding at her request, biting at the corner of your lips and looking at her with wide, serious, dark eyes. The tickle of defiance burning at the fringes of your mind is easily ignored although you know it swelters in your gaze. You lock eyes for long, scorching seconds, watching each other with rapt, barely contained want, hardly able to not reach out and tear into each other. Her thumbs rub at the inside of your wrists and you breathe-in deep, nodding again. She releases your arms and, as instructed, you don’t move, too fascinated as you watch her sit up and look at you with soft, desperate, hungry eyes.
  14. 25. Stopping time In your dream, you’ve lost track of timing, you have lost track of fragmenting these seconds into manageable slices of feelings; it just never stops. With your shoulder blades flat against the bed, her body tight against you, and the way she kisses you relentlessly while she moves into you, you feel surrounded and filled with want, warmth and something that is starting to breathlessly seem like desperation. With every languid sweep of her tongue, your spine lights up a little brighter, your desire shoots up a little stronger. You put your hands to her back, so soft and so warm, stroking from the small of her back up to just below the band of her bra and down again, at times pulling her harder into you when she rolls her hips or moves her thigh. She devours your mouth with lips, teeth and tongue, barely breathing between two long kisses before diving in again. As your hands seize her waist, pulling her against you while lifting up so you can meet her body, your mind reals with the feeling of her soft skin pressing into your stomach and rubbing at you every time she moves. On the next sweep up her back, you tease your fingers under the band of her bra, stroking the heated skin before pinching at the clasp and undoing it. Both your hands land flat against her back and you push the bands apart, rubbing at her smooth, bare skin, from between her shoulder blades to the middle of her back. Your fingertips travel along the delicious curve of her spine as she arches into you with every stroke, pushing you more fully into the bed. She pulls away from yet another hungry, full kiss and barely lifts enough away from your body for you to slide the straps of her bra along her arms and away from her. In a split second her lips are back on yours and you kiss briefly before her bare chest presses into yours. Time seems to stop; the both of you still. Your mind empties and blood rushes to your head, your heart beating so hard against hers that you’re convinced she can hear it vibrate along her sternum with every loud, hammering thump. She feels so good. It feels so good, to have her warm and naked against you, skin burning and so, very, fucking, soft. When time picks back up again, both your hands land on her back and you can’t help but scratch along her spine, maybe a little harder than you should, pulling her more fully into you and arching against her as your lips find hers in a dizzying, searing kiss that has a low, purr-like moan bubble up the back of your throat. She bites at your bottom lip once before kissing your chin and down your throat, nipping at your collarbone and leaving love bites along your sternum. You let your fingertips glide over her shoulders before reaching the nape of her neck and burying both hands into her silky hair as she kisses along the curve of your breast. You never expected any of this to feel so good, you barely manage to think just before your mind turns blank and white hot as she closes her lips around your nipple.
  15. 24. You Do Things to My Body In your dream, you undulate slowly against her skin and you move just as her left hand glides from your back to your hip and the top of your thigh. You unfold it across the bedspread as she pushes onto it, and there’s not one moment of hesitation as you move against her hands and shift your body under her directing, soft fingertips. It’s like a wave, a pull, something soft and slow and sort of starved, the way you lift yourself a short way only to slink back down, lips still fused to hers, your thigh between hers and your body fully pressed into her. Hips to hips, stomach to stomach, breasts to breasts, you take the time to breathe-in deep through the line of fire tying you closer into each other as you slow the kiss to almost a stop. You lick at her top lip as her hands travel across your back, at times caressing, clenching and lightly scratching. You bring your fingertips to just below her jaw and tilt her head upwards, toying with her lips, softly biting, sucking and pulling away when she lifts up to meet you. The hand you had at her jaws curls over the side of her neck, her skin feeling silky and warm, and you take your time kissing at the corner of her lips and changing the slant of your mouth, teasing her with the tip of your tongue. One of her hands finds its way flat between your shoulder blades, the other travels across your back to curve around your waist, and she pulls you into her through one loud exhale as she lifts up to kiss you slow and deep. There’s something intimate and burning in the arousal that simmers between you two with every breath and every move - something slow and sensual like warm, pouring rain across your skin everywhere she touches; unhurried but hungry. Your oxygen-starved lungs burn within your chest enough that you pull away from the kiss, breathless and dizzy, only to trail your lips across her jaw and to her neck. She smells soft and sweet like the very first time – vanilla and something sweeter – and you press your lips just below her ear. While you kiss down her neck, slow and revering, her hands glide down to your waist, squeeze once and, leisurely, confidently, reach the small of your back to land on your ass. It seems to you like it both lasts forever and all happens in the fraction of a second, what unfolds next. She cups and grabs at you, and it makes you almost moan, her hands closing around your full flesh. It makes you softly clamp your teeth around the supple skin of her neck and surreptitiously lift your hips into her. This, in turn, makes her expel a harsh breath, tilt her head up and pull you into her. In one single, dizzying impulse, you press your thigh to her core and she rolls her hips into you, holding you close as a breathless moan slithers between her parted lips. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest and the shiver that travels through you is stone-cold and white-hot at the same time, starting from your temples and chasing your want across your spine to get lost somewhere between your thighs. You try to catch your breath, lick at the spot you just bit and hope it’ll leave a faint mark – feeling suddenly restless yet calm - and, because you attempted to resist but ultimately couldn’t, you gently move so that you have both forearms on either side of her head, and you give a slow, timely roll of your hips straight into her, enough to have the top of your thigh press against her center once again. As she lifts her hips to meet you and push into your thigh, she turns her head to touch her forehead to your arm, breath hitching somewhere in her throat. You take your time, inching forward and pressing your nose to her cheek until she moves enough to catch your lips with the tip of her tongue. The kiss you share is slow, short and breathless, enough to carve a want through the restless desires of your mind. It’s selfish, adoring and almost desperate, the way you pull away enough to properly see her face and wait for her stunning blues to flutter open before you slowly roll your hips once more, just for the vulnerable pleasure of seeing her lips part, her eyes close - the tilt of her head, the hitch of her breath and the undulation of her hips following yours. It’s not quite a moan, not quite a whimper, the sound that escapes your lips then, it’s something between the two and nothing like either of them, but such a blatant, beautiful display of want and pleasure makes you press forward and touch your mouth to hers in a desperate, venerating, passionate kiss to which she responds instantly, her tongue licking at yours. She bites and pulls at your bottom lip, and pushes her body into you, one arm slinking back around your waist. In one slow, seamless move, she lifts up and around, flipping you over until you’re on your back and the length of her is pressed atop of you.