Silver Shy-Bi Girl
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About ScarletOnIce

  • Rank
    Getting Flirty
  • 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. So, just because I need to justify myself for some reason, I’m actually pacing myself here, making sure you guys don’t wait too long before the next installment (I have 8 chapters in line, all written, that you guys haven’t read yet). I’m starting to think that, despite my need to cram it all into 12 hours, it might be taking too long to pick up. So I’m asking you guys, is it too much of a slow burn? Should I adjust? For context, this is being written as a request, someone I can’t have that asked for a detailed description of what would happen were we to have 12 hours alone. Feedback is always welcome! Thank you all for reading.
  2. 23. Circles Of Flames In your dream, both her hands land on your back, just below your bra, squeeze and flatten and feel, and you slink forward ‘til both your hands land on each side of her head. The way she looks at you leaves you starved for air and exhausted, desperate; hungry. It pulls at your insides with every breath she takes, how you’d like to inch forward and touch into her and move close enough that you’d get lost within her. The hands she has at your sides move up and high on your back, unclasping your bra easily enough that you wonder if she’s done this before although you know she hasn’t. There’s a second of doubt as your brassiere falls around your chest, and she looks deep down into your eyes as her hands lazily travel from your back to your shoulders. You sit up straight and she takes her time gliding the straps of your bra down your arms and away from your body. You don’t have words for the pressure that keeps building up within your mind and your body as she bares you, taking your clothes off and away from you. She doesn’t look right away, at the skin she’s revealing, and you feel nervous you might not be perfect enough for what she deserves. But you breathe-in deep as her hands slowly move back up your arms, to your shoulders, down your collarbones and to your newly freed breasts. She doesn’t squeeze and doesn’t hold, she barely grazes and tempts the flesh with her fingertips, weighing your breasts before she moves down to your ribs. She trails her fingers across your waist, taking the time to feel while her gaze finally sweeps down and takes you in. You want to feel shy, you want to cower away, but you don’t. It’s her. And, despite how much you wish you could be good enough for her, you also know she’d never judge you as harshly as you judge yourself. When you bow forward, then, fully conscious you’re now wearing just panties, you take the time to kiss her something long and deep, something grateful and full of longing. Your arousal mixes with your insecurity and with this new feeling of vulnerability and rawness. She kisses you back like she’s not disappointed and it makes you smile through the kiss; the thought that she might find you beautiful. All this, whatever that is, it’s all so full of vulnerability and want, of trying and touching and wishing, that you don’t know which part of you wants the most – you heart, your soul or your body. It’s like circles of flames, dangerous and burning and never enough, like your whole being is one mesh waiting to be set aflame and she holds all the matches. You feel surrounded and safe and so close to the edge, so vulnerable you could set your own self on fire. Yet, you feel like she’d never do you wrong, and the way she smiles up at you – almost a grin pressed against your lips – makes you laugh enough inside that you forget most of all your doubts and most of all your fears. Because Ice, pretty Ice, she’s so terrified at the thought that she might never be enough, that she might never be good enough, while it’s the same thought that burns at the bottom of your mind. So while you’re there, kissing at her lips in just panties, your bare breasts pressing onto her scantily clad body, her hands slowly sweeping up and down your bare back, you share an embrace that’s both hungry and playful, and it doesn’t make any sense to you, that all this tension could turn into something that easy, that confident, that liberating; to trust someone enough to bare your body and heart to them. You don’t know how she does it or why she sticks around, as she kisses at your bottom lip and exhales through a smile. You don’t know how she makes it so hot and so comforting. But she does. You’re aroused, yeah. But the sudden impulse to take the remaining of her clothes off doesn’t stem only from want. It stems from wanting to be as close to her as you can be, from feeling her, every inch of her, everything, ‘til you’re so soaked and overloaded that you can’t breathe. So you breathe-in deep.
  3. 22. Can’t Get Enough of You In your dream, you’re turned on enough that you think you might be leaking down the inside of your thigh, and your mind is a mess of moans and wants. You let your left hand climb up and down the ladder of her ribs, squeeze and clench while resisting to scratch. Every time you pull away to change the slant of your mouth, her shoulder blades lift up the mattress so she can follow you. She kisses likes she breathes and it has a line of fire burning right from your mouth to between your legs; it almost hurts the way it feels so good - her parted lips and blunt teeth, her tongue pushing against yours. Your body and your mind are a jumble of slow, steady movements and deep-seated desires, and all there is left in this world, it seems, is the feel of her body against yours - bare, soft skin against bare, soft skin where her shirt is parted, waves that slot right into each other as she moves and you follow; as you move and she follows. For a short while, there’s no telling where she ends and where you begin, there’s no telling who’s driving who: Your world is reduced to the tiny pin-prick of her existence, of her exhales washing across your lips, of her hips and her tongue, her breasts and her thighs, of her every minute-move and the way she kisses you back and spurs you on. She’s everything you can breathe. Your right hand lands on her hip and stalks higher in a slow, steady impulse that has your spine quake with the feel of the very shape of her. Her skin is soft and burning, and your mind is reeling as you pass her ribs and cup her bra-clad breast. You squeeze once, twice, let your fingertips graze the soft curve above the top of her bra and let her come to you with laboured breaths and parted lips. You relent your hold on her and resume your journey, your hand climbing up her body until it’s lost among soft strands of blonde. You pull away from her lips, then, and, with a timely pull to the nape of her neck, let her know that you want her to sit up. As she does, her lust-heavy eyelids flutter open and it makes you almost moan, the sight of her, eyes darker and lips redder, a little swollen, craving your lick and your bite. You re-adjust yourself and straddle her while still keeping her close, and her hands find purchase on your hips, holding and pulling you to her surreptitiously every time you move. Once you’re settled, you cup her face with both hands and brush your nose to hers before you kiss her, soft and slow and deep. Your fingers, unhurried, travel down the column of her neck and over her collarbones until you reach the material of her shirt. It’s slow and steady, the way you push the cloth away from her shoulders, and it means that, for at least a short while, she has to take her hands off of you. You guide her through it as you slide her shirt down her arms, because she kisses you with enough dedication that she might not be truly aware you’re busy baring her skin. Once her shirt is off and thrown away, she shivers something long and hard - and looks up at you. Her gaze is burning as it tumbles over you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your throat. Your breasts. Your stomach. Your thighs. When her eyes come back to yours, you have no idea what the look floating around in deep light blues means. You’re getting to be addicted to it, though, to the way she doesn’t speak through words but through her body. She breathes-in deep and you think she might look concerned, or maybe she’s too deep into her own mind, into her own want. So you touch two fingers to her chin and tilt her head up while your other hand finds its way around her shoulders. You pull her back to you and scoot closer until there is no space left between her and you, and you kiss her. Pressed into her, breathing heavily, your trade wanting to roll your hips into her for a soft, slow kiss, one that pulls at the burning strings vibrating between your mind, your heart and your clit - that resonates with every press of her tongue as she puts her hands to your hips. And they start to play sort of a melody all across your body, these strings she so easily grazes, echoing thoughts of longing and being so fucking precious to the touch of her fingers. It’s almost strong enough to steal the breath from your lungs and you push against her bare shoulders as she circles your waist. You let her back land flat against the mattress as you stay upright. And you look at her. You just look at her. Gorgeous and wanting and waiting. You have no fucking clue what’s coming next, how she’ll react and behave, how she’ll move; how she’ll feel. All you know is that you crave her skin like you’ve been dying of thirst and she’s a pretty, ocean-blue oasis. You crave her touch and you crave the feel of her hands against you. You’re hungry for her like she’s not right there with you; and you wonder when it’ll all end, as you feel like your want has just been shot through space and back, when it’ll stop feeling like you could never get enough of her.
  4. 21. One Flick of the Tongue In your dream, you swallow a steadying breath before you inch forward, slowly, so very slowly. You want this exact moment to be burned up the edges of your mind. You bite your lip before you dive in, your tongue edging towards her skin, and you finally, finally give-in; one long, slow lick, from her opening up to just above her clit, parting her folds and tasting her as you slowly move up. You make sure the movement is slow and light, that the tip of your tongue-ring grazes her flesh just before your tongue does; you make sure it feels like this one, single flick feels like it could last forever. The hand she has at your nape clenches and her hips roll along your movement, slow and mesmerizing as she inhales, loud and deep and breathless. You release the hold you had on her underwear and kiss above her panties, below her navel and up. You trail your lips across the flat expense of her stomach, drawing the same path you had mere moments ago, except that now something has shifted. There is a tingle buzzing at your temples and shooting across your whole body, making your fingertips prickle. You want to wait and reflect, think about her smell, her taste, her shape, but the thrill that fires along your sternum before getting lost low in your belly as you lick your shiny lips lets you know that, were you to do exactly that, you’d find yourself sampling another taste in a second, until she’d be crying out your name. So you kiss up her body until your lips find her throat, and you nibble at the burning skin as you move up, craving her mouth on yours. The fingers clutching at your neck pull you up and she lowers her chin to catch your lips in a searing kiss that has a low, deep moan crawl up your body. You think about how she’s tasting herself on your lips, right now, and the wave of arousal that crashes into you, then, makes you stumble into her - hips to hips. She kisses you with slow, desperate want, surreptitiously rolling her hips into you with every languid sweep of her tongue, and it sends pins and needles along your whole body, it makes your mind tingle, and it makes you move into her like a wave, undulating against her body with slow, starved attention. When she bites your bottom lip with a little more intent, you groan and push into her; breathe-in deep. You don’t think you’ve been breathing right for a couple of hours now. You can’t find, within yourself, a single fuck to give about that.
  5. 20. Fireworks In your dream, you throw her pants as far away as you can as soon as they’re off. And there she is. Almost as naked as you, in barely-there panties, a bra and a parted shirt. And she looks gorgeous. You move so that you’re straddling her bare hips again, and you take the time to breathe-in deep. Holy fuck. You can feel her skin right against your inner thighs. You’re so close. So fucking close. “I wanna go down on you”. It escapes your lips just before you can stop it, and you didn’t want to announce it, yet you just did. It just, it’s been with you for so long. She hums as an answer, while rocking her hips upwards, and it’s all the greenlight you need. You bend forward and kiss her lips, slow and soft and passionate, starved; willing, wishing. She’s all yours to take and taste, and you try so very hard to take your time. Your lips glide from her mouth to her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. You kiss along her sternum, pass the band of her bra and along her ribs. You take your time, open-mouthed kisses as you lick and nip down her body. When you reach the hollow of her hip, she sighs and rocks, her left hand reaching for the back of your neck before she takes it away. When you look up, her right hand is clenching at the sheets, her left one hovering over her mouth. You smile and grab at her left wrist, kissing its inside lightly before biting at her hip and pulling her hand to the nape of your neck. You want her to let you know what she wants and what she likes, regardless of how silent she might be. Your eyes lock for one long, tension-filled instant and you feel the power of holding her gaze race along your spine like a dizzying wave of desire. You kiss along the hem of her panties, from below her hip to along the inside of her thigh. You don’t think it’s a moan, what escapes her lips as she rises her hips. But it’s as damn close to it as it might be. You kiss up along the cloth, lick at her bare skin and then kiss to the left, onto soaked panties and right next to her clit. She smells like want and giving in, and it’s making your head spin – the thought of having your head between her legs. She clenches at your neck, trying to steer you towards her center, but you nip at her instead, around a smile. That’s when you slink a lone fingers up her inner thigh, along the edge of her panties, pulling them to the side and away from her core - close enough to have the back of your finger brush against her clit. She moans, then, slow and painful and wanting, the touch just barely enough to make her quake. You wish you could hold out, just then, ignore the smell of her and the way she rocks her hips upwards and towards your lips; but you can’t.
  6. 19. Can You Keep A Secret? In your dream, you can’t help but admire. She’s there, right there, under you, chest bare and oh so very pretty. And there are those strings, taunt, between your heart and your clit, pulsing like she might be yours. She’s as elusive and as dangerous as ever; as enticing as the very first day you saw her. Except that, right now, right this moment, the quick rise of her chest is just for you, the clench of her fingers at your thighs is just for you. Her pretty blues shine with shock and want, with doubt and softness; with hunger. You bend down long enough to drop a short kiss on her lips. “I’ve been needing you outta these for a while, now”, you say, hands moving to the button of her pants. Her first knee-jerk reaction is a rise of her hips followed by worried eyes. You smile, ravenous and serene. You know she worries, despite the fire burning right under her skin. You know she wants to please. If only you could make her understand, that she’s as gorgeous as you ever dreamed her to be, simply because she’s her, and she’s here; and she’s everything you’ve been wanting for so long. You kiss at her upper stomach, instead, and then just slightly lower, as you work on her jeans. The button is easily taken care of, and so is the zipper – you take your time sliding this one down, enjoying the way her body follows your every move. Soon enough, you’re pulling her pants off her hips and along her thighs, watching her watch you. You have no idea what’s going on in her mind but you know she’s looking at you, her pretty pools of warm blue shining with something equally burning and troubled, like she’s evaluating your reaction while craving for you to take her clothes off. The tension is thick enough for you to want to get off, you realize then - enough for you to want her to grab a hold outta you and fuck you. Yet you take the time to kiss lower onto her body and down her stomach, as you pull her jeans off. You don’t care about getting off. All you care about is that look of pure want shining in her eyes, and how you can make sure it turns into sparks of ecstasy.
  7. 18. All These Things I Always Fantasized About In your dream, you won’t lie, you’ve played this position out countless of times before. In your fantasies, daydreams; while you touched yourself and were willing to indulge in something a little racier. And there she is. Pretty jean-shirt and tight beige pants still on; she looks gorgeous and surprised – aroused. Wanting. Waiting. Impatient. You bend down and kiss her, passionate and hungry, freely, lips gliding overs hers; all teeth and tongue and breathless moans. Once your lungs hurt enough for oxygen that you just have to pull away, you sit back straight. And you take a second to just watch her. She makes your head spin with just how pretty she is when she wants you. You smile, biting at the corner of your lip, as you put both hands to her bare collarbones. And glide down. Your fingers follow the stitches and the buttons until your reach the first unopened one. There’s a flash of worry shining in her eyes as your start to twist it open, but you calm it down with a timely roll of your hips that has her hands shoot to your waist. “I want to see you”, you breathe around a smile. “I want to feel you”, you insist, hoping she understands that you need her skin revealed, you need to have her as bare as you are. She squeezes at your hips and follows your curves down ‘til she reaches your upper thighs. While her thumbs ghost over your naked skin, you undo the first button of her shirt. And the next. You lean forward and kiss at her neck as your fingers fiddle with the next button, and the one right under that one. She smells so good, so sweet; so real. She tastes so good, too, you think, as you lick at her collarbone. She breathes and moves against you, silent and contained, while the back of your fingers graze her sternum as you bare her skin. You want to marvel and you want to moan, at the way you can feel she wants and at how much she holds back. You kiss down her body and undo the last remaining buttons, pressing one chaste kiss on the curve of her breasts. You don’t part her shirt just yet, for her sake, and you just sit back instead. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that”, you speak around a breathless moan. When you finally pull the lapels of her shirt apart, it’s while you bend down and kiss her. It’s hard, putting words and thinking thoughts, when you lick at her tongue while your hands finally, finally, reach her bare skin. She’s soft and warm; she’s a lot like running out of time, like there’s a ticking time-bomb inside you that threatens to go off any second. When you finally sit back up, breathless and hungry, her shirt is open and you finally get to see it all; her bra, her stomach, her hips - that faint blush starting at her ribs and getting lost around her neckline. And it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.
  8. 17. Take Charge; I Can’t Breathe In your dream, you don’t realize it right away, how she sets a beat, how her body moves like waves, wanting and undulating in such a subtle way. The hands she has at your hips press into you and move to your back, your shoulder blades, only to drift back down and struggle to cup your ass. She pulls you closer into her, a little harder, and you think you hear some sort of soft grunt that has your heart stutter. It happens quickly, then, too quick for you to notice; one second you’re on her lap, the other your back is against the mattress and she’s towering over you. She flipped you over and you’re left dizzy and wanting, breathless and aroused. She only seems surprised for a single second before it’s her turn to slot her thighs on each side of your hips and slink back down, tilting your chin up with the angle of her mouth, one hand moving next to your head and the other landing on your bare hip. She seems impatient in the way she devours your mouth and grabs at your side – pulling a sigh from your lungs, and it makes your head spin enough that you forget all about the impeding heartbreak. There’s nothing you can do to stop your hands from finding her waist and pulling her closer to you. The cloth under your fingertips makes you groan; she’s still so very overdressed while you lie under her in just your underwear. You pull at her clothes like it could change anything, and bite at her lip, only to have her glide away and lower, printing feverish kisses to the column of your throat. You find her waist again and, in one desperate attempt to get her closer to you, your hands glide to her hips and you pull her down. It’s instant and like a well-known trick, the way her pelvis rocks in one smooth arc and right into you in one powerful motion, hips rocking just once as she presses her core against you and breathes a faint, girly moan. Her free hand travels across the flat plane of your stomach – you only notice it when she nips at your collarbone hard enough to pull a full-blown whine from your lips and you feel the need to focus on something other than her mouth unraveling you. The pull fueling her fingers become hesitant as she starts to move upward, fingertips gliding over each of your ribs until they bump against your bra. Her lips still at the crook of your neck and you smile in a shiver. “You should have taken that off”, you tease, and, before she replies, the hands you had at her waist pull and twist, push and turn, until she’s the one with her back to the bed and you’re straddling her.
  9. 16. Papercut In your dream, you nibble at her neck once and she hums - her throat faintly vibrating under your lips - and you smile. There’s this sweet smell you take the time to taste with a faint lick, this scent that has followed her around and twisted your thoughts for so many years. You find it gliding over her warm skin and you can’t help but smile some more. It’s so soft, the scent of her, so subtle and so faint, it could never be heart-wrenching like some other smells are, yet it has always had your heart stutter in such a strong way whenever you could catch it. Rare and powerful; mesmerizing. You nip at her neck a little higher, just below her ear, slow and lingering; breathing-in deep. That scent, you could recognize it anywhere. It smells a little like yours, a little like some sort a distant dream that you couldn’t hold on to. And even as she’s right there, clenching at your hips with every bite and every stroke you lay upon the side of her neck, Ice still smells like she’s too far away. You drag your nose across her jaw and find her lips, kissing her while you press your brow to hers, and your hand glides to the back of her head, fingers getting lost in silky strands. As your lips part to catch her tongue, you breathe in deep once more and pull her closer, pressing your body to hers, and you don’t want to acknowledge it but it’s there, this papercut upon your heart. The full weight of what you’re doing hits you straight to the chest – once the 12 Hours are up, so will you be. So you kiss her with the passion of thirst, knowing you might never get the chance to kiss her again, and the papercut stretches, faintly at first, until your whole chest is burning. You keep your brow against hers, pull away and lick your lips, breathing shallow and cheeks burning. She catches your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls at it, and it’s enough to have you stumble into another heated kiss. There’s a little blood machine going haywire within your ribcage, pumping like crazy. It expends, the papercut, with every powerful beat of your heart, turns into a distant heartbreak, and it sorta hurts. For the first time since you stepped into this room, as you rock your hips without meaning to and moan against her lips - as arousal resumes its unstoppable swell and as your heart starts to beat out of your chest - it occurs to you. You might not be all that okay once this is over.
  10. 15. The Ocean In your dream, light still slightly filters through the curtains, enough that you can see your surroundings and the outline of her, sitting on the bed. Desire, want and doubt make your head spin, yet you walk to her like it’s the only thing you can do – you walk until you’re facing her and then you move, strong and assured, until you’re sitting on her lap. She’s everywhere around you, everything you can breathe – her hands moving to seize your hips as if on auto-pilot - and it’s the perfect kind of slow torture, being so close to her while feeling like you’re not close enough. She feels good under you, tight and warm and real at last. You smile as you push your hands across her shoulders and around her neck, fingertips ticking the fine hair at the nape. You push soft strands to her left shoulder, baring one side of her neck, and you touch your fingertips to her forehead, barely making contact, gliding to her temple with slow reverence. Your gaze flicks from your fingers to her eyes and you make sure you see her, you look at her, honest and open, in the hope that she can see, through your wide pools of dark green, the things you’ve wanted to hide from so many people before her. And you think she can see it, by the way her eyes shine in the dimly lit room, bright and intense like so often before. It makes you quake inside, feeling vulnerable and bare, like you’re so paper-thin you can’t contain the wild wind blowing between your ribs. The hands around your waist give a single, re-assuring squeeze, her thumbs slowly moving across the flat plane of your upper stomach, and it sends a muted shiver along your spine, something soft yet cutting that makes you smile. You can’t explain it and you can’t fight it this time, the rolling wave that pushes up your insides - ambers of arousal still sweltering, tenderness so soft like warm water, everything melting and mixing and wanting, a fusion of comfort and danger, of relief and risk– of intimacy. It rolls and roars and soars within you like a storm lost somewhere in the middle of the ocean, far away enough that it doesn’t scare you, close enough that it fills you with thrill. You move into her and touch your lips to the side of her neck, hiding a smile against silky, warm skin, kissing once, twice, slowly, up to her ear. The breathless whisper that leaves your throat, then, does not surprise you, you felt it coming as the storm grew on, but there’s still an edge of uncertainty as you murmur against her skin: “I’m glad you’re here.”
  11. @Lindalu I’m very happy you follow this story and like it
  12. 14. Fighting and Silliness In your dream, you sit straight and enjoy the feel of her hips against your inner thighs, careful to not put too much weight onto her. Both because you don't want to feel too heavy, and 'cause the tight warmth coiling at the apex of your thighs probably couldn't stand even just the slightest pressure right now. You take a second to watch her, lying under you, hair splayed on the comforter, cheeks lightly pink, before you ask. "This okay?" Her hands find purchase on your bare thighs, unmoving and simply resting, and she smiles something both lazy and shy. "Yes." The blue of her shirt makes her eyes sparkle in an almost shocking way, making them pop like bright pools of sky-blue, and you smile to yourself as thoughts rush through your mind; pictures of unraveling relief permeating these light blues and turning them into dark, shimmering mirrors of midnight. The hands on your thighs push impulses through your body: Like lazy waves, you crave to press down and rock your hips, following their tide in a slow, unhurried back and forth. But you just smile, instead of giving in just yet, before you ask: "You'll tell me if something is off or doesn't feel good, yeah?" Her smile gets a bit brighter, a little more mischievous. "Yes. It's all good." You lift a single eyebrow, teasing, and your mouth twists into a falsely offended smirk. "Good? That's it? Just good?" You can see the spark of contempt and playful contention shine in her eyes before she even parts her lips: "Yup. Just good." "Oh. Oh...", you reply, frowning and looking away, a playful lilt to your voice as you answer. "Well, if it's just good then..." You start moving away and she tries to grab at your thighs with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes, but you manage to twist away and off of her as she sits up. You're back on your feet, not that far away from her that she couldn't reach out if she tried, and you put both hands on your hips, looking down at her with a barely contained grin. She blows a falsely annoyed huff of air and it makes your smirk devilishly. "Come back here", she tells you, half-pleading and half-annoyed and, really, she needs to stop, 'cause you think your smile can only stretch so much before it breaks your face. "Nuh huh, not for 'just good'", you chuckle around the laughter that bubbles at the back of your throat. And there it is, the subtle way she looks away in a short, half eye roll. She doesn't reply, though, and, sincerely, it's your pleasure to insist: "’Cause, really, we could do somethin' else here. How good are you at poker?" She frowns, but the way one corner of her mouth curves upwards tells you she's not THAT annoyed at your childish behavior. "Such a teenager." It is said with yet another sigh that you find lovely, and it manifests itself once more, this feeling of intimacy, of something more, that you have to fight off and away from your mind. You grin, happy and open, and you bite at the corner of your mouth before you walk away and to the left side of the bed. You grab at the curtains bracketing the window you just walked to and close them in one swift motion. "So, no poker, then?"
  13. 13. Slow In your dream, you grab at the empty glass again and hold it away from you as you lean in, two fingers reaching under her chin to tilt her head upward. She tastes like wine and want, both cold and hot at the same time, and you take your time licking and nipping at her bottom lip, so soft and so tight under your tongue. One of her hands finds its way to your waist, the other lands high on your thigh, and you inhale deeply against her lips, something slow and full, as her fingers draw tiny circle onto your heated skin. You kiss her, lazy and slow, enjoying the way she feels when she pushes surreptitiously into you every time you move a little too far, reveling in the way her mouth chases after yours when it seems like you might be pulling away. The two fingers you have at her throat glide down the column of her neck and twist at her collarbone. And then you push, with fingertips and lips, just a little - you push into her, smiling into a relentless kiss as her tongue licks at yours. She starts moving back and you follow the motion, dropping the glass onto the carpeted floor and pushing more fully into her until her shoulder blades are flat against the bed. Your lips never part, and you hold yourself above her with one hand as the other moves to toy with the hem of her shirt. The back of your fingers grazes soft, warm skin at the hollow of her hip and you want to moan she feels so good. You feel dizzy, breathless. You kiss her around a smile, pulling away just long enough so suck at her bottom lip. Both of her hands land tentatively on your back, fingers curling at your ribcage and gliding to your waist, pulling you slightly more into her. You nip at her lip one last time before you pull away and, in one slow, sure motion, you fold your leg atop the bed until you’re straddling her hips.
  14. 12. Predator In your dream, a mischievous grin stretches at your lips as you take a step back. You can feel your gaze heavy and burning as it locks onto her, and time seems to stand to a still as you take the time to watch her. Her lips are slightly swollen, a little redder. Her eyes are dark and hooded, eyelids fluttering open. Her hands glide along your sides and fall away as you walk backwards and out of reach. In just a black, lacy bra, tiny, black briefs and black, silky heels, you think you should feel much more exposed, or a little colder, but you don’t. Her eyes on you make you feel hot, wanted, like the air in the room is filled with dry steam. You keep grinning at her with hungry, playful eyes – happy that it’s finally your time to play – and you chuckle something low and throaty before you lick your lips. “Sit”, you tell her, nodding at the bed once. She seems a little dazed as she looks behind her before her eyes fall back onto the shape of you, her gaze tumbling down your body like a wave of lazy, scalding water. The way she looks at you makes you tingle and thrills you, excites you. The familiar buzz of arousal rumbling deep within you vibrates with that much more purpose as you watch her watching you, slow and open; intrigued. She takes her time shuffling to the bed and sitting on its edge; and you take your time turning around, walking to the dresser where the bottle of wine sits - cold and damp, tiny droplets of condensation pearling on the clear surface. You pour wine into one single glass and can feel predation in the sway of your hips as you walk back to the bed. Her eyes don’t leave your body and she licks at her pretty pink lips reflectively, making you smirk. You hand her the glass once you are within reach, walking until your knees touch hers. She doesn’t say a word and takes the glass, looking up at you as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. There’s so much you can see in her eyes, so many emotions swimming and battling in big, bright pools of blue. There’s want, amusement and impatience; nervousness and something you delightfully take as some sort of defiance. You curl your fingers over hers and slowly take the glass from her, taking a sip of your own. Her suddenly free hand curves at your hip and her cold fingers make you shiver one step closer to her, until you have one knee on the bed, touching her thigh. You are not outright straddling her just yet, but the thought that you could be sends a thrill through your body, spine aflame and tingling with restlessness. There’s a warm, tight ache slowly coiling between your thighs, and you take one more sip of wine, hoping it can cool you down slightly. You hand her the glass once again and smile, something hungry and breathless, as you watch her drink the last of the wine. “You are so fucking pretty”, you breathe in a whisper, biting at the corner of your lips. You chuckle as she wrinkles her nose, looking away with a smile and a roll of her eyes, and such a typical display of simply “her” makes the want within you roll in a delightful wave, low and powerful and heavy.
  15. 11. Bare In your dream, the pull she has on you is so slow, so powerful, it’s almost painful. It made you frown, time and time again, to have your body and your mind react so strongly – to find yourself so willing, so wanting, so fucking starving. It’s always been this same wave of desire, pushing and pulling relentlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs in an endless back and forth hitting the shore of your wants - pressing and biting and all too overwhelming - before it gets pulled away. Like a low, slow beat, she kisses you and devours your every moan as you stand there, in just a bra, skirt and heels. Her hands flutter at your bare hips, squeezing and releasing, thumbs moving across your skin in short bouts of discovery. You can feel it, by the way she moves her fingertips, the hitch to grab at the waistband of your skirt and pull it away from your body. There’s something impatient in the way her nose rubs at yours, as she changes the slant of her mouth, in the way she licks her lips - your lips, your tongue. There’s something soft and dirty about her every pliant curve, as you grab at her hips to pull her closer; something painful about finally feeling her. You let your hands drift lower and cup her ass, squeeze and pull and groan, anything you can do just tohave her closer to you. She drags the pad of her thumbs along the hollow of your hips and hooks both fingers into the waistband of your skirt. You stop breathing as soon as she starts pulling down, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel her nails lightly scratch at your skin with every millimeter she gains. You’re gonna lose your fucking mind yet there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. “This is it”, you think, as your skirt gets pushed below your hips to fall to the floor. Time stops. Your breathing’s ragged but you can’t hear it over hers. She exhales loudly as you once again pull her into you, and her hands find purchase at your hips once more, fingertips gliding onto naked skin, up and down and back again. You pull away from the kiss, biting at her lower lip, then trapping your own between your teeth as you step out of your discarded skirt. This is it.