It’s a fever she can’t sweat out – and she can tell in the tense of his jaw, the shallow catch of his breath, that he’s just as infected. There’s something exhilarating about fucking an almost stranger in a parked car on the side of a layby, headlight eyes glinting every so often over their profiles. His words, honeyed seduction, the playful lilt of Georgie Porgie plucking out plums, has her moaning in giggled breaths, a tightness in her stomach, a panting in her chest. His kiss is every stolen glance of a high-school lover at a Friday night party, bubbling from locked stares to locked lips and hungry fingers in a laundry closet, spritely and wild. Her eyes say unravel me like pulled thread. Her hips say don’t be gentle.
Is it toxic to lust after a man with such primitive force in his eyes? He tears open her tights and her sex is damp with want, eyes like a wildfire with the heat that consumes them. Her lovers are always feral, the bruised, scratched, beaten animal kind of love she’s learned to accept as paramount, men with calloused knuckles and bullets in their back pockets. She’s learned how to love not on beds but on battlefields. There’s no prologue ; not to this feral sheen of animal love that cuts like a knife. Foreplay is all but out of the question – will she come? perhaps not – though the cup of his hand against her core has her rocking with eagerness. Talk alone has sufficed as the lubricant between wanting and having. She sees it in the frames of an arthouse sex tape – a blur of skin, the parting of lips, the arch of her back as it pushes against her, taking every ounce of strength not to sink right down.
“God,” splits from her lips like an upturned prayer, for the only heaven in this car is the way his skin feels pressed to hers, her wide eyes locked on his, cheeks flushing, teeth biting into her lip, as she sinks herself onto his length, her lips a gospel moan. She’s dizzy with it. It takes a moment to relax, her sex clenching as her forehead drops to his, noses brushing, her breath a stuttering gasp against his lips. “It hurts,” is breathed, though the kind of hurt she refers to is one of mingled pain and pleasure, hands gripping his shoulder as she raises herself, rolls her hips against him, a bounce in her thighs despite the glacial pace. “But a good hurt.” The kind of hurt that has her weak at the knees and shuddering, already committing the image of him beneath her to memory to save for the small hours with her hand beneath the bed covers. Is this slow enough to induce madness? How long will he last before he needs the quick thrum of her eager and wild, her head spilling backwards as his fingers grip her skin. “Tell me how you want me, baby. Maybe I’ll be nice.”
✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ ｢ ♚ ｣ THE HEAT AND THE lust almost sends him into a delirium. He doesn’t think he can stop, or ever want to stop. For a man who likes dominance, he’s starting to lose control, the hotness of his body getting to his head, and hazing his thoughts. But then, she’s also the same. They’re both like wild animals, a predator and a prey, willing to ravage and be ravaged. He locks his lips to hers, his mouth pressing hard against hers so possessively, the kiss telling her that she’s all his, at least for the night. Pulling away, he looks into her eyes, and sees the same fire reflecting his own. Her hips collide with his, and he can hear what it conveys, telling him not to be gentle.
It’s not unusual for Sebastian to pick up a woman, and screw her for the remaining hours of the day. But this intensity, this spark they share, he’s not used to it. It drives out the animal in him, the aggression to devour, and to fulfill the needs of the flesh, regardless of anything else. His hand cups her sex, and when her hips start to rock, his calloused digits knead against her damp arousal, providing her more friction. However, the touch alone doesn’t suffice. He wants to take her, to be inside her, and to fill her to the brim. Skip the foreplay, and just fuck her brains out. And so, he pulls out his length, and prods the tip against her wet opening. His member pulsates, with so much want and need, begging to be satisfied. When she sinks into his cock, a pleased groan tears at his throat. He watches her face, the flush of her cheeks, the parting of her lips as she moans. He can feel her tightness ---- the greedy clench of her walls around his manhood.
Their foreheads rest against each other, their noses brush, and their warm breaths intermingle. She’s telling him that it hurts, but he has no intentions of stopping. ❝You’re fucking tight----❞ he utters, though the growl implies that it’s not a complaint, ❝----and I’ll take you----till you’re spent.❞ He’s not asking for permission; he’s telling her what he’s planning to do. ❝We have---no room for words,❞ he breathes, as he starts to maneuver his hips upward, ramming his wholeness into her. One of his hands enclose around her throat, and squeezes her neck subtly, the gesture conveying that he’ll have his way with her. He’s no gentle lover. He’ll be taking her roughly, filling her with his seed, until she’s exhausted to the point that her whole body would surely remember how he’d claimed her. And he’s going to make sure she’ll feel him for weeks.
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