preparing to have sex with someone you regularly see, the both of you heated and passionate. the aggressive foreplay, as usual, promises a brutal pace and a violent fuck, but instead, when the both of you are stripped bare, they gently pull you into their lap, and position your legs around them. they tease themselves against your entrance before rocking into you sweetly, pressing their mouth against yours. it’s foreign.
their mouth finds itself in the crook of your neck, on your collarbone, on your shoulder. their hands are placed on your back, tracing over your spine as they take their time thrusting in and out of your heat. they murmur to you praises, how good your skin feels on theirs, how they ached to bury themselves into your perfect hole — how they fit so well inside of you.
it’s unexpected, but not unwelcome. it is an intimacy that you cling to, as if it is the only thing keeping you afloat. how long has it been, since you were held like this? the pleasure transcends your quivering form, and nurtures something long since neglected.
“why now?” asked in between hitched breaths. your forehead is rested on their shoulder, nails digging into the skin of their back.
a thrust. another. a whine passes from your lips, and the coil in your lower stomach only tightens further. and you can see them smile out of the corner of your eye.
“we’re in no hurry. i just wanted to make you feel good.”
