You are famous to me, but I'm just a cigarette break to you.
It's been a while. My skin still burns when I think of how you touched me. I have permanent bruises in all the places your beautiful hands caressed my body and it still burns where your hot mouth has met my skin. You've done things I'll never forget, burnt holes in my sensitive skin with your ravishing mouth. Sometimes, if I think too much, I still crave your expert touch. I still remember everything. Everything...
~Sunday, August 25th, 2013~
I can feel you watching me. Your red glassy eyes flicker towards me as I switch positions on the couch, blinking at the large TV mounted on the wall. But never the less, I know you're watching me, can feel your gaze on me, and I love it. The amount that I crave your attention is literally insane. I crave to hear you speak, your voice is calm but drives me inwardly insane. You are everything that is attractive, you are everything my boyfriend is not...
I don't think you know I see you watching me. I lick my lips and blink slowly, turning my head to look right back you. Our eyes, and you, with your greedy gaze, doesn't break the contact. It's like a challenge. Your lidded eyes like a puzzle that mine need to piece together. I cannot look away. I watch as you get up from the floor where you've been sitting, and make your way over to me. Still not breaking our eye contact. I try to keep my mouth from going too dry, my heart from beating too fast. All you're doing is walking, that's it. But. You move behind where I'm seated on the couch and and I feel your steady hand firmly grasp my shoulder, stinging my skin. You bend down and whisper in my ear, breath tickling my cheek. "Come outside with me?" My stomach twinges pleasantly. My mouth does, in fact, go dry. Your breath smells like hard liquor and the sweetest of roses mixed together. I nod slowly in reply to your question, a question we both know is really a command that I could never refuse. Even in... present company. After glancing at your brother, who is watching me with a look like I have just slapped him in the face, I ease myself off the plush cushions of your families expensive couch, and into an unsteady standing position. I follow you out the door and into the cooling backyard. Closing the door behind me, I turn to see you lighting up the blunt you were rolling when it was light out. Placing the bud between your lips, you take in a huge inhale, holding your breath and then blowing swirls of smoke towards the sky, your eyes closed in bliss. You sit down on the old wooden chair, and I sit on it's arm as you pass me the joint. Our fingers touch. The connection is held for too long. My fingers burn, not from the heat... I pull my hand away slowly and put the drug to my mouth. Then, on my second inhale, it happens, "Could you kiss me?" You ask, almost like you're asking me to pass the sugar. I cough, and the smoke escapes my nose and mouth.
"Excuse me?" my voice sounds raspy and quiet. Again, my eyes can't leave yours.
"Do you think," you say, and your face moves closer to mine, so you can whisper to me from only inches away, "that you could kiss me?"
Again, it's not really a question. I lean forward, so that our lips brush, just the smallest amount, I inhale as I let my eyes fall shut, and then I push forward, and kiss you. Finally. You're rough, right away sinking your sharp white teeth into my bottom lip, but not letting me have your tongue. I can only lick at your teeth begging for entrance, but I can't get what I really want. It's over way too fast. You pull back and look at me smugly. But then... your look changes so quickly from smug to something like concern...you're reaching up suddenly, to run your soft thumb over my lower lip, feeling where you ****** it until blood almost broke it's surface. I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"I--You good?" You question, and you seem genuinely concerned. And I really can't think why you should be.
"Fine." I say. My mind feels fuzzy and I hear a buzzing in my ears and I'm craving your rough touch all over again. It's all I can do not to reach out to you, to touch you, your lips, cheeks, your sharp chin, fluttering eyelashes, run my hands all over you. And you know exactly how I feel. As I stare into your light brown, slightly clouded eyes, I know you're going to give me what I want, because I know you want it too.
"Commere baby…" you whisper, nodding in encouragement as if to say yeah, that's right... The corner of your mouth twitches when I straddle your lap, sinking down, my legs wrapping around your muscular waist. Your huge hands snake around my lower back, pulling me that much closer and then you wrap one hand around the back of my neck so that our foreheads are pressed together. And then, as you're pecking me on the tip of my nose with your perfect lips, you ask me. You ask me if this is okay. If what we are doing right now is okay with me. I want to let out a laugh containing no mirth whatsofuckingever. Because of course it ******* isn't! It is so incredibly not okay on more than 100 levels. But, incase you're wondering, here are several that I thought of instantly: I have a boyfriend at home. You have a girl living in the valley. Your little brother, the one who brought me with him to this very house, is in love with me and everyone knows it. Your little 15 year old brother's worst fear is happening right now. What I told him would never happen because I cared about him too **** much. This is so not okay. But maybe...maybe that's why I love it. And I need it so baldly. I have been patient. I have waited. I have wanted this for too long. Wanted you even before the first time we met when you held out your hand, white sleeves of your sweatshirt rolled up to reveal your soft skin, to shake my quivering one at the studio, three months ago. I didn't know I would ever feel that same, soft, tanned skin, those long, smooth fingers on the back of my neck, on the hot skin of my lower back. But I am. And right now, it is my job to make you feel good. I want to. So...Is this okay? I smile.
"It's perfect." I breathe, because right now, with our foreheads pressed together, with our eyes connected in ferocity, with our bodies so close, it is so terribly perfect. And that is all the implication you need. In one soft movement, you slide your fingers from the back of my neck to my chin, tilting it upwards, allowing our lips to meet once more. Our mouths smash together, my breath catches in my throat as you take that same hand and run it through my knotted, wavy hair, ******* a handful as you let your warm mouth open, and finally allow my searching tongue to explore. But my dominance is short-lived, because I feel your tongue begin a battle for power with mine, and I give up and sigh into your mouth when I feel your teeth woking at my lip again. Our tongues dance, playing roughly and ruthlessly and I grind down on top of you, squeezing your waist with my thighs.
But as I do that, you pull away.
"W--Please...!" I choke, grabbing for the back of your neck, trying to let my lips catch yours again. But you have something else on your mind. Pushing my hair from my neck, you sink you teeth into the sensitive area behind my ear, licking over the bite, only to press your lips to the soar spot again. You're mouthing at it, ******* and biting as you overwhelm me with your ******* expertise. My breath falters. Your fingers are crossed behind your back, as you breathe your pretty lies into my neck. You're so beautiful...so fit...you're like a little feather...so gorgeous, precious, perfect little body...I need you...I want you...have to taste you...(Myname). Let me taste you. And I actually moan aloud. It's an accidental sound that escapes through my slightly parted lips, but it's filled with this deep need that consumes me so thoroughly. And my little sound shoots straight through your body, down your spine making you shiver. I can feel you growing under me and I grind down harder onto you, because I need to make you feel good. My hands are on your shoulders and my back is arching toward from you, your lips attached to my neck, working down lower and lower until your mouth reaches my collarbone. When you sink your pearly teeth into it, I gasp and continue to grind down onto your lap, letting your big comforting hands snake their way under my cotton shirt and explore my bare back. I, in turn, give your firm shoulders a quick squeeze before releasing my hands, only to grab the hem of your sweatshirt and pull it roughly over your head, leaving just your think red T-shirt, whose sleeves stretch over your bulging muscles. I attach our lips again, letting you tease under my shirt, letting you **** and bite at my puffy, kiss swollen lips. But for you, this isn't enough. If I wasn't lying to myself, I would have known this wouldn't be enough for you since we first began. You absolutely crave the feeling of pushing boundaries, know that maybe, if you try hard enough, you can get whatever it is that you want. And you're whispering to me again, biting my ear, ******* my throat...
"Come with me baby. I need to taste you. Let me *******..."
I let out an audible breath into your shoulder, but this time it's finally my turn to pull away. I look into your eyes, which seem to be slowly clearing as you stare intensely back at me, licking at your plump lips, raising your eyebrows in the smallest of questioning looks.
"What is it baby? You all right?" Your voice is low, hoarse, concerned, but still, coated with sugary want. I literally need you so much right now that I cannot even stand it. I find my voice.
"It's--I'm fine...It's just--" And as I look into your dark eyes, I cannot tell you anything but the raw truth: "It's that I haven't done this before." I whisper, so quietly I can hardly hear myself say it. You do though, because for a split second something that I can't quite place flashes across your face. But in one swift movement, whatever it was that clouded your mind, you brush away as you pull my shirt over my head, revealing my plain black bra. And now It's all I can do not to wine out loud at how much I carve contact, full contact, for us to be pressed, chest to chest with each other. And you're muttering to me again.
"Let me take you inside, take you to my room, make you feel so good, feel so amazing like you deserve. I wanna be the first to make you feel the best you've ever felt. I wanna ******* babygirl, let me."
I cannot believe you said babygirl. Another boy flashes through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out. I've never been able to do that very well. Self control never has been my strong suit. **** this.
"Yeah," I breathe, "yeah, make me feel good. **** me." And really, I know it must have been the 'babygirl' that did it for me more than anything. But how were you to know? When you say it, I'm done. So ******* done. And I need you now. In this moment, I need you more than I've ever needed anyone in my whole entire seventeen years of living.
I let you lift me up like I weigh as much as a bag of snowflakes, while my shirt lays forgotten on the ground, my arms around your neck and my legs wrapping around your beautiful body. As you push through the door back into your warm house, I bury my face in your neck breathing in your delicious smell and knowing in my whole body what's about to happen. Next thing I know, I feel myself land softly on your bed, in your bedroom, your shirtless body looming gracefully above me, with the most ******* ****** song (Kiss Land by The Weekend) playing in the background. (JAKE: THIS SONG WAS ACTUALLY PLAYING GOD HELP ME) I have to touch you, I think to myself as you lean teasingly over me. But as I reach out, you pull back, just letting the tips of my fingers graze your soft stomach muscles for barley one second and I don't think you understand how you're taunting me. Its like you've just lit up a cigarette in a closed elevator and I'm trying to quit my addiction. I have to touch you. But then again, of course you know what you're doing to me. You're a ******* expert.
"Close those beautiful eyes baby." You whisper, still just far enough away where I can't quite reach you. My body literally shivers. Before I do as I'm told, I look up and down your body, biting my lip to stop from doing... I don't know what. Making sound? Licking my lips? All I know is I'm biting it so hard that I'm almost drawing blood. I can't show you how much of a weakness you are to me. You're standing above me as I lie on the soft, red, masculine smelling sheets of your bed breathing like I just ran a race against a cheetah. I can't keep my eyes open any longer, it's like you staring at me is hurting my eyes and forcing them shut. As I let my eyes flutter closed, I feel you lean down and place your hands on either sides of my head, moving yourself into a position above me, but still not touching me. Our faces must be inches apart because I can feel your hot breath. I jump when your finger brushes my bottom lip, making me release where I've been obsessively chewing it. And then, you place your cool palm on my stomach, painfully slowly dragging it downwards until it rests on the zip on my jeans, and as your fingers scrape down my stomach, as you touch me, it feels like you're cutting me open with a jagged piece of glass. It hurts when I look at you, and it hurts when I don't. But at the popping of my jeans button, my eyes instinctively flash open again. Breathlessly I watch your thumbs hook the belt loops of my jeans and pull them down, all the way to my ankles. And suddenly, I feel your hot breath on my stomach. You're so close. And I need you so bad. And your hands are running delicately up and down my thighs. But you're not giving me what I want, because you're so ******* cocky. Maybe it's because you know how much I want it. As and your breath ghosts lower, I take in a shuddering breath...and whimper.
"Yeah?" you ask, "you want it?"
"Yeah," I reply, because I do. So much that I can't say anything else.
"Then tell me how much." You whisper, your breath right on me, making me try to push my hips up off your bed, but your hands hold me in place. How do you know you're supposed to say that.
"Hmmm...How bad baby? How bad do you want it, huh? How bad you want me?" Your voice is like the smoothest silk, like velvet, like cream. I didn't know this kind of thing happened in real life. Something so perfect. But this is real. This is really happening. You. You, in this moment, want me. Just like I've been wanting you. So I open my mouth, speaking as calmly as I can, and I tell you just how ******* bad I need you. How I need your mouth on me and how I need you to taste me... otherwise? "I don't think I'll be able to be quite so good...if you don't-- take me right now. I need you so bad...So bad." And then, you look up at me. Our eyes meet. And you say one more word.
"Beg." You breath, pressing your lips to me and saying it again, "Beg."
"Please..." is all I can say. And finally, you rip away the unneeded layer, and take me. Your tongue is slow and languid and you're an expert at work. And it is the best feeling in the world when my body shudders, my toes curl, my back arches. And all the while, you're telling me how good I am. How you don't deserve me like this. You're thanking me. And it doesn't make sense. I should be thanking you for the best ******* ****** of my life. But I can't even move...and as you brush your tongue over me again, my body shudders violently and I let out a soft cry trying to twist away.
You crawl up my body.
"Wanna taste?" You whisper. I lean up and meet our lips again. You taste amazingly sweet with just a hint of liquor left. But I can still feel you hard against my leg and it's you who needs it now. I let out a little wine, trying to reach down for you, and you understand. Smiling like you mean it, like you know how good I'm trying to be, you move to my entrance, tracing it with your ****.
"Wait." I whisper. You continue your slow teasing, but I know you're not going to do anything I'm not ready for, really. "I'm scared." I breathe.
"I know bab
