I had a moment of panic there on my sofa with her teeth holding my lip

I had a moment of panic there on my sofa with her teeth holding my lip. I was afraid of losing something, but at the same time I was relishing the promise of blood and metal. But then I realised that she was smiling. I knew like I know when I am hungry. She starting sucking at it and then let go. She was looking at me and oh my goodness, I have rarely seen the face of malice, but I saw it on her. But then it smoothed in her green regard. I was worried she would get shy again so I kissed her and slipped a hopeful hand behind her and pulled her at me so that we would have as many points of contact as possible. Her body was so small. She pulled me too and something desperate grew in me so I tightened my hold of her. She made a sound as if I was crushing her. I knew it was a joke so I didn’t let go. She asked me if I wanted to kill her. I kissed her harder and let her tongue be lost in me. I couldn’t hold any longer so I started the exploration of her body. Her entire back took me decades because I didn’t want to miss any bone, not even the clip of her bra. I went to the lower back. I could hear my own heart going faster, I could only hope she couldn’t hear it too. And I grabbed her ass, trying to take all of it, even though I knew it was impossible. It was strong and soft and soft and strong depending on where I was, the way she moved. I found the space between her shirt and her jeans and I went there, fast, hungry. I had barely the time to touch smoothness and warmth and something that could have been her slips, but her hand robbed me of that moment, it took it away. I took hold of her hand instead because I had to hold something of her. I explored her collarbone, her chest. I felt the thickness of her bra, I knew that what was there was less than what I had seen but I could not care less. She had everything I wanted. I squeezed and she let me do it. But that was not enough and I don’t know how, I found my hand under her shirt, over her bra and then trying to scoop her breast, find a sense, a meaning. My hand was made for her breast, it was as a mould created after what it was supposed to mould. The heat was overwhelming. I felt her nipple in the triangle between my index and my middle fingers. I played with it, hoping it was also for her benefit and not only for mine. How to describe the feeling of that nipple? It was as if my fingers were an extension of my lips, I could feel the crude softness, because you don’t want to go too far with a nipple but you have to feel the promise of what it would deliver. My lips tightened on hers. But imagining was not enough anymore. I detached from her astonished face and dived underneath her shirt. It was then that she pushed me down with both hands and squealed with her sweet, foreign accent a no. I look at her asking why with my expression. I must have looked like a child who has been deprived of an agonising sweet dessert. She smiled, lowered her face as an apology, her shyness coming through again. Oh, that voice, that accent, how many no and no and no I could accept. Sound of a bird waking you up in the morning after a hazed dream. Her voice, her involuntarily shyness, made me bold and I put a palm across her vagina, fingers down, exploring.

TO BE CONTINUED…