Under Your Skin


I love this. I love it when our foreplay becomes a challenge to see who will dominate and who will yield. I love the feeling of your strength against my strength, no need to be gentle, no worry about bruising or breaking you, you are not a fragile mortal and don’t need to be coddled. Your lips trace my back even as your hands seek to find purchase, to take me down. It won’t be that easy.

Your hands slip on my sweat-slick skin, the odor of our musk must fill the room with the scent of intense arousal. You move back up and kiss me. It’s as if you’re trying to take my breath, to make me feel weak. It won’t work. Your hand slides down and my cock fills it, your other hand cups me and your fingers glide deep between my legs in a caress. The pleasure may succeed far better than force; all I want to do is lie down and surrender to it.

Here I am, caught in the skein of your tangled ambiguities, held between your hands, the breadth of your shoulders, and the taste of your skin. I could crawl under your skin and live between the muscle and bone, I could be pumped through your veins like blood. It could end up that way. I might not even mind. But then we could not touch like this.

I twist and then go limp beneath you, and I see the surprise in your eyes at winning so easily. Don’t be so sure you have won. I will have you inside me. Such pleasure is never a loss. I can feel you push into me, the expanding burn becoming a deep heat. I feel you moving deep inside me, and the pleasure radiates out of that center and through me.

Even when I spill myself across the sheets I won’t have lost. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop

     
         
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