You said we wouldn’t even make it to my bed, and you were right. But I envision, in these lonely hours, you slamming the door shut, pushing your hands up my jumper, and immediately pulling your stomach to mine, grinding up into me so there’s no way you can talk your way around how badly you want me.
You want me. You need me, wrapping all of you up all around you, knowing you inside-out, cushioning the blow of the world. I need that you.
If that you got a plane ticket, I would grind back against you. Knot one hand in your hair, press one against the centre of your back, and get my hips as close to yours as I can. Give in to the wood grain on my neck, your jetlag airport toothpaste on my tongue.
God, I want your cock.
Are you stroking yourself now? Can’t take this bit of paper in the shower. But you could take me—
—getting ahead of myself.
You pin me against the door and show me just how much you want me with every twitch of your core and I, I’ve never been one for hiding cards, but my hands are at your jeans, palming at you even as I try my damndest to overcome the bastards of buttons there, and you chuckle at me in that infuriatingly unhelpful way and let me struggle, only offering motivation by bringing your mouth to my throat and *god*
*it works*
and I can’t be conscious of how you know too much because suddenly I’ve got your cock out and I can *hold* it. Watch it swell and bead up and stand tall at the idea of me.
I take a hold of you like a lifeline and your hands shoot to my hips, rucking my top up and over and off me, and I have to let you go to fling the thing to the floor and you g r o a n, but I’m there, I’m there. And I never wear skirts but I did for you and it’s all I can do to peel my pants off from underneath and pull your hand to the core of me.
Another groan.
Your body surges against mine, your cock slotting between my legs, and I think the hands at my thighs are looking to grab but they’re not, they’re looking to lift, and they hook underneath me and do just that, and you look so hopeful and endearing and god I relish taking you in hand and lining the rocket-hot tip of you up with me.
My eyes are on yours, watching them widen as you push into me in one single stroke, all-too-fast, as if you’ve lost control of your corporation. And then I look at the place where you spear into me, see how my body has made way for yours to nest and I think, *even she’s too obvious,* but you must see my face because you start to drag out of me, slow as nails, so that I don’t so much groan as whimper.
That’s when I wrap my legs around you; draw you back inside me by force.
I savour your moans and half-formed words and I attempt sweet nothings because I really do want you to know that I’ve dreamed about this, beyond just getting myself off to this, but you are fierce with your thrusts so that all I can manage is to breathe in every time your balls press against my ass, every time you’re finally let yourself fall as deep into me as I want you to be.
Before I can slip, you do flip us onto the bed, keeping us connected as you rail into me, trusting me to take it, trusting me to understand your frustration and freedom and, most of all, your desire, which is beautiful. Which is something I do not take for granted.
I focus on the feeling of you swelling, of the small spurts of precome, of your stalling as you become uncertain, and I lock my heels at the dip of your back once more. I remind you that anything your body does for mine is a gift by way of a tender kiss, sucking on your tongue simply because I can. You snatch it back just in time to say,
“I—”
And I wrap you up and hold you close so you can’t draw away in between shocks—so all your worry and fear and apologies and all the distance and anything else pours out of you and into me in the form of what,
if I’m being honest,
feels a lot like love.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/lh6yfl/i_took_care_of_you_last_time_but_i_need_you_baby