He dominated her, as she had so easily dominated conversation at dinner. Her thin legs writhed beneath him, teasing him with the utter fact that she could so abruptly escape his grasp; they were, however, dancing only as a tease. She longed for him as he had longed for her. Hungrily, desperately, and unceasingly. Those dark, daring eyes had pierced and tingled the depths of her thighs countless times, and, finally, the two of them were united here in the restrictions of his bedroom. She was captivated by the weight of him, pressing her down, holding her torso so helpless beneath him.
He opened his eyes as he kissed her lips, considering exchanging his rough, uncaring kisses for tenderness. The temptation, however, that had lured him to her for the last few weeks was not a sweet, subtle thing. It was hungry and lustful, just now birthing the slightest twinge of love and deeper connection. His fingers found her thick wrists, and he pinned them down, feeling her actually struggle against him. Suddenly in realization of his actions, he arched his back away from her, ashamed and fearful that he had frightened the girl. In her gray, sparkling eyes was not fear, but, instead, desperation. Thankfully, he thought, he had not terrorized anything but her own desire. Still, he could not continue to kiss, as if devouring her fleshy lips, until he was certain that she was prepared to make this existential plunge with him. He tightened his grip on her wrists, to the point where pain was obviously induced, and the tips of her fingers screamed silently with numbness. Her breathless expression only changed slightly. Her chest, still falling and rising with her heaving breathes, arched a bit sharper, and her eyes, which never left his, drowned completely in an anguishing want, an obvious need. She pulled her hands into fists and pushed against his grip. He realized at that moment, that she longed for the fight. A submissive she was not, but she did have something that he couldn't quite describe. Their lived in her a need for submission, though she could not express or give into the idea of it. He realized then that she needed to push against him, to fight him, ever so gently, to maintain her own sex drive.
He let slack back into his taut spine, bending to kiss at her, but now he ran his tongue and lips along her neck. Those gray, eager eyes fluttered with the flick of his tongue, and her flailing legs tightened together, nearly bound beneath him uncontrollably. There was a moment when he bit her, harder than a nibble, but not threatening to draw blood that she tightened to quickly beneath him that she had stopped breathing altogether. Once again fearing that he had overstepped some unknown bound, he loosened his jaw and replaced his teeth with a falsely healing kiss. The air whirling in her lungs finally found its way out of her quivering lips in the form an anxious, satisfied moan. Smiling and sighing quickly to himself, understanding that he had yet to break her nerve, he bit her again, this time, slightly harder. He pulled her trembling fists together above her head, capturing both of them above her head with one hand, and allowing the other to rush quickly over a breast and past her clothed stomach and thighs to the hemming of her knee, length skirt. This was were he would violate her the way he imagined in fanatical, sickeningly sexual daydreams.
She moaned for him, hummed blissfully behind her pressed teeth. Occasionally, she slipped her mouth open to whimper for him, biting her lip to silence what would undoubtedly become and endless repetition of the same longing whimper. Anticipation was overtaking her as he skidded the tips of his fingers down her body. He seemed so tame and wild at the same time, that she wasn't sure if he was in control of his actions or not, but she oddly trusted him implicitly. She had, in that moment, given herself to him, though one thing unnerved her. As he slid up the bottom of her tight skirt, his hands passed over her left outer thigh. His head, that was tilted down, opposite of hand controlling her wrists, quirked slowly to one side. She realized then that he had discovered a secret that she would have openly warned him of if she hadn't been so lost in erotic ecstasy moments before her back was pressed into the springs of his bed.
He had pulled up that dark skirt to reveal scars that were carved menacingly into the fleshy side of her upper thigh. Most were faint, others were more vibrant, but all were obviously aged and faded. For a moment, he was perplexed. He looked up at her, aware that she would recognize his glitch in movement. The look on her face, for once, did twist to look somewhat fearful, but what he couldn't seem to extract was the nature of that fear. Had he finally crossed a line by touching her masochistic masterpiece, or was she afraid of his judgment. His head swam with questions in mere moments. Surely she had done this to herself, but it seemed so uncharacteristic of the upbeat, sassy, and fearless individual that he had encountered up to this point, that always used sly bitchiness to degrade her fellow conversationalists. So now, both of them breathless, sat for 15 seconds or so, while he processed the situation and the expression contorting continuously on her face. He narrowed the slits of his eyes, having come to a decision.
He kissed at those scars, for only a moments, tickling along the outlines of razor blades and broken glass. She caught her breath, gasping a scared and quick. Then, smoothly, but with little notice, he pulled himself between her legs, forcing them open. She sighed. In that sigh was every reservation she had held since the first time she had slit her own flesh, and she was in that moment twelve once again, replacing the need to bring blood to the surface with the need to have this man penetrate her until she climaxed for him and the glorification of him only. He had positioned himself between her thighs now and glanced down to examine the sex vibrating waves of heat against his unbuttoned blue jeans. He noticed then, that she was panty-less. Thinking very seriously for a moment, he affirmed in his head that he had not removed her underwear and looked up at her questioningly. He freed her hands and placed both of his palms on the outside of either thigh; one of those sweaty palms was still discretely massaging her scarred flesh.
He raised a suggestive eyebrow at her, and through her breaths she smiled, shrugging at the hint in his eyes. While she had not expected the night to end this way, perhaps her disregard for underwear was an insinuation of what she privately anticipated. The seriousness between them broke, for a moment, and they exchanged a chuckle. He had not expected her to be panty-less, and she had not predicted that he would ever had discovered she was without them.
"Slut," he whispered, thinking that he would now descend to make his mouth even with her sex.
"Your slut." Her words were quick and almost without thought, but they interrupted his descent. He gulped and tilted his head upward.
