It's been a rich, full night.
When I came over, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. A month's worth of teasing and aggression and sex was built up. No small talk. No time for that. From the moment I set down my bag you pounced. Kissing. Biting. You pulled me by the hair to the bedroom and slammed me into the wall. Punches and knees interspersed with bites and kisses.
As you roughly pulled my clothes off, and ordered me to do the same to you, our scents became stronger. Intoxicating. I came just from your hand when you were making sure I was ready for you. And when you fucked me it was not gentle, but it was connective; as much as we both enjoy it when you use me from behind, that's not what this sex was about. We both wanted to see each other.
Then of course was the shower. Touching, exploring, kissing, slowly beginning to settle down. In my case, to relinquish control. Because while I had unquestionably been the bottom that night, I had been far too directive in my eagerness. I needed to be reconquered after so much time apart, and you had happily obliged.
A cozy night. A nice dinner, a movie perhaps. I was glad to be staying over, to get to smell you and feel your presence all night. Teeth brushed, a bit of a cuddle, and then drifting off to sleep with just feet touching. I felt so safe.
I thought I was just having another sex dream. I've been plagued with them for two months now, since our first date. But suddenly I am no longer asleep. It wasn't a dream. I am woken by your hand across my mouth and your weight rolling me into my stomach and pinning me to the mattress.