There is no comparing you, this place we've built together, to anything else. A place made out of bed sheets and comforters that turn into caves to explore until we could find each others skin again. So that we could kiss and hold each other in a way the movies can never show. We are close, skin on skin, and the seamless press of our bodies to another is the best part of every day.
I have put ten thousand bruises on your skin here. Mostly with the tips of my fingers when I grabbed you too hard and held you as close as I could. But also when I slapped your ass with the whole of my palm or gripped your hips to pull you into me so I could slide into you as deep as I am allowed. The small marks of my teeth after they held your tender skin between them. And sometimes marks that seemed to come from nowhere at all after nights of tussled hair and sweat-soaked laughter.
Making you mine has is the greatest achievement of my life.
But this is a journey that never ends. There's always another step for us. Some other place for us to go. And that's why I have to take you out of this room that we've made an extension of us. Why I take you outside your comfort zone and into the brisk, night air of the city.
It's after two drinks at the mid-range bar that I see that familiar look in your eyes. The one that lights up your cheeks and says your entire body is feeling empty and hot. There was a time where I would have played it out, asked for your panties on the way back from the bathroom or a hundred other power-trips. And some other night, I will. But tonight we celebrate how long we've been together and the very idea of it makes me want you as soon as I can.
You cheeks are even redder against the backdrop of light snow flurries that don't quite stick to the ground and your hair is a magic trick. And although I am so much taller than you, you feel like the size of the world. I know that I stare at you too long when you purse your lips and laugh, beg me to look away. We get lost in memories, swim through recollections as we do through the streets.
Each laugh of yours reminds me how lucky I am.
When we stumble upon the small park, dead and absent and dark in the middle of our city, then I pull you by the wrist. We make our way down the path leaving barely visible footprints around the sculptures and trees. It's only when we stumble on the large oak that I know why we are here.
I take you by the wrists and push them together over your head, a sliver of your stomach appearing, and hold it them to the tree. I tap them to make certain you know to hold them in place. Then I kneel down before you, kiss the scant skin while holding your hips, pushing you against the tree.
You start offering token resistance and as my tongue and lips find new parts of you, your words become louder. More urgent. Every second we are here is another chance to be found, something you hope to never happen—one of your greater fears.
Most times I respect the schism of who we are behind closed doors and the public face we put on things. You never want to be forced into explaining bruises and bite marks. Collars or costumes. And I do my best to make certain that you never, ever have to. That we are secret in the day as much as we are silent in the dead of night. But right now...
Right now I want you so badly I can't hold it. I hear you, I understand your nos, but I do not listen. I could pretend. Say I was in some trance. That something had taken a hold of me and I had no idea what I was doing. But it would be such a silly, easy lie. I know exactly where I am. I am in absolute control over my actions. I hear your protests. Your pleas, your pleases-your stops. And hearing them all I chose to ignore them. I unfasten your slacks and press my cold thumbs into the warm flesh under your ribs. And why?
Because I need you.
You're so much more silent when I rise to my full height, when I'm staring down at you again. You ask to stop all the same, but with much less emphasis than before. As I take the base of your left ear into my mouth I can feel the nos become more vocal, more proud, until I release your flesh and look at you again.
How many times are you going to say no tonight? How many times are you going to make me push through it? We've known each other too long for me to think the word has any power to it anymore but here you use it, over and over again, like an incantation. Like it would stop me. But we also know what it would sound like if you were really objecting and not just afraid. How hard you could fight me. How you could make me try within an ounce of my energy just to pin you down if you gave it your all. I am so much more powerful than you, but if you really wanted to say no, you could make me strain for every inch.
I push my tongue into your mouth as I slide a finger down your panties and into your pussy. I take you both places at once to silence you, placate you, take you. There is the further want in me, need I have, to feel you be open to me after so many whispered nos. A thousand denials can be made whole just by a single swish of your tongue, a single clenching around my finger.
Whatever strength I have melts when I know you'll be my perfect little toy.
I bob my head back and forth with the same slow, deliberate speed as I push my finger into you, so you are invaded in both places at once. So I can feel the moan from my fingers in my tongue and the pleasure of my mouth in your wetness.
We break both intrusions. I put my finger to your mouth. You suck It clean while making eye contact, an act you know drives me wild. It is a soft, peaceful moment in the cold, sterile world. Then you tell me that we can't.
I push your head against the tree. "We can't?" I repeat. "Would you like to use another word? Try again?"
You compose yourself, your thoughts, but there's no reason to make it easier on you. So I tighten my grasp on you, lean down to kiss your shoulder, then the base of your neck and back up to your ear which I suck gently and flick around with my tongue. Then I nibble you, hold your flesh between my teeth and pull it from your body. I love this moment, where your life feels fragile in mine and I can feel the beat of your heart in my mouth.
I release the bite, only to take in more flesh from you shoulder. Then your neck again. Then your ear. I lick the whole of it. Then after that delicate tracing, I bite you again.
My mouth becomes the way we're connected. I need more. So I switch to the other side and repeat the process. It's only when your neck sways in the other direction, that you give me access, in which I know for certain that you'll stop this silly game of denying me.
"I have to have you," I whisper in your freshly bitten ear. "Who's fault is that?" I wait until you confess. "Now tell me you're sorry." You do. "Tell me again," I ask as I take apart the top three buttons of your blouse. You say it over and over again as I lean down, kiss the top of your breasts over the fabric and move my hands beneath the waistband of your panties and slacks.
It's only when we touch skin-to-skin that I realize how cold you are. How pliant. What you are sacrificing to offer yourself to me.
I slam the clothing to your ankles and demand that you get out of them. You step, naked from the waste down except for your shoes, into fresh snow as I hang them onto a branch. You shiver, but it's only for a moment. Only until I take your hands and spin you around so that you face the tree and place your palms against it. Then I step behind you, shield you from the light wind as I take off my over-sized coat and wrap it around your shoulders.
