I woke to the sound of a door slamming somewhere. It startled me, and I sat up in bed, glancing about. Ah, that explained it. He wasn't in bed with me and I sorely missed the warmth of his body pressed tightly to mine. With a groan, I simply fell back against the pillows, allowing their satin comfort to cocoon me like hands. It would take me time to move from my bed, to actually wake myself up, and follow where he had gone. Our clothes were scattered on the bedroom floor, discarded until the next day. It was night time still, hours before day break. My hair was mussed from sleep, hanging in disarray about my face. Curiosity was starting to pull me toward the door and I stopped myself.
I had to. The hallway was dark, the entire house was in darkness, and something about gazing into that darkness splayed out before me made me uneasy. I knew the place's layout well enough to stumble forward, touching my hand across the wall as I cleared the hall. The stairs came next, winding down like a slumbering beast with their wooden steps like mouths ready to swallow my feet. With a breath, perhaps a sigh, I started down them. My weight caused the steps to creak under me. It mattered so little because the house wasn't brand new. I expected the creaking stairs. Even so, it bothered me...
Unfolding below was the mass of the living room and, at last, a small lamp lit. I raced toward the steps, for that light, and ended at it. My lips pursed. This just didn't seem right. Shit. I was naked and I'd forgotten that and, for some reason, the door to the living room was wide open, sending in a light breeze that tickled across my skin. I squinted in the dim light as I could have sworn that something had been slammed. If not this door then what....? My feet crept forward of their own volition, toward the gaping threshold, and I reached for the door. For a second, I poked my head into the night. The car was still there, sitting on the drive, as if nothing at all had happened.
This itself caused a frown to spread across my lips. I shut the door behind me, replaced the lock, and turned around. Silence greeted me in the house I'd become so fond of, and still he was nowhere to be seen. On near silent feet I found myself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, my forehead against the cool of it. Until something brushed across my leg, fabric, and my wrists were suddenly in the grasp of a stranger's. His body was pressed into the back of mine, looming over me, as I fought the initial panic that rose up to claw at my throat. There were no words in the darkness that surrounded us, but the bare skin that pressed up to my own was warm. So warm and I was cold so I welcomed that embrace, I welcomed it until I felt teeth grazing my ear and his breath on my neck.
Oh, but I knew that body. I knew it well and it didn't bother me as much. If such a game wanted to be played I wouldn't ruin it, I'd embrace the challenge with a grin. And I did grin even as I tried to struggle away from him. In response, his grasp on both of my wrists tightened, his bite became almost an unbearable thing, and I cried out, softly. I felt him react, I felt him press himself more urgently against my form, and heard the sound that issued from his lips. It was one of want, need, and in this moment of weakness I managed to turn myself to face him. I leaned, tipped my head upward, to stare into his eyes and then I pressed a kiss against those lips. The hands that held me loosened, but his hips pressed me into the cabinets, trapped there against him, as I slid my arms about his neck and pressed our bodies even closer.
My bare breasts pushed against his chest as he parted his lips to my onslaught. I tasted him, explored his mouth, until he grunted and drew away from me for breath. There were no words between us, just action. His hands found my hips, traced circles against them, and then gripped them. Small half-moons were printed onto my skin from his nails and soon my lips had met the flesh of his neck. I kissed up its side, to the hollow beneath his ear, and captured the lobe for myself. I bit down, tugged at it, and played the tip of my tongue against it until I drew away from him. Next was the inviting indention of his throat which I traced in a continual circle until it had satisfied me. I tried to slide down his body, but found that his grip on my hips kept me from doing as I wanted to. Playfully, I glared up at him and his responding grin sent a whisper of heat low. It was a wicked expression, full of promises and threats.
There was a flush to my cheeks; even in the darkness I felt that such heat was visible to him. Suddenly, his hand was on my arm, dragging my away from the cabinets. I was thrown to the floor, rather roughly, but at this point I couldn't have cared less. My body was already responding understanding such needs, comfort be damned. I fumbled to get to my knees, moving onto all fours as he kneeled just behind me. I felt fingers dragging along my spine, and this brought a shiver from my body. His laughter, warm and thick, followed. Such a thing seemed to please him. His hands moved their attention elsewhere, parting my thighs so that I was bare before him. A finger traced across sensitive flesh and I wobbled slightly as the touch sent desire flooding through me. Just a simple touch, but it was enough to bring a sound to my lips. I tried to keep it at bay, subdued, but it found a way past my defenses.
There was nothing more I wanted in that moment was for him to fuck me, to fill me, until I was crying out and his name fell from my mouth. I kept the desire to myself, the silence hanging heavy around us. It seemed almost wrong to disturb it, and I was taken from these pleasant thoughts and forced into reality. Reality was even sweeter than thought, especially in this moment, because a long finger slid into me, slowly, taking time with each centimeter of flesh. Even that was torture, both torture and pleasure, at the same time. He teased me, finger moving inside of me until steadily. In, out, in, out... Oh, dear God it was almost fucking unbearable and already I felt close. Close to that warm spill of pleasure, but every time I held it in my grasp he ripped it away and would stop or change rhythm entirely.
