He lifts me up and away, and I growl in protest. I grab him by the ears and haul his mouth back to mine, sucking his tongue. I register the coolness of the sink beneath me, and I don't like the cool air that sweeps between our bodies. My hands slip down the planes of his back to his muscled ass before teasingly sweeping slowly around to his front. I feather gentle touches against his sack, then trace his impressive length before circling the plump head of his cock. How could I possibly remain angry with a man equipped with such a large cock?
He groans his approval and releases my mouth to trail kissed down to my breasts. I moan in satisfaction. God, his mouth, his hands. I suddenly can't wait anymore. The fire is building in my blood. All thoughts of domination, of power and control have gone-- all that's left is his mouth, his pulsing cock, and the empty, needy ache. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. My hand directs his cock towards my cunt--wet and achingly empty.
His hands are suddenly framing my face, and he forces me to hold his gaze. His cock is taunting me, pressing in minutely; it seems, before retreating, then returning to press in again. My fingers tighten on his ass, digging in, trying to force him closer. But he merely smirks, keeping up that enticing rhythm of minimum contract and withdrawal, and I snarl.
The bastard is still playing games. I'm long past power games, about to die from the compelling ache of want and need, and he still wants to win. With a sudden burst of energy, I shove him back. He stumbles, the perfect Harmon Rabb caught unawares. I press my advantage, hook an ankle around his knee, jerking, sending him down. I follow, landing on his chest, not even attempting to lighten my weight. He gasps, the breath is knocked out of him. And I impale myself on him.
I ride him wildly, my head thrown back, my teeth bared. He's recovered enough to grasp my hips, meet my thrusts. I lean over him, slowing only slightly, pressing my hands against his shoulders for leverage. He is watching my breasts, captivated by the bob and sway as I ride his cock. I take pity, lean forward slightly so he can get a better view. He rises up slightly, tongues a nipple, then sucks. The pleasure arrows down to my cunt. I moan in approval. The movement is a double pleasure; his dick has shifted inside me, altering the pressure against my walls. I tighten my muscles and grin as he gasps, grinding my clit against his shaft, sharing my pleasure. He pulls my upper body closer, adjusting his attention to my other breast, sucking harder. Too late, I see the glint in his eye.
His arms go around my back, he hauls me down against his chest and rolls. And my back is against the floor, my legs curled around his waist. His hands circle my thighs, and he forces them wider. He draws nearly out of me, then forcefully pistons back in. Again, again, and again, his hands griping my thighs, forcing me to remain still. His gaze bores into my own, and I understand the silent message. I've had my fun, but we're playing by his rules now. I let my head fall back and close my eyes, concentrating on the growing physical tension, rather than the satisfaction in his face.
Maybe one orgasm will be enough. One time, just to settle the curiosity and unresolved tension, and we'll both be able to get on with our lives. His mouth has returned to my breasts, the roughness of his late-night beard scratching slightly as he moves from one to the other. But we are both closer to orgasm. His hands tighten, then forcing my legs back against my shoulders; he pounds into me. I clench his hips, writhing beneath him as the spiral of need builds. We are both gasping for breath, so close, so close.
I throw my head back, grit my teeth and growl against the nearly unbearable pleasure and tension. He is fucking me with all the force in his body, grinding into me, his own lips pulled back in a snarl. We are fucking like animals amidst the love and hate and rage. His teeth suddenly bite into my shoulder, and I scream in pleasure and rage as he marks me. I dig my nails into him, raking them down his back, drawing blood as orgasm bursts upon me, refusing even here and now to be totally subject to him. He groans harshly, holding me down as he surges up into me one final time, higher and harder than ever before, than explodes in a rush of cum.
We lay there after he collapses, tangled and breathing hard. I close my eyes and listen to the rapid beating of his heart. What have I done? What the fuck have we done? After our breathing has slowed, he pulls away from me, forcing my chin up in an attempt to make eye contact. I stare at him, silently cursing us both, then push him away. I stand and turn my back, reaching for my robe. He inhales, perhaps prepares to say something, but I open the unlocked door and walk away.
I dress quickly in jeans and an oversize U.S.M.C sweatshirt, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. By the time I enter the room he is fully dressed, and I watch him chop veggies and scramble some eggs. And still we have not spoken.
