Thank you, angelicsounds, for all your help with the editing.
I'd also appreciate any comments or thoughts.
-UnlessIfI-
*****
He was not much taller than I was with beautiful brown eyes and black hair. He had a presence about him that would make people stop. He was strong, powerful even, but he was not in any way a mean man. On the contrary, when you had him in your corner you just knew things would be all right in the end. I had gotten to know him almost a year ago and we had become friends even when I felt his was way out of my league, even as a friend.
He always flirted with me, but I was always too scared to flirt back or even believe it was real. I couldn't believe a man like him would want me. I tried to deny his attraction towards me, but I could no longer mistake the hunger in his eyes when he looked at me.
He always watched me move, like a hunter marking his prey. His gaze was predatory and that scared me, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. He was all male and I had never met anyone like him before.
He enthralled me, but the aura of danger that seemed to surround him made me nervous. I always fumbled and blushed when he was around, hoping he didn't notice me messing up. He always did though, and his smile was ever-present. He knew why I kept fumbling in his presence.
Lately, it had been increasingly hard for me to keep my fantasies in the bedroom, where I would lie and think of him while I was touching myself. I would come hard, calling out his name. The thought of him had been teasing me for months and had finally started to consume me.
One night, I was playing with myself and fantasizing about him once again. Thinking about him always gave me a feeling of falling. No, it was more than that. It was like I was desperate to fall, to keep falling and falling. It was a feeling that made my knees weak and something I couldn't describe build up inside me. I was starting to feel like I couldn't be without him anymore; my need for him was overriding my fears for the first time.
I wanted him to take over, to let me have it. I wanted him to push me to my limits, to use me, to take me. I needed him to leave me with marks I could look at later and think about him, about what went on. I wanted to be weak and, for the first time, let him see it without me being too embarrassed to admit it. I would be anything he asked me to be, do anything he asked of me. I needed him and the mere thought of him was not enough anymore. Not when the thought alone was almost enough to make me come. I could not stand it anymore and I needed to let him know.
I didn't care what he thought of my fumbling anymore, I needed things to change. I needed to finally ask him. No, not ask. I needed to beg. I needed to beg for him to fuck me, to take me, to kiss me, to touch me. "Damn. Is this what being in heat is like?" I wondered, confused but determined to at least try.
"I can't stand another second without him."
I didn't have the courage to call him; I didn't trust my voice anymore. So I sent him a text message, which read, 'I can't do this anymore. I can't play this game. Finish it and come and take me. No more playing around. Please.' I started to shake as soon as my finger hit the send button.
Within two minutes the answer arrived. 'Where are you? Are you at home? I'm coming over.'
It felt like time stopped when I read his reply. The 20 minutes it took for him to arrive were the longest of my life.
Then again, I always found ways to occupy myself when I was waiting for him to come over and this time was no different. I sometimes wondered if he had any idea of how I had been touching myself and moaning his name just minutes before he came in, or if he could smell what I had just done in the air.
After the longest while I heard a knock on the door. I rushed to open it, I knew how he hated to be kept waiting. I felt the cold air from outside rush to meet me, sobering my thoughts for a second. I let him in and suddenly I couldn't look him in the eye anymore. I was frozen to the spot, afraid to touch him. Just one word slipped through my lips, so quietly I could only hope he had heard it. "Please."
He understood. The very second the word had passed from my lips, the door slammed shut and I was being pushed against the wall, his hands holding my wrists above my head. Everything was spinning as he pressed against me and his freezing cold jacket burned my skin.
All the power I thought had this past few weeks left me. I could no longer fight this. I surrendered. His mouth was on mine, his tongue in my mouth, demanding, his lips swallowing my moans and my pleas. I kept repeating one word even if it was lost in the midst of everything else. "Please."
My knees started to weaken and if he hadn't been holding me, I wouldn't have been able to keep myself upright, not even with the wall at my back. His hot breath caressed my neck as he whispered, "I've been waiting for you to be ready."
He let go of my hands and they fell against my sides; I had nothing left in me to hold them up, no strength to do anything else but feel. His hands were strong, like they were made of steel, and all over my body, touching me everywhere. They were in my hair, pulling it to give him better access to my neck. His hands were on my breasts, squeezing and kneading them. They were grabbing my ass, touching my face, making my back arch under his touch.
His fingers zeroed in under my skirt. I had chosen it specifically for this. He had once commented on it being a bit too slutty to wear in public, but he had seemed to like it anyway.
"Are you wet, baby? Are you wet for me already?" he asked.
