That Which Sleeps Lies

She feels him there, pressed behind her body in the dark, though she cannot see him. His touch is harsh and raw, the touch of jagged bone and rough skin. The heat radiates off of him, and the smell of sex in the room suffocates her every thought. Neon blue leaks through the blinds that are too small for the windows, bathing the room in a strange light; it is not a home, but a room built on empty walls for empty people.

He stirs behind her.

On her neck, she feels his breath. It is sensual, engaging—but the more relaxed she becomes, with the passion faded and the senses clear, the more she notices where she is: an unfamiliar place, with these unfamiliar walls and with his every breath, the realization strikes her: it is a mistake.

It is a mistake.

With her free hand she closes the blinds and the room fades from lit to dark, from the unfamiliar to the unknown. She could be anywhere now, and those hands and that body, anyone's. Still, she feels his breath on her neck, and knows whose it is. It is the wrong person. And yet, somehow, in the dark, it is softer now; somehow, more sensual.

Lying in his arms, his body still against hers, she turns and faces him.

She cannot see him, only feel him. And she feels the happiness that his presence stirs within her. She feels warmth and a strange sense of belonging in his arms. Her hands explore his body, naked and bare. She can feel the strength in his shoulders with her right hand and the rugged features of his face with her left. She cannot remember the colour of his eyes as he stirs again in the darkness, though she can feel them opening and upon her.

He moves a hand across her back, his touch sending ripples of electricity across her skin. She moves a hand down his chest, as he presses his body harder against hers, offering himself to her. Even in the darkness, she can feel his eyes on her, intense and warm as ever they were. Her hand reaches beneath his bare waist. He is already hard, waiting for her soft touch.

His hand strokes the skin on her side. He knows how good it feels for her when his hands slide down the sides of her body, moving ever further down until finally they stroke her in just the right places ... but he does not give her what she wants, and instead all she can do is bite her lip—the anticipation mounting. His cock throbs in her hand, as she strokes it. She is far too gentle, her fingers barely touching him. But the way his body reacts to the promise of her touch, excites her, and what is slow and cruel quickly becomes fast and pleasuring. He cannot help but moan as she loses herself in the pleasures of his body.

She wants to feel him now. She wants to feel the entirety of his body deep within her; wants to moan and scream in the way that only he can make her and it makes her pleasure him more—but the more she pleasures him, the more she wants him. He is so hard, in her hand, and her own body, so wet. The passion wells within her, and he can feel it. It would be so easy now, for their bodies to find each other ... and so incredible.

He pulls her on top, wanting more, but her hand stays around his cock. Every vein is throbbing, every inch of it in need of the release she offers but does not give. She is so close now to his body; he can feel the wetness of her mound sliding against the tip of his cock. Her lips find their way onto his chest, her hand slowly stroking the length of his shaft ... her lips now on his stomach. Her hand stops touching him, and her body, once so close, moves away.

He feels her lips on his waist ... on his thigh. And then the softest of kisses on his engorged member.

Her lips slide over the tip of his cock with excruciating slowness. He moans, uncontrollably, as they tighten around his shaft. It is like the feel of her body, when she takes him into her mouth, but somehow it feels more intense; somehow the desire feels greater. He needs the feel of release—to cum. Her tongue begins to twirl around the tip of his cock, making him moan louder still. To cum with those lips around his cock, he would do anything, but it a pleasure she has always denied him.

She begins to suck on his cock. In the darkness, he can feel her long hair against his balls, and her lips powerfully pressed over his head. Sucking on his head and teasing him still with her nimble tongue. His hips begin to thrust towards her mouth. He wants her to take more of his body into her. What she does only teases him and makes him moan louder and louder.

How sweet he tastes is remarkable—unbelievable. As she tastes the bits of pre-cum starting to form on the tip of his cock, she finds her pussy somehow wetter. She cannot help but explore with her free hand, her own excitement. A single finger slides along the slit of her mound, causing her to moan out loud on his cock. He loves knowing a finger is deep in that pussy of hers, while she has his cock in her mouth. And she loves knowing that that alone could make him cum.

His body bucks more and more wildly into her mouth, and she is forced to take more and more of his burgeoning cock into her mouth, which only makes him want to give her more. But she cannot deny her body anymore. She pulls his cock out of her mouth and once again wraps her fingers around it. He is close—she can feel it. Her hand strokes his cock slowly, letting the saliva on his dripping cock run through her fingers as she moves her body onto his.

Again he feels her slit, dripping with desire. She presses both hands against his chest, his cock standing at the perfect angle to enter her body. Even with her own body pulsating for him, and her spit all over his cock, he barely fits. Her hands grab hard against his chest as the first inch slides into her body. She moans as loud as she can; the feeling is unimaginable, absolute pleasure. The first inch slides in and out of her body, but it is not enough. She takes more of him, and more of him. Her breath is short and jagged; her moans become louder and louder.

Her pussy is throbbing with pleasure, and the room is alive with grunting and screaming. She tries to slow herself, to make the moment last. His hands reach up and begin to tug on her nipples, taking the last of her self-control. She rides him, harder and harder, taking all of his cock as deep as she can.

She screams louder than he's ever heard. Her body collapses on top of him, his hard cock still deep inside of her pussy. She is panting heavily trying to tell him that she can't do anything, but he is too busy. He can feel her pussy throbbing so hard around his cock, he holds her against his body and continues to buck his hips deep into her body.

Every thrust makes her moan again. She feels wave after wave of orgasm wash over her body. He can't stop himself. The way she feels, the way she moans in his ear—it is overwhelming. He can feel himself ready to cum. He knows he should stop, finish himself off, but the vibrations of her body and her moans are too much. He holds her tight against his body. He thrusts hard and grabs her ass. She moans even louder with his hand on her ass. He's so close.

He grabs the back of her neck—another hard, deep thrust and her even louder moan.

"Please ... cum," she moans into his ear. He grunts and moans and thrusts into her pussy as deep and as hard as he can, spewing every ounce of his fluid into her body. She moans with every last thrust, the pleasure still coursing through her body.

In the darkness, their bodies spent, she slides off of him, shaking and sensitive to every touch of skin. He curls behind her, and wraps her in his arms.

She feels something looming over her then, as the passion fades and her sense clear; she feels already the weight of her mistakes and vows for this to not continue. She feels his arms then, and his breath returning to his neck. The blue light spills once again through the blinds and onto her face, and she knows that this must be the last time, and never again.

But for all her plans made in the light of day, in the darkness, she cannot deny him.