You tell me to leave the door open and wait

“Tell me,” you say, your voice low, your eyes bright. “Are you ready?”

You tell me to leave the door open and wait, so I do. Naked, crouched with the small of my back pressed to the wall, looking down at the hardwood floor. It is late afternoon. Gold light comes in through the windows. The weather has turned and the air drifting in gives me goosebumps, pulls my nipples up. Sometimes I love being cold.

You are fixed in my mind. I meditate on you, remembering the last time you were here. A quarter inch of your fingertip pressing into my pussy. Your mouth on my neck. My ass throbbing in your grip. But the moment I settle on is your cheek pressed against mine, the alignment of your mouth at my ear. This moment is my world for a small eternity. And then you are here, real, crouched down with me, your hands at my jaw to bring my eyes to yours.

“Hi,” you say, smiling.

“Hi.” I smile back. You kiss me softly on each corner of my mouth, pillowed lips framed in that scratchy beard.

“Tell me,” you say, your voice low, your eyes bright. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready for you.”

“Good. Very good.”

You reset your hands at my jaw and pull me up so I stand against the wall, your mouth moving on mine as we rise together. It isn’t until I am upright that you give me your tongue. You press your weight against me and move my head at small angles, then back against the wall, then in towards your mouth. Your t-shirt and jeans feel like tiny explosions against my skin. You could only kiss me, just like this, and I would be happy.

Your knee between my thighs. My legs bend as they come apart, and I rest my weight on you. You take one hand from my jaw, tracing it down my shoulder and arm. I want to be good for you, to be quiet. You press your palm up between my legs. Two fingers reach further, assessing. I bite my lip and exhale.

“Damn.” Your voice, the warm air that had just been in your lungs, in my ear. “Damn. You are so fucking wet.”

I can’t help it. I moan the tiniest moan. Your open hand against my cheek comes next. Then your mouth, tiny kisses over the hot skin. Tenderly, across the little plane between my eye and my temple.

“Shhhhh,” you urge, guiding my hand to your cock. It strains against your jeans.

I bite my lip harder. You are too far away. I want your pants off. I want your skin, your salt. You groan and bury your face in my neck. My hands are frantic, rubbing you and pulling at the button of your jeans. You press your teeth into my shoulder. I gasp and your head snaps up, your eyes questioning, challenging. We both know it didn’t count.

You spin me around to face the wall, kicking my legs further apart, and I stretch my arms upward, palms against the wall for support. Your hands slide up my stomach to my breasts, fingers catching my nipples. You fold your body over mine, my ass fixed to your hips, your chest and stomach a shield on my back.

“You better be quiet.” Your mouth brushes my ear. I can’t see you. “Are you going to be quiet?”

I nod. You body leaves mine. The absence of you is cold and sharp.

“Good girl.”

The first hit is like frost; the second fire. Everything after is an electrical burn. You take breaks to kneel down and kiss my ass, admiring the reds and purples you’ve painted. It is the softness of your lips that brings my tears. The wall helps. With the wall I can take more.

There is a blur of sound and pain and heat and time. Then you break me. You slide your hands up my arms and enter me from behind, your clothes on, your cock out. My hips move back to you of their own volition, the fresh bruises catching your pelvis. I am losing control.

“Mmmm,” I moan. “Fuck me goddammit. Fuck me.”

You are fast, your hand clamped over my mouth, fingers pressing hard into my face.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss.

But you listen. You fuck me, anchoring yourself with my tits, my hair, my sore ass. Waves of heat and cold break over me. You slow down, leaning against my back again. One hand takes my breast, the other drops to my crotch. Your lips, your tongue, across my shoulder blades. Two fingers, already soaked, massage my clit in slow circles. Your hand moves down to where your cock slides into me, then back up to my clit. I begin to shake. I am holding my breath, getting lightheaded.

“You like that, don’t you?”

The sound of your voice makes me whimper; your hand leaves my breast and slaps my ass. The heat from it ricochets to my clit, resting, building beneath your other hand.

“Shhhhh,” you say. “Shhhh.”

I can’t. The moans are quiet but not quiet enough. Each one earns a slap, flames licking across the side of my ass. You are conducting me with your hands, your mouth, your cock.

You let me be louder when I come. My body opens, blossoms, my cheek on the wall, I am collapsing and you catch me, bringing one arm up under mine to grasp my shoulder. Your other hand presses against my pussy, just above where your cock moves in and out, a little faster now. I feel your face on my back, the roughness of your beard. You hold me into you while I come, groaning with me. You love feeling me come from inside.

“You’re such a good girl,” you say, your lips square on my spine. “So good. Mmmm.”

“I’m your good girl,” I say, breathless, still coming. “Yours.”

“Yes. You are. You’re mine.”

You start fucking me faster, harder. My orgasm morphs into something bigger, something taking up the whole room. I feel you building, getting closer. I want more of you.

“Please,” I beg. “I need to taste you. You feel so good, but I want to make you come with my mouth.”

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“So bad.” I am whispering now. “I need it. Please.”

You spin me around, setting me on my knees to face you while you take my place against the wall. I am a starving animal, pulling your pants and your underwear down to your ankles and grabbing fast to your legs.

“Please. Take your shirt off.”

I take you in my mouth and you groan, pulling your shirt up over your head and letting it drop to the floor, your back arching against the wall. I love seeing you like this. I love seeing your body up above me. I love seeing your pleasure.

“Good girl,” you say, your breath catching. “Such. A. Good. Girl.”

My tongue, my lips, my hands work up and down your cock. I am ravenous for you. I grab your ass, your balls, reach for your stomach. Your legs tremble. I moan against you in my mouth; you echo back to me. I go faster, pressing you into my face. You hold back, shaking, groaning. I want to undo you.

You come and I drink you. You taste like everything, like the earth and the sea and the sky. I look up at you, your head angled up towards the ceiling in bliss. Slower now, kissing, sucking, licking you. I take one of your hands in mine, our fingers intertwining. Your orgasm subsides and I let you out of mouth, peppering your shaft with little kisses. You slide down the wall and sit in front of me, your eyes calm now, content. You take my face in your hands and pull me towards you, kissing me deeply. Your lips are soft, your tongue gentle and sweet.

I lie down in your lap, one hand in yours, the other tucked under your leg. The fingers of your free hand travel up and down my skin, dust my face, comb through my hair. I giggle, looking down at your feet, shoes still on, your ankles bound in bunched up jeans.

“You’re perfect,” you say. “I could stay with you like this all day.”

“I’m perfect for you,” I say.

We sit like that on the floor for a long time, quietly watching the light change from gold to red to electric blue.

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