Deleted Member Posted June 1, 2025 . She’s straddling me -- bare thighs d***d over mine, her breath already threading through my skin. The fire behind her flares, throwing shadows that dance along the planes of her body. . That white shirt -- the one that hung like restraint -- is clinging now, translucent with sweat. I can see the full line of her, the curve of her back lit up like temptation in silhouette. . Her fingers press into my chest ... Not to push, not to anchor -- just to feel. Like she’s trying to count something in me I haven’t measured yet. . She leans in -- hair tickling my cheek, her scent catching in the space between us: heat, cardamom, and the memory of a dare. . Her mouth finds mine, and something detonates. . The kiss is all tongue and territory. She takes, unrelenting -- but I answer. I meet her pressure. Tip her head back. Take her mouth slower, deeper. And that -- that -- makes her shudder. . It brings me back. . To the market. . She was thumbing figs like they’d offended her. Rolling them in her palm, testing for softness, for secrets. She never looked at me. . But she shifted her weight. . That small tilt -- like a door cracking open. I saw it. Felt the pull of it. I walked past. Kept my eyes ahead. Promised myself I wouldn’t turn. . I did anyway. . She was still there. Holding a peach now -- smirking. Not at me -- just ... smirking. . Now, she’s kissing me again, and the rhythm is changing. I tilt her hips. Guide her back down over me, slow and deliberate. My hands on her -- not controlling, but steady -- suggesting. . She responds in kind. Grinds down. Pressure coils. She reaches between us, finds me, guides me inside. I expect her to yield. . She doesn’t. . There’s resistance -- heat, tension. Not a wall -- a test. Like her body’s still asking: Are you sure you can hold this? . It reminds me of the coffee shop. . This time, I saw her first. . She was outside, across from the bookstore. Sunglasses on, drink in hand, legs crossed like a well timed comma. . I watched from the window. Sipped my coffee too fast, burned the roof of my mouth. She stirred her drink but never drank it. . I got up. Crossed the street. Walked past. . She didn’t flinch. But her fingers tapped once, slow, on the table. Like a metronome daring me to follow the beat. . I ducked into the bookstore. Picked the first thing I touched. Didn’t read a word. When I came out, she was still there. Still not drinking. Still not looking. . But when she re-crossed her legs -- slow, deliberate -- I felt it. That same movement she’s making now as she slides down on me. That same control. That same tease. I grip her waist tighter -- not possessive. Just to say I’m here. And maybe I see you. . She moves with me. Into me. Her rhythm shifting again. Faster now ... not wild -- intentional. Like she’s dragging something up from deep inside us both. . Then she shudders. Lets out a moan -- low, involuntary -- and it draws me back again. . The third time, it rained. . No umbrella, she walked past me on the sidewalk -- closer than before. . We didn’t speak. But she stopped. So I stopped too. . She looked up at the sky like it had kept a promise. Her hair was soaked. Her dress clung. She smiled, not at me, but at the moment. . Some silences are louder than thunder. . Now, her moan crescendos. She leans forward -- forehead to mine, breath ragged. “Don’t stop,” she whispers. Then again, deeper. "Don’t fucking stop.” . It’s not a plea; it’s a provocation -- so I don’t. . I shift beneath her -- meet her thrust for thrust. My hands tighten. She bites her lip. I tilt her hips just enough to make her gasp. . She throws her head back. . And I see her again. . At the gallery. . Expressionist piece -- oil on canvas, nothing but blur, rage and red. She stood in front of it like it said something only she could hear. . I moved closer. Pretended to see what she saw. She shifted to the right. So did I. . A rhythm before music. . Now, in this room, the music is her's. Her body pulses around me -- tight, hungry, certain. . I lean forward -- kiss her neck, her collarbone. My hands roam down her back. She arches -- groans. Hips grinding with more pressure, more purpose. . She’s getting close. I feel it in the tremble of her thighs. The break in her breath. The way she clenches around me -- not to possess, but to know. . She looks at me -- eyes wide, locked. . And I know she sees me too. . She shatters. . And I fall with her. . We stay there -- pressed together. Her hand on my chest. Her breath soft and steady now. Her shirt hangs lower off one shoulder, barely clinging. . And I remember -- . It started with glances. Just that. Just eyes, and the question that lives in a maybe. Not promises. Not permanence. . Just everything, but the fall.
pe**** Posted June 1, 2025 The next time a guy asks me what I like, I will use this as a starting point.
Deleted Member Posted June 1, 2025 Author Thank you ... there is a part three but I think there may be a part 4 too. I will see ...
Deleted Member Posted June 1, 2025 Author 17 minutes ago, SassyCas said: You should do a book with short stories... This is captivating writing. I appreciate that. Thank you
Tara131 Posted June 1, 2025 It’s true! You should write a book of short stories. You’re writing just draws you in and brings you to the space you ***t with your words! SO GOOD!
ve**** Posted June 2, 2025 Wow!!!!! This is amazing!!!! U could write a book. So descriptive, real, and sexy.
Deleted Member Posted June 2, 2025 Author 6 minutes ago, verynew_subgal said: Wow!!!!! This is amazing!!!! U could write a book. So descriptive, real, and sexy. Thank you. Wait till part 3 ... if it gets published.
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