Wicked Game

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EDSpencer
EDSpencer
126 Followers

The taste of my skin brings him back to me
His parted lips glide across my neck, glistening with sweat drops
Warm breath along a pulsing vein sends icy fingers along my spine.
My eyes close. My breath sighs. My lips smile.
A growl comes from his throat. Teeth sink into my flesh.
I whimper and it is ignored. The teeth dig deeper, instead.
Arms pull me closer, possessing my body.
I feel the heat and heaviness of him, demanding.
His face is before mine now, eyes scalding into mine, brows knit with fury.
I smirk. I’ve won yet again, and he curses me for it.
His rage is in his hips, driving him to madness.
And my body welcomes it.
His pain. His frustration. His anger at me and his anger at himself.
I cling to him as he moves, holding onto the things he’s pouring into me
For his sanity’s sake. For that tiny moment of freedom.
His movements become erratic. I move with him to meet the end together.
I cry out. His teeth grit.
He roars. I revel.
Too quickly we float down from so high. Our bodies shiver to the ground’s night air.
He tastes my skin, again. This time his breath touches my neck with a whisper:
“I hate you.”
I smile, although pained. My eyes penetrate his with a winter’s cold.
“Hate me as you will, but you’ll be back,” I coo.
Abandoning that truth, his lips crush mine. His sweat and his tears fall to my face.
Tonight he’d go home and pretend. Tomorrow, or the next day, I’d be waiting.
The game will continue.

EDSpencer
EDSpencer
126 Followers
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Syndra LynnSyndra Lynnover 16 years ago
Brilliant!

Oh so familiar in such a painful way. I LOVED this.

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