Hair

Her hair is damp enough that even in this pale light it's two shades darker than normal. Its sweat-soaked strands cling to her back, weighed down upon her pale skin. She breaths heavily, but with a kind of composure. Even in this state of fatigue she keeps her wits about her. Never letting down her guard, not truly. She just trades the full mask for a smaller one and tells me it's the real her. There's not point in arguing. If the only time you can have a woman, truly have a woman, is when she lets you see her then that's all you'll see.

It's better not to dwell on things we'll never have.

My hand slides up and down the curvature on the small of her back, riding up and down. I stroke with one finger, two, three. I tickle a little until she gives out a small moan—my cue to resume stroking her. And I do. I try and show her that I adore her with the back of my knuckles as I drag them up and down her spine. With my finger tips as they press into her shoulders. With the whole of my hands as they cup the sides of her neck, or glide along her thighs, or swim though that matted, dark forest she calls hair.

She shifts, and turns to face me, curling up on her side and placing her elbow into the mattress and the side of her face onto her hand. She has beautiful eyes, not that I can see them now. All I see is the dim light reflecting off them.

I stare into them, wondering if she can see mine, or if we're just looking at one another.

I can hear her smile, the little crack that her lips make when her lips lift so high they part her lips a little is the only sound besides our breathing. She shifts a little, and makes her way to base of my feet in the same position.

And then I'm just the man with his feet planted on the bed and back against a headboard in her room. I wouldn't rather be anyone else.

I can see her face more clearly now, or the outline of it. It's enough to fill in the blanks. Of course, I don't have to be looking at her face to see it. Sometimes, I can't get rid of it. Sometimes I spend the whole day trying to chase it away. To focus on something else that matters more in the moment, but it always comes back. I think about her face and I smile and I hum to myself. And even now, trying to be so in control, I look at the soft edges of her features and I smile.

She taps my foot playfully with her free hand, drumming a little beat on it, then the other.

I try and dodge her next switch with a pivot of my ankle, but she's too quick. She taps it harder and laughs. We repeat the new game a few times before she stops. A somber mood descends as she swings her body to the edge of the bed.

"I'm really glad you came back." She says it with a tone that I've come to recognize as difficult for her to muster.

"I'm glad, too." I don't know how I sound when I say it, though. I'm just trying to sound strong. I'm always trying to sound strong.

She takes my ankles in her hands and she pushes them apart with a slow, easy force. When parted she slides on her stomach between them and places a kiss on my left ankle, then turns her head and kisses the same sport on my right side. She kisses her way in a tennis-match fashion, her lips pressing harder the more muscle and skin she encounters.

By the time she's climb to my knees, her arms buckling under her from lack of strength, she stops to grin. She looks so different when she does. Girlish and playful. She presses against my knees to open them up and pouts when I fight to hold my position. But it doesn't take her long to rise to her knees and grunt, to force them apart a few more inches before placing her hands on my chest and leaning in to kiss me.

We kiss for ages. We kiss for an entire day and night cycle to get right back to this moment in the darkness. Or at least that's how it feels.

Then she pushes herself off me and puts a hand atop each knee. She kisses her way down my thighs, nibbling and biting and pressing the whole of her face against them as she goes. She stops, and giggles, and starts kissing her way back up to my knees before moving back down. When there is little room left to negotiate, she brushes the tip of her nose against my cock and she swings from one side to another. Each bounce makes more and more of her face brush up against me, until the whole of her face is pressing against me and her lips are kissing my balls.

She is gentle and not at all playful. Her hands come up to grab my hips and her kisses are exquisite and passionate. Each one makes me feel like there is nothing else she'd rather be doing. Her tongue flickers around the outline of my ball-sac before she inhales the left side into her mouth and sucks.

I moan. She moans in return, sending vibrations though me, making my already spent cock shoot up as hard and tall as it can.

She climbs my cock with kisses, her thumbs and finger tips digging into my waist as she takes the tip into her mouth. But she's done teasing, and she only sucks on the tip for a moment before she starts rocking back and forth, taking more of me into her with every thrust. Her hair, shifts like waves in the ocean at night. I can see nothing of her

It doesn't last long. She moves back up to take half of me and continues that pace. Tip to half, tip to half, faster and harder. I moan and, once again, she does so in return. She goes faster and faster, the sensation too much to bear.

"Stop," I say it with some authority, but she continues. So I grab her by her hair and pull. She whimpers, but continues to to bob up and down., so I weave my fingers between the strands and peel her off until she is looking up at me.

Now I can see her face clearly, eyes wide in some mixture of want and fright.

"Tell me you're mine," I say with a low roar in my throat.

She says nothing, so I pull her hair back further and lean in.

"Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." She whispers it from the back of her throat.

I take her by her shoulders and spin her onto her back so hard she emits a little yelp. I press her down into the mattress and push my lips against hers. I kiss her, hard. Then harder. I try and drink her through her lips as her hands come up to the back of my head, then to the side of my face. I stroke the front of her neck with my thumb as I move in between her legs, my knees getting between hers. Then I release her shoulders and move hand right hand down to her pussy.

From the outside she is already slick, wanting and ready. I circle around her clit all the same before pushing a single finger in and out of her. I mimic her earlier place with my thighs and stroke in and out, in and out, just to tease her a little.

She doesn't beg, or plead. She just looks up at me like I'm the only man she's ever known.

I guide myself into her, and her expression softens, eyes closing. Before I am even a little bit inside her she is spreading her legs and moving her hands above her head.

"Hold me down," she says before I am even halfway in.

I brace myself with my hands on her hips and push in enough to feel comfortable. Then I take my hands push them against her wrists until they are constrained against the sheets. That push makes it easy, natural, to slide into her little by little.

She is moaning openly beneath me, her pussy stroking and releasing with every push. She is like no other I have ever been with, and I imagine, like none I ever will. Every inch I put into her reminds me that this is the best I have ever had. And it's natural from her, too. She isn't even trying. She's lost in her own pleasure, head writhing arms rising to push back against mine.

And I can't wait to lose myself in her. So I push, a little harder with every thrust. And it builds. First a little pressure, then a little speed. I want to feel the whole of her, everything she has to offer, all she can take. The build up begins. My cock, already as stiff as can be, feels more rigid as it is stroked by her and propelled by me.

I lean down fully now, my body entirely over hers, a kind of domination as my weight begins to help with every downward thrust. She's fully bound beneath my hands and she's stopped pushing up to meet me as I slide and out of her. I can feel now that it's just the attention being paid to my cock, that she's using on herself.

Impulses begin to run wild. I kiss her hard and fully on the mouth growling as I do. My cock makes its way as far down as it can go. Each time I reach the depth of her I can explore she lets out a little whimper, a little moan. They're coming faster now.

My cock aches, heats up. My ass tightens. My eyes close. I become nothing more than this moment. Just the feeling of being inside her, the want to pull out and the pleasure to slam back in.

And that's the word for it now, slamming. Fasting, harder, at my limit and then beyond it.

She says something but I don't hear it over the sounds that we're making, the wetness I'm pushing into, the bed itself making rhythmic thuds.

Her legs arch up and wrap around me and I'm constrained, so I use it. I stop fighting. I push myself into her with shorter, more rapid bursts.

It doesn't last long. She starts moaning and the last bit of control is lost.

He pussy spasms around me as her hot breath hits me in the face. She is screaming, wailing, moaning and I am am growling into her.

A few seconds longer and I feel the build up release from my ankles up. I cum inside her like a drowning man reaching for shore. I hold myself up with a trembling, shaking grip at the expense of her poor, little wrists.

The cum moves into her in waves, and when the last of it is spent, I move the flats of my hands to the mattress to push in and out of her a little bit more. She says to stop, but it's only a feint whimper, and I pretend not to hear.

These slow strokes continue until a kind of fog envelops me. I pull out, roll onto my side and look at her face as she draws deep, heavy breaths back in.

We stay there for a few moments, I can't say how long, before she slides her body towards me devoid of the grace she just possessed. When her face is under mind I kiss her and she giggles, she makes a kind of pucker noise against the air, so we kiss again. And again.

Some time later she is awake enough to look at me. She always gets so embarrassed if she finds me looking at her, but she doesn't look away. She holds my gaze for a few moments and then rolls onto her side and presses her back against me. We conform with one another, my arm draped over her, and we spoon.

"We can't keep doing this," she says.

"I know."

And so I stroke her hair as she drifts off.