She felt only the caress of moving, of being moved…moving with him and in him and him inside of her. She felt like she had been absorbed; lost into his flesh, his body, his touch, the touch of this man who knew her so well. It was like water that day, like water and cold and heat only it all felt the same. It felt tight and hard like lace around her legs; a black fabric biting into soft thighs or a hand gripping a slim throat as if it were a rope. His rough thumb marred the whiteness of her skin, digging into the beauty of the hollowness of that spot that pulsed with each fragile breath she offered him.
Time didn’t exist, nothing did, and there was no one else, nothing between them. Perhaps there never had been and in that moment it didn’t matter. He replaced his hands for teeth and he bit into her neck sucking smooth skin into his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. Needing more. There was adventure in his touch, in his breath and it was like danger dripping on them both until they were both wet with it, slippery. He was all over her and in her and his hand was hard in her hair and on her face cupping her chin for his kisses, his teeth grazing her cheek, nibbling at her bruised lips tasting her whimpers and knowing there was so much more to come. A quick hand slipped between them pulling loose fabric away from damp skin tearing it away in its urgency to slip between hot, open thighs. They parted like her lips when he touched her and she curved into him a needy startled cry tearing from her throat. His eyes buried her, smothered her and the madness of his need threatened to consume her. It did consume her and she tossed her head trying to find a place where her thoughts stopped melting and draining away into puddles reflecting what he could do to her, what he was capable of and what she so longed to feel. His hands were rough and hard and left red and purple trails in their wake and he marveled at her softness, at his desire to break her, to tear into the softness of her; to pull it out and spread it over him like the richest cream. It was as if she was snow and vanilla and everything sweet and melting in his grasp. It all ran together between them, where every breath and touch ended on a fragment, an unfinished musing that never waned.
There was no dalliance here, not tonight; rarely between them was there the false pretense of tender lovemaking. He was fucking her, he fucked her and she loved it, she needed it and he needed to take her. He buried his fingers in her again and she lifted against him. He flipped her over ignoring the sheets that wrapped around her legs, sheets that tied her to him and kept her his. His hand was tight on the back of her neck and the other one was again inside of her, filling her. He felt her muscles clutch at his fingers and her wetness was everything warm and soft to him. Her moaning was rhythmic and musical as she struggled with finding her breath and the heat between her legs burnt her, scared her and reminded her that she was his. She lifted up and moved into him sliding herself against him loving the weight of him pressing her back down, holding her down…she struggled with a feigned bravery against his unyielding skin. Snaking an arm around her waist he turned her again pulling her hard against his chest his heart so loud, a storm in her ears soaking her in it’s rain before tossing her back down hard on the bed in front of him. Her breathing was fast and his eyes took everything away from her, all that she didn’t need, didn’t want and would have given to him anyway. He took it from her with a glance, with a single touch, with a bite that she felt days later. Yet there was still more and she wanted it. He recognized her need, her growing whimpers almost frantic coming from deep within her. His mouth was against hers as he fed her whispers that grew between them like a dark cry of release, a cry of surrender of complete nothingness that was everything. He demanded everything. Her nipples were hardened and slick and his fingers bit into them with a piercing ache that gripped her. He twisted the rubbery silken skin lifting her off of the bed his eyes were watching her face, the agony, the pure pleasure of giving him the pain he so desired was all over her. It was in the delicate layer of dampness that covered her skin, it was in every short breath that filled the air between them and in the way she needed him.
There was pain at both ends of his touch and he held nothing back knowing that he didn’t need to, he couldn’t, he had tried and failed.
Some people collide and explode together almost as if they should have never met. Only they did and everything changed, everything had to. He needed her, he loved her and she was as much his as the hands that even now hurt her. So his hands reminded her of that and the marks on her skin were like memories to her for she had never forgotten.