P. 1
I sigh

I sigh

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Published by Melissa

A fictional story I wrote, in regards to a friend of mine. ;)

A fictional story I wrote, in regards to a friend of mine. ;)

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Published by: Melissa on Jan 03, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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I sigh. My gaze brushes him, taking all of him in.

I drink in his essence, committing every aspect of his being to memory. It is this, this brief interlacement with him that allows me to sleep at night, that makes every moment of eye contact with him heat my blood until it boils. “I’ve been working out a little lately,” he says, his eyes roaming all over the television screen as he watches the match rage on. Tentavily, with my soft fingers, I feel the gentle hard muscle beneath his flannel, and I feel the beginnings of a dull, pleasant ache between my thighs. All of a sudden, he tightens his arms and they become hard steel beneath my fingers, and my mind does summersaults as it processes this new information, storing it, fantasizing. It makes the ache between my thighs grow deeper, and I squirm a little on my high stool, our legs brushing slightly, our eyes- mine dark, his amber, meeting, all the while he knows nothing of my secret fantasies. It’s late, and outside, beyond the walls of his room, the wind gathers up leaves in mini-dervishes and plays with them insistently. “So, this if your room,” I mumble, my eyes and hands working together to take in his dwelling, my nose filled with the heady scent of him, my eyes dazzled by his carefully created works of art. “Yeah, this is my room,” he says, plopping down at his desk and twirling a little in the seat before grabbing the remote. The television streams on with a heavy click and the noise startles me as I brush the tips of my fingers over his bed. He smirks at me, and I try not to blush. “Guilty, huh?” he says with that wry, cocky smile I so enjoy on his tan skin, the color of butter and caramel mixed. “No!” I say, “I was just….ugh” and his smile spreads to a grin. He’s lost this argument, this fight, and so he revels in it. He revels in dominating me, and I long to be dominated. My mind flashes back to that day, the sudden feeling of steel beneath my fingers, the shock of remembrance that this is a man, the realization of strength. I need strength.

I feel his arms around me before I realize it, and in my though he’s grabbed me from behind in a tight hug. I say nothing, I just rock with him, feeling him breathe, taking this all in, and closing my eyes. I turn and face him, and I have to tilt my head up a little to see into his eyes. From between my lips, I whisper his name, so breathy it’s almost lost before it makes it to his ears. He gazes at me steadily, his eyes searching my face. He lets go of me abruptly. “We’ve talked about this, Melissa.” His voice gentle but firm. As he turns from me, in one desperate move, I grab him, hug him from behind, and allow myself to tumble backwards onto the bed, hugging him tightly. He lies there, saying nothing, and I position myself above him, looking down into those amber colored eyes, letting him see. “Please,” I whisper, touching his face gently with my fingers, which roam to his hair. He says nothing, but his eyes search me, and soften. “I want you,” I say softly and clearly, “to be my Dom” We’ve had this conversation over again already, and I don’t know what to expect. But here, being with him, in this small space makes me bold. “I want you,” I say, leaning down to let my lips brush his face, “Only you” “Why me? Why not find someone else?” he says plainly, but his eyes have closed as I continue to brush his face with my soft lips. “I don’t want anyone else,” I say. “I want you” His eyes flick open as I hover above his lips, and he looks at me, hard. I feel naked, embarrassed, and I retreat. I sense it almost before it happens and before it does, I feel him, all of him, grabbing me forcefully, and so fast I barely have time to register what happened, his hand roughly grabbing my breast, before pinning me down and looking deep into my eyes. “You’ve been asking me, and I’ll do it, if only to stop your talking” His hands roam, grabbing my breast forcefully before peeling off their layers to expose my bra, the tops of my breasts exposed. He does not kiss me at all, no emotion, as my legs go up into the air and around his shoulders, and I fill with heat as he grinds deeply into me. I gasp in surprise, his name slipping out of my mouth in shock, before he plants his mouth hard down on mine and thrusts his tongue deep into my mouth. I rock and gasp, my body jolted by the force and strength of his thrusting, and as I try to

move, I feel his strong arms, those steely arms pinning me down. He takes off his shirt, and now I can see the steel in those arms. He’s above me, grinding into me, I’m in his bed, his bed, his bed, and my bloods on fire, and I want him, so deep inside of me and I feel him thrusting and I can see his arousal and can he tell that I’m wet, so wet and I’m panting and my breathe is coming fast and I want him, all of him in me, deep in me, take all of me, all of me, I need your hands, your mouth, your body all over me and everywhere, I can’t get enough, my nipples tighten and he plays with them, and my back arches to meet him but he pushes me down, and I need pleasure, need to stroke myself, my center is aching but he won’t let me please myself...

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