Hovering, she lowered herself till they became one. Her hands placed in the center of his chest, hips moving to the beat. He begged her to take him harder, she refused. A shake of her wild golden mane, she would only move to the beat of his heart, though her body begged for more. It was an exchange of power. She took what was hers. When his hands gripped her hips, forcing her to accelerate, she warned him with her nails to his chest, trickles of crimson desire pooling in the center. She fed on the warm liquid of life.
Red painted nails, she curled her finger at the knuckle, calling him forward. Using her hand to halt him when he came to close. A simple point to the chair, her lips curled in a seductive snarl. Her body without a stitch, she moved her hands where he desired to touch. An artist without her brush, the tips of her fingers brushed soft strokes until her entire being painted with crimson hue.
Have you ever just felt consumed? It’s the best feeling in the world, yet the scariest. For Gypsy, she’s obsessed with an image. Someone, she didn’t know wrecked havoc in her mind, and the harder she tried to rid herself, the deeper his nails dug. Who the fuck was this face that had haunted her for the past week. Tall, dark, and she sensed something destructive. Why did every fragment of hair stand on end when he entered her mind? An over-active imagination can be a dangerous place to play.
His hand pressed her face against the pillow, his teeth raking the blade of her shoulder with a playful need. If you asked him if he wanted her, he would admit that he did, but his need to torture her was intense. He loved how she cried when her body shook beneath his, her ass pushing up as his cock nestled between the cheeks. Tonight was a power play. In his twisted mind, he wanted her to beg for relief. Did he know the danger that lighting a fire and blowing it out before it burned could do to a woman? His body slammed down against hers, simulating fucking her. His cock remained without the confines of her velvet laced walls.
Inching closer, she focused not on his face, but his lips. Full, with a defined pout, the moment their breath became one, she salivated for him. The first touch as light as a feather, her body layered with a thin blanket of prickled lust. Her lashes sealing, their lips touched for the first time. This was the moment she was addicted and knew the definition of a morphine laced kiss. She would be the vein, and his lips the needle. Make me your addict.
My soul is tired. I need to dance naked in the rain and cleanse my skin of the filth the world has laid upon me. My heart is broken, my dreams shattered, but the waters from the heavens above will scrub clean a tainted angel who fell from the heavens.. God, if your listening, please calm the storm that rages.
As he smeared the head of his cock up and down her wet lips, she grabbed his hand. It wasn’t that she feared the pain, but that she wanted to watch her lips wrap around the head as he fully engulfed her tight cunt. Her mouth threatened to protest, but her eyes lit the way for his entrance into her starving wet walls. Inch by inch, those delicate lips parted, the head of his cock smearing with her honey. Pulling back, he slapped the mushroom tip on her swollen pussy, juices splattering on her thighs.
Scathing words raking my soul. Every lie told was another festering wound drained for your personal pleasure. Spilling from your mouth like bleach, you cleansed your tarnished memory, taking away the last of my mind. You won’t be complete until I have questioned my own sanity.
Taking his arm in hers. Whispering for him to close his eyes. With only the soft pads of her fingers, she wrote their love story on his skin. There would be no proof she was there, but buried deep in his flesh would be memories he would never forget. She was a dream, a myth, or was she figment of his darkness. Lost in a soulless world two search for the day they both awake
Her hands moving down, caressing the curves as she drew her treasure map across her flesh. The red nails leaving faint lines across the swell of her breasts, she stopped to tug on the hardened buds. Whimpers of need falling from her lips, today, she would do her own exploration. Her fingers drip in sins, washing them clean in her mouth. Maybe the real treasure was not anything but the feeling she gave herself.