then beggars would ride
His mouth is hot, demanding. Sucking on your bottom lip until you're sure it will be purple, bruised, teeth marks and evidence, damning in the morning. You match him, kiss for kiss, lick for lick, his tongue between your teeth and his gasps in your mouth.
Your hands are roving, restless, running over all the skin, ink they can touch, sometimes clasped in his and sometimes fisted in damp sheets. His fingers, palm are on your breasts, between your legs, that motion on your clit that makes your back arch, your mouth gape.
His earlobe between your teeth, your hipbone between his lips.
His cock, stretching you, filling you; your legs spread wide and his arms clenched around your shoulders.
Duvet on the floor, sheet ripped off, pillows jammed against the headboard, feet resting on them.
There is panting, gasping, giggling, moaned 'come ons' and air sucked between clenched teeth. There is a half-hearted attempt to rescue the sheets, before admitting defeat, falling asleep tangled around each other; rolling apart and flowing back together, opening your eyes to his across the pillow and laughing.
Lazy waking and the snooze button; vague threats in front of the mirror, inspecting bruises and bite marks. Rolling eyes and giddy grins, collapsing back on the bed and.
And you wonder.
If you had known then, known that that was it, that was the last time, for his hands and yours, your lips and his, his ink, your hip; you wonder if you would have done anything differently.
And you don't think so.
It was, it always was, exactly what you wanted. Needed. Exactly what you asked for and more than you expected.
You just wish, for a lot of things, for all of it, but most of all, to hold on, to grab on, to keep his arms around your shoulders and your leg in between his and please. Please do not let me go.
please.
Your hands are roving, restless, running over all the skin, ink they can touch, sometimes clasped in his and sometimes fisted in damp sheets. His fingers, palm are on your breasts, between your legs, that motion on your clit that makes your back arch, your mouth gape.
His earlobe between your teeth, your hipbone between his lips.
His cock, stretching you, filling you; your legs spread wide and his arms clenched around your shoulders.
Duvet on the floor, sheet ripped off, pillows jammed against the headboard, feet resting on them.
There is panting, gasping, giggling, moaned 'come ons' and air sucked between clenched teeth. There is a half-hearted attempt to rescue the sheets, before admitting defeat, falling asleep tangled around each other; rolling apart and flowing back together, opening your eyes to his across the pillow and laughing.
Lazy waking and the snooze button; vague threats in front of the mirror, inspecting bruises and bite marks. Rolling eyes and giddy grins, collapsing back on the bed and.
And you wonder.
If you had known then, known that that was it, that was the last time, for his hands and yours, your lips and his, his ink, your hip; you wonder if you would have done anything differently.
And you don't think so.
It was, it always was, exactly what you wanted. Needed. Exactly what you asked for and more than you expected.
You just wish, for a lot of things, for all of it, but most of all, to hold on, to grab on, to keep his arms around your shoulders and your leg in between his and please. Please do not let me go.
please.