A mouth hovering over a hardening nipple. The heat is stifling, fervent. The mouth inches closer, threatening to engulf my entire soul. The thin fabric of the top standing between my skin and the wet fabulous heaven burns. My heart inches underneath all this war burns as well.

I would fly you to the moon and back, he hums. My fingers in his hair stretch, contract and in the end blunt nails grasp his scalp. He’s hovering above me and it feels like thousands of miles in space, a personal David Bowie, a personal Jesus who walked on whiskey. I tremble underneath him, the two fingers hooked in me shifting occasionally.

Half naked, I felt the dragon he contained in his mouth prepare to breathe its fire. In the bloody sunset, we held hands. In the black night, he’s holding me within his palms, a reminder of the power I’ve given him.

Since I’ve been, I start. He lifts the two fingers, touching me deeper within. No Zeppelin love, not now. Zeppelin is for when we come together and you won’t make me come just yet, he says. I obey. I always a obey.

My commander wears the armour of a million virgins before me. He wears the blood of endless nights with scratches, bites and whispers. His epaulettes shine in the night because he’s carrying the orgasms of the world on his shoulders. My personal Atlas is no longer tired, no longer running, no longer in the sea of responsibilities. There is no race to win, and he’s got till the end of the time to brush my hair.

The heat travels slowly, crossing the bridge between one hard nipple and a neglected other. The tale of two cities, in flesh, covered in nerve endings. If you really need me just reach out and touch me, he hums again, his lips not moving much from their parted position. In the stillness of the world, a car misses the red light. I blink. The screams of the world touch me little. Not when I’m surrounded by the heat, not when his fully clothed body shields me from the wreckage. The lesser evil, really, because he’s as dangerous as a shipwreck; slides in and out as swiftly as nightmares that come and go. Recurring nightmares at that.

On the battlefront inside me, his fingers are merciless. The tremors crawl up under my skin, like beautiful parasites I now live in a sinuous symbiosis with. They clench to my heart and it beats faster. It pumps faster. So does he.

I whimper, a desperate plea of sorts. The trial on this court has been going on for eons and I cry now, begging for anything. An acquittal. A conviction.

He smiles. Now, he orders, right before the heat comes down and I feel everything. The trenches in his lip are strong around my nipple. The fabric resists for a second before the monster that is his tongue lands on the small flesh stronghold and I can hear the skin crying. The monster moves and through the cloth between us, three layers of skin, fat tissue and everything from pillar to post, it touches my ribcage. It creeps between the empty bones and it impales my heart with its heat.

The fingers are caught in a death sentence and I pulse around them victoriously. The court has released me. I ascend into the prison his mouth, his hand, his entire body constructs. I willingly go to my demise because when his mouth fell hot on my nipple, I fell hot into the pit of my bed.

His head on my chest is the most exquisite paperweight in the world; carved with soft edges and a smile that lights my bedroom. His eyes are beacons for a lifelong peace treaty. I hold him, the silence of my heavy breathing endless and powerful.
When he kisses my lips, his tongue slides lazily in my mouth.

You belong to me, love, he says. I nod quietly. No one will ever have you as much as I have you. His hot breath moves to the side of my neck. I can feel his lips stretching into a smile. I can feel his heart smiling with it. He lifts his fingers to my mouth. Be a good girl, he says.

They explore the inside of my mouth and I caress them as best as I can. Meanwhile, the heat returns and with it, there is a storm brewing deep inside of my soul. His teeth sink in, and for the longest time, I believe I am going to die underneath his beautiful smile.

His knee rests between my thighs. It gets soaked in seconds. I whimper when he grabs a side of my ass. I whimper when he lifts his hand and it falls back down in a strong smack. I whimper when I hear his words.

Move on my thigh, he orders, and in the sandstorm that is my bed, I can’t help but obey. I always obey. The roughness of the fabric covering his skin seems foreign, but it adds a barrier in my way to slicing my heart open and shoving him in the beating flesh.

He grabs my face. The vice is painful to the point of pleasure. My jaw forces his fingers and he allows my tongue to wiggle on my lip. He lets me suck on his fingers. I taste myself, the familiar flavour of a half victory. His lashes are a timid cover for his fierce eyes. I feel his leg pushing harder on me.

Say it, he tells me. Not orders, but tells me. Because he knows unless he pushes me to the absolute limit of desperation, I won’t do it. His voice softens. Come on, love, one word. His tongue is fire on my ear, licking it with the honeyed promise of Satan. He nibbles, blows hot air. Cold air. He tells me again. One word, love, say it. His fingers pinch my nipple. His voice pours on my eardrum, coating it with promises. I concede.

Please, I beg. Please please please. The words fall in a heap of sounds, with no concrete meaning. Good girl, he says and I feel him everywhere.

The tremors. My lord, the tremors. I choke on sounds, on my own voice, on his fingers. The heat is now surreal, Dali’s melted clock is now on me, in me, with me. I drown on his mouth, the sun god to my mortal pious nature. He reigns over me. I respond only to him, his touch, his voice, his heat. The monster is free and it circles, grazing the ground only occasionally, rarely fully landing. The siege becomes unbearable and his fingers find the wet fabric trapping my nipple once more. They clench on the flesh and with them, so do I.

I have received my freedom, but such is its nature, it burns eternally.

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