𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 ● 𝐉𝐉𝐊

• 35 • je t'aime aussi

[Warning: smut, exhibitionism(partly), dom-sub dynamics as usual, etc.]

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Gliding down your back, you felt the cold touch of his fingertips, gentle but fierce with passion. Your gut swirled with effort to not buck your hips up, satiate yourself in his arms. It was ages after that his warmth and care was surrounding you, being gifted to you again.

You couldn't help but be selfish. You were greedy for his soft hurried breath, his veiny hands, eyes which flash black with desire and...him. Barely brazen at the nudity, you hurl yourself further into him as he experiments with his lips and teeth. He explores what he hasn't had and has been craving for. He was nearly dying as he rolled sloppy kissed past your jaw. Tongue swishing, making your stomach curdle with tingles, thrill increasing as he continued hitting on the delicate toe-curling spot again and again. Thighs shivered and moans trembled into his ear, so pleased he was to hear your fragile submission.

That's what both of you had always been. Submission and dominance, fitting together like broken pieces of Yin and Yang.

His suit rolled off his boulder-like shoulders, leaving him in a compliant cotton shirt which you had fisted and pulled to the ends. Almost clawing at it in kitten like desperation to get it off. He not-so-gently parted your thighs, finding space for himself in between them. So, now, you could feel him strong and hard against you, smell him dark and rugged, massive and tall. Your legs looped and slung around his defined slutty waist, making the position even more intimate. 

"Still so obedient," he husked into your shoulder, your hands tightened into fists. "It's like I never left your body." 

True. His touch remained present in you, you could always feel it within. There really was no one else for you. He was so learned and familiar, the way he touched, the movements of his eyes, his pattern you knew very well. Anything else would feel foreign and unwelcome. It's the hold he had on you, which told you you were clearly his and he was yours. It was the surety of being reciprocated, which no one else could match. Not like him. Not what he is, no one can compete. 

You whimper and plead with round eyes when you're unable to yank the shirt off him. "Patience, ma chérie," he chuckles with tortured suppression. What cried out your body had none of the virtue he asked of you left. The thirst in you was carnal and baneful. 

His long slender fingers decorated with old tattoos started undoing the buttons one by one, testing your patience. He looked at you knowingly, smirking at your red faced lust. The unguarded you which couldn't have enough him, the raw you which needed him and couldn't even deny it anymore. Not more than he could. Words of books and colours of paintings would turn to sin when they went on to describe you.

"You think you can...ready me? For yourself," he whispered, as he leaned down you could see the well-formed pecs peeking from between the open shirt. Chest as broad as palisade. Abs which coarcted, simply to twist your blush to madness. A rough naughty expression blossomed on your face when you understood what he meant.

"Oh." Your lower lip slid under your teeth with the effort to not literally whimper, it had plain pliancy painted all over it. He enjoyed the irregular flutter of your eyes, the wishful moans you kept in, how you tried to show it didn't affect you as much as it did. You loved whatever he did to you, and you couldn't let it slip out. You couldn't give him so much power over you.

Yet, he knew you held much more power over him than he ever could. You held his flesh and breath and blood and soul and memories, tied in the fine palm of your small hand. 

When you slid down against his body and settled on your knees before him, he couldn't just describe you as pretty. You were so much more than just pretty. You were raging flames and the calm dented moon, altogether. Pillows of your lips softer than flower petals, apples of your cheeks higher than mountains he'd climb for you. The anticipation which pulsed in your neck, the breaths you took awaiting him showed just how delicious you can be. How you were meant to be with him.