ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇꜱ

Chapter 22

Amelia

Left on top of the table to melt like a candle burning too fast, it took me a while to gather myself.

Only the occasional reminder that all this was real, floated in the air. His scent in barely noticeable notes, my flushed body and the redness that still colored my cheeks.

As the hours and minutes passed, devouring this night with its hungry bites, my skin dug deeper and deeper into the places where his touch had penetrated. My mind was tirelessly coming up with scenarios of where this night could have gone, lamenting the lack of skin to skin contact.

I hated myself for the fact that his character had become an obsession in my head.

Reluctantly, pulling me like a magnet, my mind would constantly wander to the way his eyes would darken and aim at me like a sniper, while his lips curled into that wicked, alpha smirk. The way his body would move, fueled by the power of all those chiseled muscles beneath the thin fabrics of his clothes.

He possessed some dark, erotic power that screamed through his entire being.

In that odd game of submition, my body howled on all fours, begging him to devour me, leaving no part untouched by his lips, tongue or fingers.

I was fucked in every way possible. From the inside out, from top to bottom, without any literal fucking involved.

Waiting for the dawn still awake, my thoughts slowly died one after another with the first rays of the sun.

Sometime around noon, I forced my limp body to move and leave the soft and warm expanse of my bed.

Sunday always had that calming, quiet touch. It was as if the world stopped and all the chaos was put on hold, because Sunday was a day completely different from all the others. It was as if Sunday was a whole week to itself.

From taking the morning walk, through guilty snacking and reading the book that has been neglected on my nightstand for too long, until binging my all time favorite series, this Saturday has passed. Way too fast. Way too quiet.

As well as the next couple of days. No call. No message.

Sometime in the middle of the week I started to feel like a hormonal teenager. My fingers were itching to press that letter on the phone or hit the green headphone. But every time my finger was just a few millimeters away from the sensitive touch screen, I would freeze, changing my mind.

Should I be the first to call? Does that make me weak? Does that show how desperate I am?

Thousands of questions, but answer nowhere in the sight.

The desire to hear his husky voice, even if it was just his voice in my head while reading his message, unlocked a new level of longing in me. All my maturity seemed to went out of the window. I felt like my control was chained, and it was fighting like some wild beast to come out and show its true colors. Rawness. Nudity. Despair.

I never imagined you to be a kind of person who loves to procrastinate. I thought you liked your stuff done.

The beast won.

The message came almost immediately, surprising me how he could come up with a response so quickly. Sometimes I need a friking board meeting of all the personalities in my head to write a four-word witty answer.

As you can see for yourself, the pleasure is greater when it is postponed.

I smiled in amusement, snuggling deeper into my warm bed.

If I remember correctly, the pleasure did not taste like this. But then again, it is very possible that our definitions of satisfaction differ significantly.

Be sure that you will only know what pleasure tastes like, when that long accumulated despair that is growing in you right now, dissolves the moment I am deep inside you, filling you.

All the personalities in my mind bowed their heads, furiously blushing and speechless.

Does the same apply to you?

My heart was fast and furious, doing Tokyo drift as I waited for an answer, until I heard a short, high-pitched sound.

My pleasure will be your shallow, rapid breath in my ears as you beg me not to stop, screaming my name. Your moans coming out of you uncontrollably, while I'm inside you. Every part of you very aware that you are completely mine.

His straightforwardness always left me speechless. The way he is not ashamed to express his thoughts, so dirty and yet very intimate, giving me a part of himself.

Dinner at my place tomorrow.

His sudden change of subject startled me. He was a master at fucking with my brain. He all too well knew how to get into my head and illegally build a skyscraper there with a penthouse on top, offering a great view of my thoughts.

I thought you didn't want anything more than just casual fucking.

I felt awkward while typing last words. They seemed so raw. So 'not me'. I felt ashamed. But again. . .

Who was talking about something more? I am starving, and I think I know just what I would like to eat. You. Out.

Oh my God, please have mercy on me.