Unkissed. (Rated R)

93.👑

My impish tongue drags over the moistened line of my lip, pursing them until they submerge into my mouth, reminiscing the after math and taste of what happened last night. My arm pauses midway with the contour brush just over the line of my cheek, every blink is a vivid memory last night's event, how weak I have become too easily cave in to deep desires.

I admitted it, I gave in, fully welcoming to the idea of being tossed around by him and finally sedate this longing in me, the one that still trickles down in between.

I shifted in my seat, exhaling a deep long breath that wafted to the mirror until it fogged, minding the mistic steam that condensed the glass, proof of what broils in me.

Nasir.

Why is it everything forbidden, was always delicious. The wrong temptations is what drives me, always craving what I couldn't have.

I used to believe these feelings were only whispers of faceless people that weren't strong enough to resist temptation, but a las I spoke too soon. Stories told of my ancestors; history fated to repeating. But so be it, I just couldn't help myself. Nasir is the man my body craved for so long, he is everything I desired and more. His carefully constructed face, the sheer strength and physique, and the melodious flow of his voice that pours over me like thick sweet nectar and dark dominance to match it.

The light strands of the brush running over my skin like a thousand tiny feathers when I shook my thoughts from falling into the deep end and throw myself onto my mattress and rub myself until I implode. Exhilaration awakens in me all over again, and I paused, lunging back to the safest zone of my thought, knowing I'd run right to his room, and into his arms, where I felt safest.

Years of training to never to give in to urges, and it all flushed down the drain in one day, in a time span of thirty minutes, when fell on my knees to stuff his manhood into my mouth, running my tongue over the skin and the fat tip, savoring the sweet taste of masculine flavor. And I don't regret a single moment. I relished the taste of the light salt of his skin, the silken wet liquid that seeped from the opening and that impeccable size.

Flames of hell awaits me for what I have done. Nearly fornicating behind my husbands back, and a dent to my oath. But in the present time, I deal with another burn, an unbearable heat that drags through every part of me when I am aroused, and those -- I welcome freely.

All I can endure now is the non-regrettable consequences of it all, but the knob of my bedroom twists until the door is pried open, and my hazed eyes defines by the figure that enters and cleared my throat of guilt.

Gunter enters the room, a single bright sun ray hit the surface of his forearm as he perched himself just a few feet from the door to align his sleeves. His eyes never glanced to me, yet, I felt them somehow, the similar feel as if I were watched by the lens of a camera.

"You are due to be on a plane by one." He only said, his voice neither enthusiastic or gloom. Just the normal vibrant tone, a casual reminder.

I twisted my neck, shifting from the reflection to glare at his physical form with evident confusion. Everything soundless, but the light tug of his fabric sleeve. His non spoken attitude ticked my nerve and my lip twitched in result.

"Gunter." I assert. And he vaguely glanced upwards, not at me but his reflection beyond my frame. "What plane?"

"The one I arranged for you." he says casually. His reflection was more important than my astute glare, now focusing on his collar.

"I wasn't informed about a travel?"

"A queen must always be ready to depart." he recited, sounding eerily similar to the way Patrick would have spoken.