Be My One Regret

be my 1 regret / 5

now~

DREAMS, NIGHTMARES, SAME THING....

Strong, capable fingers stroke up my inner thigh. Tickling. Caressing. Kneading. Circling higher and higher up until they hover at their final destination. Ever so lightly the warm, roughened fingertips trace around my center. Touching. Teasing. Playing. Delicately toying with my expectant folds. Pushing in softly but retreating too soon. And too slow. In a irrationally methodical but riveting motion. And I'm drenched. Wet and desperate for more. Moaning, I arch my back pleading for their mischief. Prickles of chill bumps burst over my flushed skin as a chuckle glides across my inner thigh in response. The warm lips press gentle kisses at a one- at- a- time pace. A wickedly slow speed that kills. And I writhe whimpering with hasty greed for a quickened increase to the movement to ease my need. Faint whispers of reassurance pepper my flesh as the kisses sweep upward closer to my core until it hovers at my opening. Waiting. Lulling. Resting with barely a breath's touch over my heated center. The warm torture subtle. The hot, deliberate torment hell. And I whine wriggling my limbs seeking relief. A rough, low laugh brushes across me, and I buck up with a mewling cry. Strong hands grip my waist pressing me back down, and a growl mingles with a ravenous kiss into me. Lapping me, sucking me, biting me over and over. And I clench as my entire body ignites. Explodes. Celebrates. Blinds me with uncontrolled ecstasy. And with it, an impatient groan escapes past my barely breathing lips. I reach down and grab fistfuls of his hair. I tug the strands and nudge myself deeper into his face. Another growling laugh enters me with his devouring. His fingers twine with his tongue rubbing, gliding, filling me. And in that exact second, the long awaited pinnacle of his oral perfectionism propels me into a tailspin of climaxing heaven. Gripping his head, I gasp crying out for more.

"Yes...Yes..There...Yes. Oh my gawd, YES. Yes, Tanner. Oh gawd yes."

There's a sudden jerk of hesitance to the kisses and a brogue grumble flames over my wet core. "Damn it, Beast, it's me. It's Tucker. And you know that it'll always be me."

<>

Thrashing awake with a jerk, my eyes pop wide open, and I gasp. "What the...." I clutch my chest as my heart jumps, pounds, beats thru my my ribs. My breaths rattle in chaotic flustered speeds, and  I spring forward on my bed ripping the eye mask from my face. With a disgusted grumble, I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Fuck. Not again." 

Sweaty and goose-pimpled all over, I groan and  kick my legs into the bedding punching my pillow as the dream slash nightmare still lingers in places that it shouldn't. More perspiration spills from my pores beading  my neck, my back, my thighs. And I shiver from the complexity of the arousal as it triggers a blow of nausea to my stomach at the same time. I grunt a miserable breath thru clenched teeth and fall back into my bed hurdling more inflammatory curses at my Freudian debilitation that was in much need of a therapist. It was more than obvious from the quivering still quaking thru my lady parts that a therapeutic brain cleansing visit was needed sooner rather than later. Before I crack and do something incredibly stupid in actual real life.

Holy shit. No kidding.

A soft knock raps at my bedroom door, and I snap my wide eyes at it. Puffing out a frustration, I lift my head and reluctantly reply. "Um, yeah."

The door creaks open just enough for my last minute decision of a summer room mate to smile way too cheerily at me. "Good morning, Roomie. I got a fresh pot of coffee brewing and I just finished making waffles. Wanna join me?"

Annoyance grinds my gut at my reality in front of me. Another summer alone. Another reminder of life without parents. Without family. I wasn't a orphan but I felt like it most days. My dad, God love him, was a slave to his work. Not because he needed to be. We had more money than most people I knew.  Nope, he left by choice. He loved making money. Probably more than he loved me. But I was use to it. So for yet another summer, I was left by my own means of survival while he ventured around the world. Think this time was some new partnership in Dubai. But like I cared, it was Owen Savage's M.O. He did it every year since I turned 14. Since my mom died tragically in a freak car accident. It had turned our world more than upside down when my mom, the beautiful and extraordinary, Olivia Reynolds Savage, died unexpectedly. It was a horrible  tragedy. To me, to my dad, to everyone around us.  Even the high society suburbia we lived in was beyond shocked. She had been a pillar in every community event, from serving on the board for my private school to hosting many fundraising galas for various organizations. She was the perfect wife, mom, and human being. Her love and spirit was magnetic, and unfortunately the only glue to hold our small family of three together. So it wasn't totally unbelievable that my dad couldn't face life without her. Nor was it completely disbelieving that seeing me only reminded him of her. I was her min-me. I knew it, didn't believe it, but  the pain in his eyes when he looked at me was not a pleasure for me either. It was apparent that I was too much of a close reminder to what he lost. What I lost. So our once family home with it's prestigious architecture sat dormant on Ivy Lane for months at a time. No one lived there. Not even my dad. It was sad, and I knew if mom could see it, she'd be heartbroken. She'd be even more heartbroken that dad and I really don't talk anymore except for the occasional brunch. He had his life, and I had mine. But God love him, again to his credit, he tried his best at giving me things. Things to fill the void. It was his way of showing love. Thus the spaciousness of my latest, luxurious condo with it's sprawling square footage that was too looming and quiet.