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He releases my ear and presses his lips into my neck. They're so soft and sweet and wet. It's a hint of pressure, as soft as it could possibly be. I dig my hands into his thick hair, tugging at the roots.
He scrapes his teeth against my neck. It's harder, sharp even. The tiniest hint of pain.
My sex clenches, my body filling with pleasure. I need more, harder, rougher. I need him to mark me, to use me, to lose himself in me.
He nibbles on my neck again, a little harder, a little sharper. I groan, tugging at his hair, bucking into him.
His hands slip under my shirt, skimming my bra. Dammit, they're so close but so far away. I need him to touch me properly. I need those expert fingers on my chest, playing with my nipples until I'm so fucking wet I can't take it anymore.
Luke sinks his teeth into my neck. It's a proper
bite--hard, desperate, needy.
His fingertips are on my skin, sliding over my breasts but not quite touching my nipples.
My sex clenches. My body is on fire. Every place he touches is electric, amazing, perfect.
He bites me again, ever so slightly harder. He's testing, careful. Too careful.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling his body towards mine. His cock is straining against his jeans, and I arch my pelvis, rubbing my crotch against his--my underwear against his jeans.
Jesus Christ.
Luke pulls his lips off my neck, his hands from my bra. He runs his fingers over my T-shirt, pressing it against my skin. It's so soft I can barely feel it.
He explores every inch of that damn T-shirt, pressing it against the skin on my neck, shoulders, stomach. Tracing the outline of my bra, his fingers so, so close to my nipples, so, so close to my fucking skin.
I groan, my legs shaking, my hands digging harder and harder into his hair.
He's evil.
He retraces all of his steps with two fingers. The fabric of my shirt scrapes against my skin, the gentlest bit of friction. Up and down and left and right and back and forth.
Finally, he cups my breasts over my shirt. He rubs gently, three fingers making circles over my nipples.
There's an ache between my legs. I'm empty and, my God, I need him to fill me. I squeeze my legs together, as if to somehow contain the want pouring out of me.
He brings his hands to the bottom of my shirt. His fingertips slip onto my stomach. Jesus. Every touch sends tingles to my sex.
I pull my eyes open and look into his. His attention is foggy, like he's already slipped deep into lust. He kisses me, his soft, thick lips sucking on mine.
When our kiss breaks, he pulls my shirt over my head. His eyes pass over my body, slowly taking in every inch.
"Get on your stomach," he says.
He shifts his body off of mine, watching as I roll onto my stomach. My body is on fire, waiting to be touched, caressed, filled.
He straddles me again, his knees pressed against my thighs, his crotch against my ass. He brings his mouth to my ear and scrapes his teeth against my lobe.
"I was going to give you a massage," he says.
His fingers slide down my neck, around my shoulders. He traces my spine. It's slow and gentle and light. He stops at my lower back, his fingertips pressed against the top of my panties.
He runs his fingertips over the edge of my panties.
I swallow hard, digging my hands into the sheets. "And what will you do instead?"
He slides his hands up my back, stopping to unhook my bra and pull it off.
