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“Maybe.” I shrug. “But only because I know my bear’s hungry.”
He takes my mouth in a kiss. A big, wet kiss. With every brush of our tongues, the kiss turns wilder. Our mouths smack against each other, our teeth clack. It must be hurting his bruised lip but he doesn’t seem to care. His tongue invades my mouth, stroking and flicking, riding a wave, making me moan.
My moans are music to his ears; he turns restless and hungry and growly. His hands tug and pull at my nightshirt, trying to get it off but instead, straining the fabric against my flesh, like he can’t imagine letting my mouth go to rid my body of clothes. Like the kiss is too important and my clothes can go fuck themselves. I would have laughed if I didn’t think the same.
My barely-there nails drag across the expanse of his back. Now I get why girls are crazy for manicures and long, sexy nails. I could’ve decorated his back with scratches. Love-wounds.
When the lack of air becomes a problem, his lips slide down, wet and warm. He’s sucking on my neck, taking the skin in between his teeth, vacuuming it inside his mouth. It stings and all my blood rushes to the spot, making it throb. I open my mouth to tell him to stop. My mom will see it.
But then I realize that I’m not back home anymore. I’m here. I keep forgetting that I’m free. Despite the pain in my neck, I smile at the water-stained ceiling, baring my throat to his teeth. He sucks and sucks until my thighs quiver around his waist, then he lets go before licking the skin with his hot tongue.
“You’re wearing my mark now, Pixie. Now the whole world will know you belong to me,” he rasps.
“Abel…” My hips come off the bed and grind into his erection, making him shudder. “Now.”
He lifts his head and looks at me with drowsy, lust-filled eyes. “So bossy.”
I clutch his hair, whining his name.
Amused, he shakes off my puny hold and crawls down my body. He reaches my stomach and my thighs have to part even more to fit the breadth of his shoulders. It’s a wonder I’m not ashamed of this position, spread thighs, hitched-up clothes, panties — wet panties — on display. A week ago I would’ve been, but after that night, after witnessing his longing on paper, after realizing my own desires and posing for him naked, I’m not. I can never be. Not with my Abel.
His rough hands bunch my nightdress even more, sliding it up until I’m naked from the waist down save for the very wet, very white panties. His eyes are pinned to them and his lips quirk up. He brings one hand away from my thighs and flicks the seam of my underwear around my waist, stopping at the tiny flower in the middle. “You’ve got a daisy on your pussy.”
I have a thing for flowered underwear; he knows that. He’s seen a few back in school and he never fails to remind me how adorable he finds it. I wish I wasn’t so aroused so I could narrow my eyes at his smiling ones, like I usually do. As it is, I settle for a muttered shut up, which makes him smile even more. He leans over and presses a kiss on the flower.
That… he hasn’t done before and I jump a little.
Then, he tugs the elastic of my panties down, down and down, until they are gone and my sex is bared. Air brushes against my wet curls and even wetter core, making it clench, and he witnesses all of that as the sun climbs up the sky.
Hungry and horny, Abel kneels in between my thighs and forces them even farther away, until I’m almost doing a split, feeling the pressure in my muscles and gripping the sheets. He stares at my core like he’ll never get to see it again, and I stare up at him.
The other night, things happened too fast. I didn’t take the time to study him. But now I do. I’ll use my entire lifetime to study him, commit his body to memory so when I die, I’ll see him flash before my eyes.
I start at his neck, graceful and stubbly with tight veins and an Adam’s apple. One of these days, I’m going to lick it, learn its taste. His shoulders are made of bulging muscles, tight waves of strength that go down to his biceps and his forearms.
His silver necklace reaches down to his chest, sitting warm and sexy, swaying slightly with his breaths. The arches of his pecs are tight and sculpted with bronzed skin that I want to track and map with my nails. Just like the ridges of his abs. The slight sprinkle of his chest hair makes me want to nuzzle my nose in it, before tucking it in the triangle of his throat.
