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SASHA
Bloodstream by Ed Sheeran
Istare, captured and captivated by him, like a fly caught in an intricate web. My heart bangs against my chest and silently my eyes plead for him to trust me, to want this as much as I do.
Slowly, his hand cups my face and his lips find mine, parting them, and he slowly deepens the kiss as I sink into him. I feel every line in his lips, and every beat of his heart. He is like a gift, and I am ready to pull on the ribbons, open the box, and see what’s inside.
I slide onto his lap like I was always meant to be there, as I explore every inch of his mouth. He devours me, tongue and teeth sliding against each other as I grind against him.
He lifts me up, pressing me against the empty stall. I explore his mouth, wanting to learn every inch of him. His hand moves from my waist, cupping my ass and slowly sliding down my thigh to lift my leg and wrap me around him. The smell of gasoline and leather seeps into my bones as I memorize each note.
He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, holding my face in his hands. His lips still so close to mine, we breathe the same air. “I tried to stay away, but you make it sofuckinghard,” he rasps against my lips.
I blink at him, my fingers skimming the bottom of his wet shirt, ready to rid him of it, to see this man without any layers. I feel the goosebumps pebble on his skin. He’s shivering, and I don’t know if it’s from being cold or the effect of having my fingers against his skin.
“Why deny yourself of something you want?” I ask, innocently.
“It’s never served me well in the past.”
“Who hurt you so badly?” I look into his eyes, wanting to erase whatever heartache he’s endured with my touch, my kiss… my body.
“What makes you think that?”
“I know when someone’s been wounded.”
His belly quivers as I push the edge of his shirt higher and higher. He lifts his arms so I can pull the wet material from his body, my fingers returning and running along his ribcage. Black ink is woven along the planes of his chest, across his shoulder, and down his arm. My eyes trace the patterns of art, wishing I had the time to catalogue each one in my mind.
“What is it you want from me?” he asks while his hands circle my waist, slipping under my shirt and teasing my skin.
His lips are so close I could reach forward and take them between my teeth. I know what I want. I’ve always known. “I want you to sign your name across my body and ruin me for every other man,” I whisper.
He fists my hair and groans, “Fuck it.” He crashes his mouth to mine, taking my breath away.
Gone are the long, sweet kisses from before, replaced with the urgent, heated kisses from a man that knows exactly what he’s doing. I feel the fire in his belly, his need to own me. This man burns a hole right through to my soul… with his eyes, his body, and his mind.
He parts my lips with his tongue and my knees go weak. Moaning into his mouth, he devours me as he slowly pulls the shirt over my head. My skin pebbles with goosebumps when I feel his cool, wet skin against mine. I reach behind and flip the lock of the empty stall, letting him guide me inside.
He breaks away from me and I stand in front of him, my chest heaving and my skin on fire. I slip the straps of my bra down my shoulders and reach behind to unhook it. The material falls to the floor as my nipples harden under his stare.
He looks at me as if he is worshiping a piece of art.
A piece of art he wants to ruin with his hands.
His hand reaches out to brush his thumb across my breast, and I feel it in my belly as if there’s an invisible cord being pulled tight. My lips part, and I watch as his mouth descends on me, tongue darting out to take my nipple into his mouth. I tip my head back, feeling the vibration of his moans against my skin, and I grip the strands of his wet hair with my fingers.
The impending fire has been pushed from my mind, while a whole different kind of fire has settled at my center. It spreads like tentacles threatening to consume and take hold of every part of me.
“Fuck, Sasha,” he rasps as I succumb to his touch, rocking against him.
The ache between my legs thrums like the vibration of a guitar string. I’ve felt attraction before, but nothing even comes close to this. This man makes me want to lose all self-control. He is a dichotomy of light and dark, slipping between the confines of gentleman and amorist.
The palms of his hands run along my thighs and under my skirt, lifting the material around my waist. His fingers slip under the waistband of my panties and palm my bare ass, pressing me further into him as he slowly pushes the silk down until they pool at my feet.
I step out of them as he kisses my stomach just above the waistband of my skirt. With a smile, his head disappears under my skirt while his hands grip my hips, pulling me to him. My head buzzes and I can’t breathe as he extracts little moans of pleasure from me while his thumb runs down the seam of my sex, parting me. He can feel how wet I am for him, and he groans against my sensitive skin. Biting my lip, I try to suppress the whimpers.
Any modesty I had has been burned away, the pleasure clouding my brain.
He pulls the skirt down my legs, and it lies at my feet like a promise yet to come. His forehead rests against my belly, and I can feel his breath on my skin like the notes of a song. It washes over me like the rain, and it’s as if one more kiss, one more touch, and he will fall over the edge.
