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I’m not thinking. I’m not calculating or pretending.When I finally catch up with him and there are only ridiculous inches of distance between us, I’m not pretending.
It’s not a kiss.It’s a plunder what I do to Marcos’s mouth when I throw myself into his arms and he holds me tight. My husband run his hands through my hair, pulling it as he pushes my head towards his, my mouth towards his.
I groan.I groan with pleasure and desire and freedom, and I have no idea what that means, because I’m still not thinking, I’m just feeling.
Begging with my tongue, touches and heat that Marcos put out the fire that lit in my stomach, to ensure that there will be not even one ember left that a slight breeze can turn back into the incontrollable fire that my head is turning into, chilling the skin and stealing the air. God, I’m so lost. So, so lost.
Warm. Lit. Electric. Unbridled. Desperate. Glued to his body, in the middle of the hallway, without putting any effort into anything other than feeling him as close to me as is impossible, without putting any effort into anything other than defying the law of physics that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time.
Marcos’ teeth go down my lips, chin, crawl down my jaw, his hands feel me and squeeze me, and I shudder at the urge for them to slap me too.Finally, he starts moving in the direction of his own room again, but now it feels right, it’s right, because I’m going with him.
Between stumbles and bumps, the door closes behind us and Marcos presses me against it.God, yes! Please, please!I think I murmur as his hands start to pull me out of my clothes and mine start to pull him out of his.It’s fast, it’s almost invisible and suddenly we’re naked, and I don’t know where the clothes we took from each other went or when Marcos put the condom on and I don’t care, I don’t care.
My neurons have died, I am made entirely of nerve endings and hormones.I gasp when Marcos’ forehead touches mine, our mouths are glued together, but there’s room to breathe.His hand leaves the detailed exploration he was doing of my naked body and goes up to my face in a slow caress, I would say tender, if it weren’t for the desperation I see in his eyes when I opens mine. I have no doubt, my eyes are filled with the same feeling.
All the time that exists passes while I dive into those blue pools. I can’t hear anything.I don’t see anything in them, and yet I don’t want to leave here ever again.Marcos doesn’t talk.Me neither.I tilt my face in the direction of his palm, pull a deep inhalation, release it through my mouth, and the truce is over.
His mouth descends on mine, his hands grip my thighs, and I’m in the air, I’m crossing my legs around him, I’m being propped against the door on my back, and I’m screaming when in a single thrust his cock rips me apart and dissolves me, and I swear, I swear, I’ll never be able to put myself together again.
First I feel the unsubtle yet delicious pain of careless penetration. Then there is the burning of the slow and almost non-existent movements, finally, pleasure.It hits me in waves across my mouth, stomach, arms and pussy, everywhere I’m being touched as my fingernails scratch and dig into soft skin.
I grind. Forcing my own body against the smooth surface behind me, going back and forth, caring for nothing but feeling, more and more. Not caring about anything but surrendering and demanding, about nothing but being absolutely everything without being remotely anything.
The blood in my veins rushes instead of circulating, my heart dances, taps and shakes as my body sways with each powerful thrust of Marcos. His hard chest rubs against mine, and the rhythm of his breath brushes my sensitive nipples.He groans dragged, hot, squeezes and holds me as if a minimum relaxation would make us disappear.
Marcos fucks me rough, so, so hot, so maddeningly hot. There is no delicacy in his movements, there is no care or concern, there is surrender, there are so many things, and I feel them all and I don’t know how to name most of them.
One of his hands slides down my sweaty torso until it reaches one of my breasts, grabs it, squeezes it, being cruel to the sore nipple. Our teeth touch when I can’t keep the kiss, desperate. I am moaning, bouncing and ceasing to exist when I open my eyes to already find those of Marcos open, and, again, they swallow me.
One.
Two.
Three.
The orgasm shatters me whole.
I drop my limp body between Marcos’s arms, and the door that supports me. His mouth descends, grunting a dry sound that announces him coming, and he continues to fuck me, now, slowly, until there is not a drop left that is not given to me.
His tongue licks my neck, my collarbones, his lips kiss the warm, sweaty skin saying wordlessly that focusing on getting back to breathing is a waste of time, and he can’t stop touching me. I raise my hands over his shoulders, stroking his muscles, now relaxed, groping the lines of his body until I reach his neck, his cheeks.
Still with my eyes closed, I lay my forehead on his again. Enjoying the feeling for a few seconds and deciding I don’t want to risk messing it up with the wrong mix of vowels and consonants, I kiss him.
?
“You know, I can hear your thoughts...” Marcos whispers in my ear, sitting behind me, with his chest on my back, on the balcony of his room.
It is unbelievable. I lost track of how many times I cleaned this place, I always thought it was fantastic, but never before have I been here at night. It’s completely different.
The jacuzzi, the landscape, the sun loungers, the mat covered by a deliciously comfortable futon[10], where we are practically lying now, remain the same, however, the atmosphere is different.
It is possible to see much of the city and there are so many lights, near and far, that you can almost believe that São Paulo has stars. Slowly, I let go of the breath that was trapped.
“What do they say?”
“Huh?”
“My thoughts, you said you can hear them, what do they say?”
