lashes wet, lids heavy.
A hot ache floods behind my clit, and his jaw clenches with it, his thumb sinking into the center of my panties.
The cotton caves, his thumb molding to the mess he made.
His next breath comes late, staggered.
Another follows, worse.
He grips my raised leg,
brings my thigh to his mouth.
Kisses.
Breathes.
He’s trying to keep calm.
But I can’t.
My fingers slide down the back of his neck, my other hand shakes at my side,
nails clawing brick,
pulse racing up my throat,
every inhale
feeling like one that scars.
His thumb moves in,
grinding circles into the wet cotton
where I’m dripping.
My clit jumps under his touch,
so sensitive I could bite down hard enough to draw blood.
It’s a match dropped at the bottom of my spine, heat spilling slow.
I can feel how soaked I am.
Feel the warmth spreading out.
Feel his thumb smearing the wetness everywhere.
His cheek is pressed against my thigh,
mouth barely an inch away.
And he’s kissing me everywhere else?—
sucking the inside of my thigh,
licking the crease,
