Deep inside her, and then almost out entirely, I thrust at a savage pace. Her breaths pushed through her nostrils, and they tickled my skin, coming fast and plentiful. My own, bountiful.
She pushed her weight down on me as I thrust wildly into her. She suckled harder, sucked until purple marred my skin. A stain hidden amongst the tattoos of a story she was yet to read.
She pulled back, but it wasn’t enough.
“Bite me again.” A request, more than a demand.
I’d never realized how enjoyable cooperation could be.
She bit me again, grinding down on me until I was lost inside her. She kept me there, kept me deep, rubbing against my crotch to stimulate her little nub of nerve endings.
“It doesn’t have to be aggressive to be enjoyed,” she whispered.
No, you just have to be out of your head pissed, apparently.
She bit me again, in the most playful of ways, dragging at my skin with a shake of her head, just as a daisy-scented air freshener blasted into the air. The height of the shelf it stood on, had it spraying into my face. . . into Jolie’s hair, and it made her smell just like I remembered.
Like daisies.
And I laughed, as she nuzzled in, hair tickling my ears—something I’d never laugh at. I was enjoying her scent a little too much, enjoying memories of us I didn’t have. Feeling nostalgic and shit, feeling lighter, feeling wanted. Feeling nothing as I faded away.
Everything went black.
Woodrow
I felt like I was floating, being dragged underwater by the waves, and yet, somehow, being pushed to the surface.
I blinked through the darkness, feeling the tickle of her hair against my skin, feeling her warmth wrapped around me, and her wetness leaking down my balls.
I was subconsciously thrusting when I came to, but my pace slowed instantly when I realized what the hell was happening.
I was inside her. I’d never been inside her, not as myself.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured through a bite that had me shivering.
She pushed her weight down onto me, taking me fully, asking for more.
I moaned, desperate for more, too.
And I gave her everything.
I swayed up into her, having no real clue what I was doing when the realization hit me. . .
Hell had left, willingly.
He’d stepped down for me. Moved aside for me, letting me experience her.
Jolie’s head turned, and a breath tainted with alcohol slapped me in the face before she kissed along my jaw, bringing back so many memories.
I almost pulled out again, my pace faltering.
Almost dropped her to the floor.
She was drunk. Too drunk to consent. And, deep down, I knew she wouldn’t want this.
But I didn’t feel hate as she moved her mouth to mine, her fingers gently guiding our faces close until our lips came together and she whispered against my skin, “I told you not to stop.”
And her hands weren’t blasting against my chest, pushing me away. Her fingers were inside my shirt, on my shoulder, pressing in tightly for leverage. Her touch embedded into the blood that heated below. She wanted me closer. She wanted this.
