“The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!” — Heathcliff Earnshaw.
The words had escaped from by mouth with a mix of sultry and heady desire, temporarily blocking any other thoughts going on in my brain. I thought I saw him smirk in the dimly lit surroundings, the translucent lights casting a harsh shadow of his naked body against the king sized bed on which we both were laying; he on top of me.
I never once imagined that I'd be willing to take it up in the ass, because it seemed to not match my personality and due to the direction in which it was heading and how quickly I had adapted to the idea of him fucking me, I felt like an inexperienced dude all over again. This shit was embarrassing as fuck. I felt his weight shift from above me, as I saw him descend the bed, rummaging the drawers for something.
“Breathe, Harris. Breathe.” He spoke to me while his hand opened the drawer with a sharp force, scouring the materials inside as if looking for something specific. I hated how calm he sounded. “I’m just looking for lube….” I saw him crane his head further into the insides, precisely pulling out a bottle of the lubricant moments later.
“Can you just fucking hurry?” I snapped, barely being able to keep myself together because of being more sexually frustrated than I have ever been in my life. Fucking Alexander — good idea or bad idea, didn’t matter for now. I could see to it later.
“Someone is losing control, as it seems.” Hearing his taunting voice did me no good either, because I'd clearly given him the upper hand in the situation. My eyes followed his neat movements, while they saw him applying the liquid on his shaft, fingers running back and forth on his hardened flesh, grey eyes flickering to look at me occasionally.
And before I could pass another of my pathetic, snarky remarks, he was on top of me again, his hand finding the way to my chin, tipping my face upwards so that it's levelled with his own, “You drive me crazy, Harris. I don’t even know how.” His little confession burned in the small distance between our bare chests, and I felt that warm desire pool in my stomach again.
His lips landed against mine, as I wrapped my hands around his nape, pressing him on to my own self tightly, basking in the heady, seductive scent of his cologne. When he pulled back, he was panting, letting out heavy breaths while sweat slicked his toned chest, making me drool. Having him this close to me aroused desires in the very dark crevices of my mind. I couldn’t stop it, and neither could I handle it.
Taking himself in his own hand, he guided his shaft to my entrance, tilting his head back to study the expression on my face. Permission. He was asking for permission. Running a nervous hand through my hair, I quickly nodded, as I felt him gently push himself inside me. “Fuck!” I cursed sharply, throwing my head back in intense pain, the cold air releasing from the air conditioner hitting my chest, running shivers down my spine.
“You're tight, dammit.” He breathed out in a panicked tone, slivers of concern showing in his voice. I could feel that he had plenty lubricated himself, but it was still a tight fit. Still in the trance of a state that I was in, I snarled, “Move, you fucker. Move.” Piercing grey eyes snapped back to my countenance at such an unreasonable request, or rather, a command.
He resumed his movements at once after the words hit him, his moves getting rougher and rougher. Feeling him hit the spot made me roll my eyes to the back of my head, white hot pleasure taking over after the pain finally subsided. My trembling fingers gripped the sheets, when he brought his own hands to place over mine, intertwining our fingers together, holding my palm in place.
It was intimacy, and it would've put me off if it were someone else who did this without consent, but I wasn’t resentful. I wanted more; more of him. Crouching his face down to meet mine, his lips slightly brushed over my own, when I noticed the pools of molten silver stare back at me in awe. His hair was drenched in sweat, falling over his face and my own as he moved relentlessly, still holding the cupped palm of my hand with a strong grip.