Dreams of 18(66)

That just makes him even more frantic. It makes him roam his hands even more.

They leave my waist but they seem to be reluctant. They fist and bunch in my dress as if he doesn’t wanna let go of my hips yet.

They drag my pretty red dress up and down my legs as he rubs his hands in circles and sweeps. He goes down to my thighs and then comes back up to my waist. He’s making me feel his fingers through the fabric of my dress and it’s creating this hollow inside my stomach.

This hollow that is rapidly filling up with need and lust and everything sweaty and sticky.

So much so that I clench my thighs. I clench my stomach and my pussy.

My wet, wet pussy just because he’s playing with my dress. Just because he doesn’t wanna let go of it like it’s a toy of some sort and he hates to be parted from it.

But then, he does.

He does part with it and goes up to my neck. He grabs the back of it, covers the entire width of it with one of his hands while the other makes a fist out of my hair. Out of my thick and straight hair that never seems to curl even though I’ve tried to a million times before. Now, the strands give so easily beneath his fingers. They twist and curl and get wrapped around his grip like they are his slave.

Like every other part of my body is.

Like my lips.

They open and close and go loose and pliant under his and I wasn’t even paying attention to that. I’ve been so distracted by all these new sensations that I forgot about the kiss itself.

I forgot about his mouth. That’s moving on mine and making me do things for him.

It’s more than moving, actually.

It’s sliding and slipping and almost groping.

He sucks on my lower lip, makes it all slippery and swollen and achy before nipping it with his teeth and making me jerk.

And he likes that.

He likes me jerking for him so he makes me do it again. He tugs on my string like I’m his puppet, a doll, and bites my lip again and I jerk and twist in his arms.

I rub my needy breasts against his bare chest. I rub my nipples and I swear I can feel the coarse hair of his chest on them, even through the fabric.

He lets go of my lip and pants over my mouth. “You like that, huh? You like me biting your lip.”

Oh God, his voice.

I’ve never heard it before. I’ve never heard this rough, low, raspy tone from him before and it makes me twist again, roll my hips against his body.

“Yes,” I whisper with a tingling mouth.

His lips, those beautiful, gorgeous lips that were just wreaking havoc on mine, stretch on one side and he gives me such a sexy smirk that I almost melt away.

“Yeah, my baby likes it.”

Okay, so there’s no almost about it. I am melting away. I have melted.

“You called me y-your baby,” I say uselessly as my arms go limp and leave his hair, almost falling down to the globes of his shoulders.

“And you called me Graham.”

“I’ve wanted to call you that forever.”

He tugs at my lower lip with his thumb. “Yeah, me too.”

My eyes go wide and I blurt out, “For me to call you Graham?”

“Yeah, that as well.”

And then, he goes for my lips again and I realize what he meant.

I realize that he wanted to call me his baby like I wanted to call him Graham. We probably wanted this for ages.

We probably wanted it ever since we saw each other. Ever since we first laid eyes on each other and got stung by this obsession. This need, this craving, this fever that made us outcasts and different. But most of all, it made us bad.

You’re the girl who makes a man go bad.

I made him go bad, didn’t I? My need for him was contagious and he caught it too.

And me? I always liked bad things anyway.

Things like this.

Things that he’s doing to me right now.

Things like feeding.

He’s feeding on my mouth now and I love it. It isn’t even a kiss, anymore. It can’t be.

My entire mouth is inside his and he’s sucking on it. He’s sucking on it like I’m his candy. Like my bee-stung, cherry red lips are made of sugar and he can’t get enough. He wants me to melt in his mouth; he wants to pierce me with his teeth, lap me up with his tongue.

And like a good little candy girl, I let him. I moan to urge him on. I stretch my calves so much that they burn but it’s such a small price to pay when I get to be closer to him. When I get to give him all the access to me. To my open mouth.

Which he takes in a flash.

In a flash, his tongue is inside and he’s tasting me, the thing I’m made of.

And I moan again.

I moan into his kiss and suck on his tongue like he was sucking on mine. I moan because it’s glorious to be fed on. It’s glorious to feel the sting of his feeding and his tasting.

I’m a masochist, aren’t I?

I fall in love with the sting. I fall in love with his kiss.

I fall in love with him as I kiss him back messily and sloppily.

His hands start to roam once again but this time they do something that I never even dreamed of.

My innocent, schoolgirl dreams weren’t made of this stuff.

The stuff his hands do and completely ruin me in the process.

In response to my shameless kissing, he moves his hands away from my hair and my neck. He moves them down feverishly and gets them under the straps of my dress.