Homecoming

I hear the sink running; he's washing up. Me, I can't even think yet, let alone move. Everything's hazy and moist.

We weren't through the door two minutes - blessed warmth after the damp snowy January night - and he was on me. My coat forgotten on the floor.

Now I'm here, tumbled across the bed - tangled in all my clothes, pieces pushed aside or pulled halfway down in our breathless haste. I feel all liquid, swollen, bruised - bitten at the sides of my throat, my breasts, the curve of my belly...he loves to leave marks on me. Possessive. Between the initial pounce and this current state, this exhausted dishevelled pleasure, I only have sketches of memory. Vivid flashes. The way his mouth still tasted of red wine even hours after dinner. The rough rasp of stubble against tender flesh, the way he growled at my whimper and bit down into me. Two fingers pushing into my body, stretching me, making me try to writhe or buck and being totally hampered by the tangle of my clothing. Sobs of pleasure and frustration. Hearing my voice go all breathy, girlish, as it always does when we play, even when I don't want it to.

Being rolled onto my stomach, pillow under my hips, and taken, one of his hands clenched in my hair. God, that indescribable mind-altering burn - pinned and helpless, clothed and bared, moaning inelegantly when his cock finally pulses inside me, I know he's coming inside and that sets me off too and everything goes white...

And now, done, all that hot energy spent. He comes back from the bathroom with a warm damp cloth and leans over me, cleaning me. Solicitous. He rolls me again, onto my back, and for a moment our eyes meet. Suddenly there's a second of perfect clarity and understanding. I'm still too lost in afterglow to speak, but it's beautiful - he's beautiful, and I try to tell him so with my smile.

I think, for a moment there, he understands.

Then he looks down at my body arranged beneath him, and the demon is back in his eyes. He cups my breast in one broad hand, claiming it, gently toying with the nipple until I fidget and whine, trying to stop my breath from quickening. We both know it's futile.

"I like you this way," he says. "You look...used."

The blush is racing its way across my face, my upper body, and there's no way he didn't hear my breath catch. It is not fair for him to know me this well.

"Clothes half off, all out of breath, exposed, wet..." smiling in that particular way as he devestates me with words. "You look fucked."

My back arches, hips rising subtly and involuntarily, seeking; he's got me. Those fingers work their way down along my torso and discover my shameful secret, the soft folds of my pussy already oiled with my own excitement, slick and swollen and unbelievably ready. I still can't move, not really, but I writhe a little against him and feel the firm length of him against my thigh, hear him growl at the sensation.

"You want it again? Ask for it," he tells me, rough-voiced, while his fingers slide back and forth, slipping inside me, pulling out to spread liquid over my clit, stroking, teasing mercilessly. He knows how to touch, that a gentle caress with plenty of moisture and no pressure at all will make me crazy - will have me begging like a shameless whore...

"Please," I finally say, and he laughs at me. Playing with me.

"Fine," he says, "If you won't tell me what you want, I guess you don't want anything. I'll take what I want. You can just lie there..." leaning in close to my ear, taunting me, little flicks of his tongue against my earlobe as he talks. "...I'll get the lube, and you can watch me touch myself, watch me get myself off, maybe I'll come on your pretty naked helpless body...and then I'll clean you up...and we'll go to sleep."

"No - I want -" Deeply frustrating, its almost impossible to speak with the slow maddening caress between my legs, each stroke sending lines of fire down my inner thighs, down into the soles of my feet, almost painful, curling my toes, making me shake - "please please fuck me, please use me, please let me come, please, please I NEED..."

Babbling. Beyond any sense of pride or humiliation. Part of me knows he wouldn't leave me like this, but that part is in the rational brain, which is on hiatus at the moment. Later I'll be chagrined, maybe even aggravated at his ability to reduce me to this Id-creature.

Right now, though, I just want. I just need.

He provides.

There's a sudden disorienting movement, my body being shifted - I cry out with disappointment when his fingers leave me - but it's only the pants coming off, and then he's there. Slipping his arms under my knees, lifting and spreading me, tilting my pelvis just right, so exposed - his hot breath against my neck, I"m still whimpering broken pleas; then stretching, sliding, feeling myself opened around his cock, filled with heat an inch at a time, complete again. Steady movement, rythmic, graceful, like the tide coming in, the tension in us building, opening my eyes to find him looking down at me.

"Mine," he says, just a breath in the dark.

It doesn't take long for either of us, and he kisses me as he comes inside me again, as I cry out my own climax against his mouth. Perfect.