Heart In A Cage

36

He crawls over me. All my breath has been knocked out.

"I win," he pants, "Do I get a kiss?"

I jerk my head to the side as he tauntingly brings his lips towards me.

"You're a cheater," I whine. To appear disappointed, I leave my arms at my sides and dodge the need to embrace him.

"Being stronger doesn't imply that I'm cheating."

He improvises on my avoidance of his mouth by kissing the side of my neck. I remain still, but his chest is just touching me, his groin pushing up against my own, thumbs grazing my cheeks and teeth nibbling my lips. I fail to put on a show of arrogance, humming lightly.

"Touch me, baby," he whispers, the hot exhale of his words hitting below my ear. I want to smash us together until we're combined as one and I feel I can never let go of him. "You did a good job of it yesterday. What's the problem now?"

His tongue centres on the side of my neck. He latches onto it, the skin stretching as he sucks and bites. The pain stings delightfully, my blood vessels fracturing, the soreness of a bruise forming becoming a craved sensation. My back arches, and our chests touch, tingles running along my breasts.

Our eye contact levels at the same time. "Another mark," he says, kissing onto the fresh hickey, then moving his kisses up to meet my lips.

I'd turn away if I weren't so desperate for him. I part my lips and let him in. His mouth becomes heavier, our bodies colliding like they're merged and my fingers gathering through his hair. My chin is lifted, and he wastes no effort to taste as much of me that he can.

I'm warming up and cooling with him pressed against me, hot energy suffusing my blood, heating it with passion, while shivers dart uncontrollably with his palm gliding across my torso.

"Andreas," I breathe. "This doesn't feel like a game."

I swallow a lump in my throat, one loaded with fear and regret and longing. It goes down to my lungs, making it harder to breathe—because the words begged to return as soon as they came out, and he's not speaking.

"Say something," I whisper, "Please say something."

His lips come to mine fiercely, transferring a message with touch alone. Putting all his words into that one passionate kiss.

He pulls away, skimming my face feverishly. "Don't make me speak—not yet. My mouth can't take on the answer to your question and the need to completely devour you at the same time."

Smacked at by puffs of wind, the drapes billow, dancing and rapping against the window frame in loud thuds. But they don't move as much as me and him, just produce heavy sighs of chilly air that wrap around our heated bodies.

His pecks travel down from my neck, leaving traces of saliva along my collarbone, breasts, stomach, each another miniature pop of elation turning into licks as they reach between my thighs.

I shiver with the coolness, lifting my hips to ask for more.

A pillow goes beneath my lower back, and my leg is lifted over his shoulder, giving him full access.

"Andy," I say quietly, watching him stroke himself in preparation, "I like it when you talk to me."

His attentions leaps up to my face. He holds my uplifted leg with his free hand, caressing it slowly, and kisses my knee. Tingles dance over my skin, and I shuffle forward to get him to dismiss my previous statement and move on.

But he pauses stroking himself and brings his thumb to my clit, making gentle circles there. "My sweet girl likes it when I talk to her?"

I nod my head for a response, humming at the light activity between my legs.