Private corners of the mind 🔞 ✔️

Part 3

I saw him frown at my words, but I was already outstretching my hand to his face. I touched his bearded cheek and gently nudged him to turn to me. The surprise in his expression slowly changed to something else I couldn't quite name.

Where was I going with this, anyway? He seemed just as confused as I felt. I could see hope in his eyes, though—a touch of gold in the cool emerald. All I knew for sure was that I was unwilling to let him go, let him push me away... so I pulled him closer instead.

He knew exactly what he wanted and didn't need much encouragement. His lips crashed against mine in desperate need, making me gasp into his mouth. Any foggy doubt living in me before went poof, just like that.

It felt right. More than right... like something I'd been waiting for since the day I met him. How could there be anything wrong with what we were doing? What made me so afraid of feeling like this about him? My thoughts were fragmenting, but the sense of wonder remained.

As his hands roughly gripped my sides and pressed me into him, a wild sensation possessed my body. My insides were set on fire, the flesh-melting heat consuming me from the inside out. Yet, instead of ashes and cinder, these flames were leaving behind jellified knees and a telling wetness in my private parts. I let him take control over both my mouth and my mind. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't think at all, so I stopped trying and just let myself feel.

Then out of nowhere, he pulled away. I was just about to pull him back in, or cry, or scream in desperation, but he just stole a quick glance into my eyes.

"Natalie," he whispered softly, trying to catch his breath. I loved the sound of my name on his tongue. "You sure about this?"

My reason was gone. He was free to do anything to me at this point. It was a wonder I managed to utter intelligible sounds at all.

"Y-yes."

The taste of him was addictive and I couldn't get enough. His beard lightly scratched at my skin, his tongue intertwined with mine, his teeth nibbled on my lips here and there. Somewhere in that untouchable part of my mind that was always observing, I thought I should've kissed an older man ages ago. This didn't feel like anything I'd done before.

I'd been with a few guys*, but it was always just fun, or a friend feeling lonely and horny, or pity sex after a disappointing date. I just wanted to try it, to explore the human interaction that seemed to hold so much power over so many people. I'd never craved someone's closeness this much. I'd never felt like I was suffocating without their breath to sustain me, like I would die if they decided to stop and walk away.

But he wasn't leaving. His big rough hands were touching me like something precious. Where they met my exposed skin, they left burn marks. If I wasn't already broken, there was no way I would've survived this part.

Then he picked me up like I weighed nothing, wrapped my legs around his waist and carried me to his bedroom.

On the carpeted floor, he literally tore my clothes off of me, bearing my scarred torso. The look he gave my breasts was wild with want. I remembered the selfie I found in his armchair and absently wondered how many times he must have sat there staring at my indecent body, touching himself while imagining how it would feel to touch me. He finally got his wish.

He lowered himself onto his knees. Brushing over the many branches of the lightning scar with reverie, his fingers traced the edge of my figure and I shivered wildly. He buried his face in my softness, groaning. His teeth pressing around my nipple made me gasp. The slight pang came in on an unexpected wave of pleasure. My head lolled back, my body offering him more of itself.