𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 | 𝟏𝟖+

32 | Their Fire

Nails dig into skin.

Clothes fly through the air like doves in the sky.

Fingers entwine into a perfect weave.

I know I love Thomas. I do. Seeing him again like this revives all the adoration for him hidden within me.

He rests me on the old dining room table, parting my bare thighs around his naked torso. Our lips fight wars with each other. His attempt to convince me to stay-his kisses making a damn good argument, while mine say goodbye.

He bites my lower lip as he breaks a kiss. "If this is it, then I'm going to give you everything that I am," he whispers to me. "My only goal is to please my daffodil."

He dances a fingertip over my entrance, teasing me for what's to come. His already pulsing erection presses against my thigh.

A breathy moan begs for him to continue. "Thomas..."

"Daffodil," he coaxes.

The nickname loosens my muscles as he thrusts a finger deep into me. I cry out his name, curling my fingers into his dirty blonde hair. I pull it from its tie, letting it descend down his neck in silky waves.

He inserts another finger, flexing them both inside of me to create our own symphony of physical satisfaction, but my cries of pleasure aren't enough to satisfy the wild creature lurking beneath Thomas' skin. He desires more from me, and I from him.

This is a mistake. I know what he's done, but I'm more fixated on the present than the past.

His other hand wraps around the base of my throat, guiding my head back to unveil my neck. He replaces his grip with brushes of open mouth kisses.

"Look at what you do to me," he murmurs between nibbling kisses on my throat. "I've never been so fucking hard."

"Thomas," I cry as his fingers pick up speed. His name only brings more hunger within him.

He smirks as he removes his fingers from within me. I frown, but soon feel the tip of his erection near my entrance. I look down at myself, at how parted my legs have become for him. He changed my mind so easily, and I know we're about to make the worst of mistakes.

I gaze at the designs of his scars, and the definition of his sculpted muscles. He catches me staring at him as I look up to those ocean irises. Beautiful is the only way I can describe him.

I set my hand on his abdomen, savoring the texture of his body. He hums with pleasure as my touch traces the v-muscle on him, down lower, down until my fingers stroke his hardened length. When I wrap my palm around him, he hisses with pleasure, but he quickly tears my hand away from him.

"Do you want me to cum over the table?" he whispers in my ear.

I shake my head, which earns me a kiss on my neck.

"My beautiful daffodil," he murmurs in response. "If I fuck you here, I'll break this table."

His cock twitches against my thigh at the words. He obviously likes the idea of breaking furniture while pleasuring me.

He hums softly as I melt against his bare chest. "Let me take you upstairs."

Our lips meet once more, and he's picking me up in his sinewy arms. While our lips say what words fail to, we find ourselves entwined in a bedroom. When my eyes open, I recognize old maps and trinkets on shelves. We lay on a bed hardly made for two people with old handmade quilts. This isn't just any room. We're tucked away in the bedroom of a six-year-old Thomas. It's strange to be in a child's room, but it'd be stranger to take any other, considering one would belong to his deceased parents and the others to his siblings.