Sexual based writing. Proceed with caution, lovelies.
She had never been so lost before. Never been so unaware of her surroundings, or her mentality. A mere thought was difficult to distinguish from the many others that invaded her mind. Twirling. Spinning. Tangling themselves in knots that were certainly incapable of coming undone.
Her flesh; so smooth to the touch. Beneath fingertips that invaded the sculpture of her anatomy. They dipped between her thighs, ghosted over the flat of her stomach while circling her navel with tremendous patience. Further, and further, those softened pads sneaked upwards over the ridges of her rib cage to follow the path between her ample breasts.
An exotic masterpiece of beauty and elegance.
Her complexity was unnerving. Goosebumps of mountains formed upon the surface of her skin. Those long arms that were held down against the brown leather beneath her lithe frame – on either side of the exposed piece of art that had only been created two decades ago – were littered with obsidian bruises and scars so foreseeable to the naked eye. Straps of onyx leather wound around her thin wrists; pinning her in utter helplessness.
There was no way to escape this erotic attack.
Nor did she want to.
Anticipation welled up within the pit of her stomach as the woman stood over her. Towering her with a lust-filled gaze that sent electric currents of need throughout her entirety. Those emerald hues were hypnotizing to her soul; drawing her in with every inch being invaded with such an intense gaze that caused those thighs of hers to press together to douse the unwavering heat between them.
She c r a v e d her.
D e s i r e d her.
Wanted her touch upon her very own flesh. T o u c h i n g her. F e e l i n g her. Sculpting her to fit her lover’s priorities and preferences.
A thumb, so delicate, flitted across her bottom lip; parting those luscious lips that were painted in burgundy to gain access to the pearly whites that clamped down seductively upon the single digit.
Their gazes met; locking onto one another in subtle contrast of emerald and onyx. There was no need for words to fall from their lips to announce their apparent arousal for one another. Her cheeks flushed a cherry red; detectable beneath the dimming light of the single lamp that hung above from the ceiling.
It was in this very room where she would come undone. Beneath those confident hands that caused sparks to fly. Fireworks of intimate actions that created a fire within her very self.
H e r e v e r a f t e r.
H e r p e r f e c t d i s a s t e r.
Melodic sounds echoed off the four walls that surrounded them. Their private moment of pushing one another to their own limit. Every moan that escaped her parted lips was like music to Arden’s ears. The way her body moved in sync against the front of the woman’s exposed form.
Writhing under her with the arch of her back lifting from the leather. Arden breathed in her scent; a mixture of vanilla and strawberry. Such an erotic aroma that peaked her senses. The tip of her tongue desired to taste her.
S o s w e e t.
D e l i c i o u s l y a l l u r i n g.
Soft lips grazed the side of her exposed neck, away from the tendrils of mahogany red that were sprawled beneath her head in either direction. Delicate fingers clutched the strands; diving into the softness. Tugging. Pulling. Drawing out those gasps of utter pleasure.
She m a r k e d her.
O w n e d her.
L o v e d her with undesirable rage.
Closer, and closer, Arden was pulling her further into the abyss of pure ecstasy. It was in this moment she unbound her wrists, allowing her arms to wound around the woman.
Never did she want to let go.
An addiction so intense was impossible to rid of. Their melodic sounds of distinct pleasure that filled them were increasing in audibility. Arden tugged her closer with those strong arms that filled the crevice between the arch of her back and the leather.
The e d g e.
It was so close.
Right out of reach.
Her belly dipped as her head fell back into the leather. Slender digits gripped onto the woman’s flesh; slipping due to the thin sheen of sweat that covered her flawless skin. Beige fingernails – chipped with paint – dug into flesh; clawing, dragging. They released the crimson blood from beneath the surface. The woman’s back was her canvas; her fingers the paintbrush that created her masterpiece.
O n e.
M o r e.
T i m e.
She pressed against her; bringing her into his arms and holding onto her with a vice grip as their sounds emitted audibly off the walls. Their breaths mingled as needy lips crashed together. Mint and vanilla mixing as their tongues danced.
They relished in this moment. Breathing in each other. Favoring one another’s taste. Fingers ghosted over the sculpted jawline that she composed. So familiar beneath her touch, before those delicate hands found their solace in the strands of crimson hair.
She was her e v e r a f t e r.
She, her p e r f e c t d i s a s t e r.