We stumbled to the bedroom, our clothes discarded along the way, each piece of fabric a barrier we couldn't wait to remove. I marveled at the way his skin felt under my fingertips, smooth and warm, and the way his breath hitched whenever my hands wandered too close to sensitive areas.
It wasn't until we were on the bed, me hovering above him, our bodies aligned with an intensity that felt almost inevitable, that I truly grasped the depth of his desire. He looked up at me with those piercing eyes, his lips slightly swollen from our kisses, and whispered, "I'm yours. Do with me what you will."
Now, hours — or minutes — later, I was doing just that. I obliged his every plea, his every moan, his every whispered request. I thrust harder, deeper, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. His back arched off the bed, his hips meeting mine with a desperation that made my head spin.
