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11. Devour Me Again
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2025-08-02 13:47:11The night didn’t end there.
We hadn’t even touched the bed when his hands lit me up again. We were on the living room floor, the rug beneath my bare legs, his mouth on my neck, and that way he kissed—slow at first, like he wanted to taste me, then hungry—completely undid me. His lips moved down slowly, leaving a hot, wet trail across my collarbone. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just a little, guiding him where I needed him. He knew. Every moan that escaped my lips pushed him further, made him more ravenous. Our bodies moved in sync, as if we had known each other forever, as if our skins spoke a language of their own. His tongue traced my stomach, and I arched against him involuntarily. Every touch of his was a fire. Every kiss, a dare. He looked up from below. His eyes glinted—dark, locked on mine. His mouth curved in that arrogant, confident smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he loved watching me lose control. “You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, thick with lust. “Like what?” “Trembling for me.” And yes. I was trembling. My legs wrapped around his waist as he moved over me, his chest brushing mine, our breaths mingling. He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine with a rhythm that pulled a desperate, aching sound from my throat. I clung to him, not wanting space, not wanting to think. His hips pressed into mine, and everything in me ignited. The pressure, the heat, the friction—perfect. His mouth was at my ear now, whispering things that made me bite my lip, while his hands explored every curve of my body, every inch like it was new, like it would never be enough. And it wasn’t. I searched for him too. My lips on his neck, his chest. My fingers sliding down his abdomen, discovering every muscle. He was tense, panting, burning up just like I was. The sound of our bodies meeting was wet, raw, real. Our moans filled the silence of the apartment. Every thrust of his was deeper. Every movement, slower yet fiercer. Like he wanted to brand me from the inside out. I looked into his eyes mid-thrust. They were dark, intense, locked on me. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back. “John…” “Don’t ask me to stop,” he whispered, pushing deeper. “Because I won’t.” “I don’t want you to.” And he didn’t. He took me to the edge once, twice, again. He made me forget how to breathe. He made me beg without words—only with my body, my gasps, the way I clung to him. We collapsed hours later, drenched in sweat, our legs tangled, our chests rising and falling in the same rhythm. He looked at me with lips still red, eyes still clouded with need. And he smiled. “This is just the beginning.” I nodded. He was right. We still had so much left to burn.
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Shared Desires 73. Shared Obsession.
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I wake with skin stuck to dried sweat, my body still trembling inside though the air is unmoving. I’m between them, as if I were the sin that binds them. The sheet tangled around my legs, the golden sunlight slipping between the curtains, outlining the shape of their bodies: one breathes slow, almost absent, the other watches me with an intensity that disarms me. The air weighs more than my conscience.John kisses my shoulder with dangerous sweetness, as if nothing in the world had exploded, as if we weren’t broken inside. His breath grazes my collarbone, and that serene, almost tender gesture splits a crack in my chest. But Demon is not calm. Demon is an open wound. His hand slides up my thigh without asking, and his lips sink into my neck with a bite that isn’t a caress, it’s punishment, it’s a claim. And I say nothing. I don’t stop him.I can’t.We stay like this for minutes. Three bodies burning in a bed that no longer distinguishes love from war. My muscles still vibrate with las
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