No sport had taken my breath as much as her before…
“This can’t be good for your knee,” I heard her whisper as she climbed on top of me.
“Stop worrying about me, already,” I said. “As long as your ankle doesn’t hurt then I’ll be fine,” and I rolled her over on her back.
I rose on my elbows to watch her tremble beneath me, shaking. I yearned for her gaze, I wanted her to see me, the rawest version of me, filtered from all the acting I do in my daily life. Her eyes were shut as if she was savoring the moment in. I watched her, every little mimic her face makes as she is filled with the rush.
I wanted to see how immersed she was at that very moment, I wanted to see if I was successful enough to carry her away from all of her real life’s expectations and hardships. I wanted her to acknowledge me and acknowledge that I stopped, only to watch her, savor her, devour her, bit by bit, mimic by mimic. I watched as her long lashes separated from one another, and I got what I wanted, or a variation of what I wanted. Her gaze was filled with questions of why I had stopped pleasuring her, how on the earth a servant like me could disobey her wants.
She came into my life unannounced and wrecked my walls bit by bit with her warmness and I couldn’t help but surrender. I took the trip to be alone, to be in my feelings, but she was there, with me, and everything in the world was a bit better. At the littlest of moments that we were one, I was simply living to pleasure her. Every inch of me wanted to satisfy her, every molecule wanted to fill her in. I smirked at the thought of becoming addicted to this woman, this wild, untamed woman.