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work momentum

“I have work to do.” The words somehow do not come out as insistent as I had intended. Something to do with your hand curved around my ribs, under my shirt? And how did we end up on the bed?

Oh, do you? You say absentmindedly – almost innocently – before I feel your hot breath and teeth on my ear.

“Yes!” This time a little stronger, even as my head tilts to the side: all the better to feel your teeth with. I feel the electrical surge as they close around the bulbous flesh of my earlobe, bone connecting with skin, causing a spark that ignites a trail of neural pulses straight to my groin – conveniently bypassing the brain on the way.

I try one last time, even as your persistent hand caresses my breast – “Really, I have so much work to doOoohmmm, fuck.” Your thumb and finger have one nipple clamped tightly between them, and I am utterly gone. Utterly yours. My greatest weakness, revealed.

“I can’t…” But it’s useless, even though you’re agreeing, Yes, you need to get your work done as you shrug out of your clothes. I’m helping you now, so you don’t get distracted later. And I’ll make it quick.

“You’re evil.” I proclaim as my legs spread open to you, heat radiating from their vertex. I can’t tell if my hands are pushing you away, or if my legs are trying to wrap around your waist.

Mmm, am I? You sound amused, even with your insistence growing with the increasing hardness I can feel against my thigh, your breath coming heavily, the lust coming off your body like cologne. I breathe it in, then out again as you push into me suddenly. Your hands pull my hips toward you, unnecessarily, because I am already grinding back, trying to take all of you inside me.

I’ll make this fast, since you have to get to work, you say, charitably, each word punctuated with a thrust that leaves me breathless, starpoints of light behind my eyes. You wrap your arms around me, lift me bodily, and in a fluid motion lower me to the floor – all the while with your cock still deep inside me. And you start pounding. Hard. Fast. My hips tremble from the force, ripples of energy flowing in and up my body and moving it in short jerks along the floor. And it is not enough, because my hands are curled around your ass, desperately trying to bring you deeper inside me, my legs locked around your body, and your hands are in my hair, trying to pull me further down onto you with each thrust.

And the only thing that exists in my far-gone mind is the fullness and force and deliciousness of the taste of your groans suffusing my eardrums; and that painful moment between thrusts when you pull out, leaving me vacant for a breath-stopping second before fulfilling me once more, and each explosion of sensation leaving me writhing and greedy for more.

I may be moaning, or begging for more, or begging for harder, or stringing random words together in guttural exhilaration. I feel the tension stretching from your rolled-back eyes, down your neck and shoulders and back, down the back of your legs, in your hips and expanding your cock as you come, achingly hard, pressing your body into mine as I clutch you, wanting to feel every spasm.

Slowly, as our bodies stop convulsing and our breathing calms, I let my sweatslick hands fall limply to my side. You raise your body, roll to one side, your softening cock slipping reluctantly out.

And after a moment of silence, you say, as I knew you would, because you are a snarky bastard: So, you better get started on your work, yeah? Don’t let me distract you.

Categories: life, love, sex, writing
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  1. February 28, 2010 at 10:51 pm

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