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My emotions flow out whenever they feel like it, and the three men seem addicted to them more than my body.
Sometimes… At least.
Our eyes talk for a few seconds. In time metrics, it’s almost nothing. In heart measurements, it’s a lot.
I see in him… the need to have me. And what he has for me is more than lust.
I’ve swung too far away from him, untethered myself, and gone on a journey.
A beautiful journey at that, but he’s lost me for a moment.
And then I lied to him, and that was a toxic mix, aside from whatever else had bothered his heart.
On the other hand, he has no problem staying away from me.
Had I not touched his shoulder, he’d be gone by now.
Sauntering back to his room, maybe regretful that he’d given me so much space. My regrets probably bigger than his.
Whatever prompts the shift, he has a change of heart and pivots to me with a swirling twister of emotions in his eyes.
A cloud of darkness seeps into his eyes, and for a second, the door is still open, and I hold it for him.
That quickly changes when he shoves it closed, and his arms lock around me while mine loop around him.
We fall against the wall, my heels scratching the floor, my blood rushing, my chest heaving as the flames of passion burn through his frosted soul again.
I didn’t think he had in him.
We fall into each other, lips locked, breaths clipped and rushed, skin burning, our deepest needs ready to erupt.
My back hits the concrete hard, sending a shudder through my bones while he dwarfs me with his frame.
From my thighs to my chest and lips, he takes me all in, melting into me. I feel his hips, his chest, and his hard length as fire grips our blood.
We feel the taste of blood as he bites my lip, and I bite his, and the kiss becomes a war we can’t control.
He grabs a fistful of my hair, pressing his body into mine, his heat burning through my clothes.
We are strong, rushed, wild, and know no limits. I hardly recognize myself as I keep up with him, eager to dive into him and have him dive into me.
I want him badly, and no matter how much it hurts or how many bruises he puts on my body, I can’t be deterred.
We move toward the middle of the room, knocking over some furniture before my back meets the wall again.
My hands go to his neckline, but I don’t have time to undo it as he slides back a little, grabs the lapels of his shirt, and yanks it open, the buttons flying to the floor.
He doesn’t smile. His eyes look scary. Scary good.
Dark and gray, haunted by questionable emotions. Ice, fog, fire, and cold rain. Lust, frustration, and then something else.
I like the combination.
Therefore I don’t dwell on what that is.
My chest moves rapidly while sweat lines my skin when he untucks his shirt, removes it, and tosses it on the chair.
He grabs his metallic buckle and hardly unfastens it when he brings his hands to me.
