White Tower

by Sasjah Miller

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Smell and taste become one as his stubble scratches feverishly against my collar bone, and my sighs tenfold echo his moaning against the hollow of my throat. He kisses me, bites me, tastes me and then kindly lets me return the pleasure. Hurry, heís in such a hurry to get to me, Iím in such a hurry to get to him.

We are clean, at last, but he still tastes of skin and earth and blood and sweat, of me, of us, of the soft white sheet that is partly wrapped around him, warmed by our body heat. It is smooth and slick beneath my arms as I put my arms around him and pull him against me.

Mine forever, mine and mine alone.

We are caught in the bed-sheets as they tangle around our legs, as the fabric strains against my erection and I feel his warm body through it, pressing against me, trying to reach me, to touch me where he wants to touch me, where I want to be touched the most. It hinders us but I donít really mind, we will get there eventually. My eyes are closed because I just want to feel him, to know for real what he feels like: Iíve watched him for so long.

I try to take it slow but he is impatient and greedy and so am I. He topples me, pulls the bed-sheet from between us and with the last thread of my conscious mind I realize we have all the time in the world.

 

The End

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