| But deep down, we're all animals, aren't we? That's why I'm in your room, hand mere millimeters away from my cock, when did I start saying cock?, that throbbed as memories of you flashed through my head. Because you're my mate, my other half...the only one that could quiet the burning in my blood. Reaching, I grabbed myself, precum sticking to my palm, pulling in slow, hard strokes. Still methodical, I pulled off my slacks, tossing them to the floor, my shirt falling off of my shoulders as I arched from pleasure/pain. I used to think, as a kid, as an adult, that if I made it hurt, I wouldn't masturbate. Funny, I always expected sex to hurt, somehow, someway. Physically, mentally, emotionally. So when it didn't, I made it and it felt better. I made sex painful; I had sex with Sara, paying the price with a chunk of my heart. I have sex with you and pay with my body. Fair trade. I get a piece of my soul back. Clips of fornication floated pass my closed eyes; curved breasts, bruised hips, the bite of nails in my shoulders, half lidded, lust filled brown eyes. Damn my photographic memory. There's a poetry in your body that you have to see to explain. The quiet whine you give when I make you wait, the startled gasp you give when I touch you just so... "Natasha..." I breathed, squeezing, knowing my cock was an angry red, swollen. It took me so long to admit that I need you, that I needed to touch you to feel like I was really alive, that I needed to make love to you to find my own heaven... "Do it," a voice said and I opened my eyes a crack to see Natasha standing in the door frame, jeans that curved over the swell of your hips, the white tank top that was stretched across your chest, nipples hard. Hair that had grown, raven black, shadowing your eyes that sparked in lust. The duffle you had fell to the floor with a soft thud, your body still unmoving. "I want to see you." Her voice; it wasn't a question. It was an order. Embarrassment flooded my face, flushing it as passion had done a few moments earlier. But my eyes narrowed, hand stroking harder, faster, determined... I would please you. My tigress..."So...after two weeks..." Grunt. "This...is what...you want?" An arched eyebrow, a slow smile. "Yes." My pace quickened, my eyes shutting, flashes of images behind my lids: You stretched out before me, nude for me to devour. The heat of your body, stroking me from the inside as I drove deeper than I thought your body could take. That tongue, oh hell, thick, wet, eager, intent on sucking me into a sated submission. The web of erotic sounds that only I heard... I tried to bite my lip, intent on stopping the cry of release that my orgasm pulled from my throat but failed, gasping, spraying my chest in thick white heat, evident of the power of thought alone. My body shivered, breath coming in short pants, hand falling away slowly as I lay, spent from my self indulgence. Forcing my eyes open, I found Natasha hadn't moved, regarding me with a smirk. "Have...I pleased you, tiger?" I said haltedly and you stalked over to the bed, smiling. "Well, if this what's going to greet me," you reasoned in a low voice, kneeling next to me. "I think I'll go away more often." "As long as you come home in one piece." Reaching for her, I wanted to ask how she got home so early, how did she know I was here. But the time for talk was later. Work was waiting. Work I could focus on. The work of our self destruction. Back to CSI |