Washing Dishes
The metal of the sink is cold on my arms.
I can tell because my back is scorched every time their fingers desperately try not to claw the flesh on my back. Digging, kneading, but not clawing.
Oh, the control you hold onto so tightly... Ughh, I just want to rip it to shreds!
Hisses escape me with every effervescent flame of delight, which trails after their light caresses, feeding the furnace between my thighs.
I am drugged off the lust, so deep in the flame that everything else must be ice in comparison. That has to be the reason I make shifting foggy outlines wherever I lean on something.
A small sound escapes my internal war as they appear to pull away, my shivering whisper barely audible.
My hands hang loose now, empty, my own fingers quietly clawing at nothing. My traitorous hips ease my feet further apart slightly.
“I’m almost don~nnnngh,” I manage to growl, before it melts into a familiar sound of surrender as their hand cups the heat source.
Just a touch, then fingertips barely slipping along the edges of the place we’ve repeatedly discovered together.
But not discovered enough, it seems.
I hear their trembling breath. Yes? Don’t stop there, what else?
I hear them sucking their finger, and my breath rushes out.
So does theirs:
“Fuuuuuuuuuck...”
They groan the magic word, and I bite my lip while my muscles clench.
My head wants to drop. I don’t want to say no. I don’t want to stop. I wish it would just go on forever like this, stoking each other’s fire until the house was ashes or we failed to move a muscle.
But the task won’t take long, it’s not a “no”, it’s a hold on. Yeah, a “gimme a sec”.
So why does it feel like I’m cheating myself by waiting when IT’S RIGHT HERE?
The next words sound like they’ve been ripped out of my soul: “I can’t finish like this...”
What am I saying!?
And then the molten flesh of their torso brands my back where layers upon layers of echoing touches still linger. One of their hands smooths up my neck to gently pose my jaw.
Another sound of helpless hunger eases out from between my lips, while their mouth brushes my ear: “You won’t finish here. You know that.”
Noooooooooooo.....
My heart pretends it’s a trapped bird, and their hand under my jaw is the open door. I catch a glance of my face in the window, eyes nearly fully dilated with desire, and then my eyes slide closed so I don’t become distracted.
Why yes, I am enjoying myself, I’m glad it shows.
I can feel the shiver down my spine before it begins, and maybe I might have been able to suppress it, but I’m weak in the groin, and so I turn into their kiss as I shiver like the surface of hot asphalt, prying open my eyes to catch the anticipation on their face just before we touch.
Their flush of desire and their watchful eyes. Hungry eyes, hellfire eyes.
And that does me in.
With an involuntary frustrated sound, I turn in their arms to kiss without resistance, and catch the fleeting glimpse of surprise before that stupid great gift expression finds a home on their face.
Yes, it’s that easy. It’s my favorite activity.
We break apart, breathless.
“Just like that?” Their hands have stopped. Words heard with wonder, echo in my mind with imagined condescension.
I pause halfway to another kiss, eyes sobering. Too much? Too often? Too ready?
But I smirk anyway, hiding my dread through a challenge. “Just.”
Just please don’t say no...
My feelings cave in, preparing myself to be totally chill if they decide enough is enough. I’m “just” too easy.
I know.
But their eyes are searching, cynical. I’ve never felt so scrutinized this closely.
“Are you like this all the time??”
It’s really that bad, isn’t it? I can feel my face slip slowly back into my blasé default. My heart hurts.
Why are we just standing here?
I sigh.
“No,” I lie smoothly, like it’s a tiring question, shoving down the memories of several nights rocking with unfulfilled cramps, as I let my hands now trail to their collarbones.
No amount of masturbation helped. It was my own personal hell.
Just please don’t say no...
I muster a crooked grin before turning back to the sink. “Let me finish here, I’ll-”
“-I’ll help.”
Oh...
“Thanks.”
“It’s my house,” they rebutted. “You’re not cooling off here so you can skimp out on dessert.”
I almost stop breathing.
Dessert? As in, food “dessert”, or, we’re going to bed “dessert”?
Aaaand just like that, I was back.
It was so much faster with four hands, even if two of those hands were coming from behind me and the attached torso rubbed back and forth with every movement.
I was still telling myself to breathe deep, when their hand turned my chin to meet their gaze.
“Was the water too hot?”
“You’re too hot.” It slipped out, and I would have apologized, but those dark eyes stared at me with that hunger and I straight melted.
I leaned into them as their eyes focused on my mouth.
"Fuuuuuuuuuck...” I whispered already on the way to the kiss.
“Fuck is right, my little crêpe,” they whispered against my lips.
I actually whimpered, and one of their hands slid again between my thighs. They tested me with a finger, groaning and cursing.
We did it on the counter...
Then we made it to the living room...
Then we did it against the glass doors...
And the hallway...
And then we finally moved to their room, and didn’t come out til morning.
I woke up first, gave them a smirk and slipped farther under the covers to wake them most sensually.
Too much? Maybe.
But they’d never call me a dessert again...
