ᴜɴᴅᴏɴᴇ | ᴅ.ᴍ

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

MY back is pressed against the hard glass of my bathroom mirror, as I'm sitting on the edge of the counter, hardly. His fingers are tangled up in my hair, taking a handful of it as he tugs on it—purposely trying to get something out of me for his own audible pleasure.

My legs wrapped around his torso as he's pushing himself against me to feel the hot friction between us that never seems to leave whenever we're around each other—we could be inches apart, but there's that burning sensation—the need to just feel each other's skin against our own.

My hand is running up his toned chest, trying to feel him through his thin white shirt, pulling him down onto me as my nails are digging into his shoulders, moving my hips against his. "Fuck—fuck," he groans into my ear as the tips of my fingers are dancing around the waistband of his bottoms, playfully tugging on them to see the panic in his movements.

My hips are rocking forward, meeting his as I'm moving at a steady pace against him—his hand latched onto my thigh as he's pulling me near him, bringing my face forward by grabbing the back of my neck as a smile frames my face—my lips brushing against his as neither of us leans in.

My lips touch against his jaw, tasting him as I'm going down onto his neck—kissing him as my hands rest on the crook of his neck—so much to touch. I move my hips forward as he lets out a groan, his head buried into my neck as he's breathing that sends a shooting heat everywhere in my body, electricity running down my veins as my body revives over and over again with a brink of his touch. "If we don't stop right now, I'm going to fuck you against this counter, witch."

"Don't expect me to stop you," I gasped along his skin as his lips brushed against the lobe of my ear. I wanted to go all-in—everywhere—the couch, the bed, the table, this damn counter—anywhere.

I almost keened into his mouth when I felt him press the hardness between his thighs—down onto me. He leaned in as my back pressed further down onto the glass, almost hoping it would break, shatter into pieces, so it would cut his skin—so I could really taste him.

His hands wandered beneath my shirt, as our chest pressed close together—his lips on my neck, his hands sauntering around my body like it's a new book—studying every detail of it, tracing down onto the spine as he was carefully studying it. He treated my body like I was the new pages of a book, careful not to bend down the book too much, so there would be no creases against the paperback spine.

"Do you hate the way my hands roam your body, witch?" he hummed at the end as he's nudging my chin up to kiss down onto my neck as I swallow the intensity building up in my mouth. "I do," I mumble.

His hands moved up to the apex of my thighs—just where I was eager to have him, to just move forward—to release the sexual frustration my body had been yearning for the minute I locked eyes with him.

"I should go," I mumbled from underneath him, my body slightly shifting—not knowing how to react or what words were right.

He tossed over to the side, shifting over as I wrapped the white creamed sheet around my body, picking up my clothing as I dared not to look at his eyes, I couldn't even if I wanted to.