blackheart ➵ m. clifford

➵ twenty three

➵ jett

My whole body felt like it was on fire. Flames were burning through my toes and lapping at my hips and dancing across my shoulders and I couldn't shake the wildfire. Bruises of his fingerprints blazed across my thighs, and marks of his teeth were alight on my throat. There was an ache between my legs and a shortness of breath that matched the thump of my heart in the cavern of my chest.

I felt like all of my senses were heightened, my skin was sensitive to the heat the filled the room, and my eyes could barely flutter against the rays of the sun. And they fluttered, my cheek pressed against the warm cotton of my pillow and my arm thrown over the side of the bed where Michael used to be. The sheets were low on my hips, my back arched under slightly as the cold gathered in a sheen of sweat across the near-white of my skin.

Michael wasn't by my side, but I could feel him. I could feel his eyes as they traced the outline of my breasts, pressed against the sheets. I could feel his breath as it brushed against my feet, peeking out from beneath the covers. I could feel everything. I could feel how he felt when he was arched over my frame, his palms pressed against the pillow. I could feel how he felt when he keened from the back of his throat, his nose brushing against the shell of my ear. I could feel him.

The scratching of pencil against paper met my ears, and my lips twisted up into a wry smile as I cast a glance over my shoulder. He was washed over with concentration, his plump lip tucked between his bucked teeth, and his eyes dropped down towards his sketchpad. Platinum hair was messily ruffled atop his head, dark roots growing through ever so slowly to shade. Stubble grew across his jaw and down his throat, mingling with the purpling bruises that would fit perfectly under my lips. Dressed in nothing but his skin, Michael was the epitome of a sin.

His eyes crinkled slightly, and his lips tugged up reluctantly into a smile he tried to hide, furrowing his eyebrows as he delivered stroke after stroke to the paper beneath his fingertips. I knew he had seen me, and the ruffle of the sheets was even more of a giveaway as I rolled the tiniest bit more onto my side, but to admire him all the much more.

He was looking at me now, with those eyes greener than the forest that held our very first meeting. And he simply looked, his head tilted slightly as he traced the curve of my back, the contours of my shoulder blades, before his eyes dipped down to admire the marks that littered my collarbones and my breasts. I could feel my face heating as he lingered, following the column of my throat and licking his lips as he watched my cheeks begin to burn a red like autumn maples.

Gently, he placed the sketchpad on the arm of his armchair, tucking his pencil behind his ear and standing up slowly from his seat. He really was glorious, with a toned chest and an abdomen that held an admirable softness. His thighs were littered with red marks, the muscle tainted from my lips, and he had long legs that curved at the hips and a waist that dipped in ever so slightly. Hair littered his chest and his belly, trailing down towards his thighs, and towards one of my new favourite parts of him.

The bed dipped with his weight, and I rolled onto my back to outstretch my hands towards his waist as he hovered over my frame that seemed almost tiny in comparison to him. His lips met my chest in a soft, heavy-breathed kiss that made me feel more than loved, and his hand trailed from my thigh to my waist, holding my hip to his as his lowered himself down onto his elbows and pulled the sheets up to cover our legs.

"Good morning." He grinned, trailing his lips from my collarbones to my throat and leaving gentle, full-of-lips kisses against my flesh before he dropped his head to the pillow and buried his face in the flourish of my hair that was spread across the bed. His arms dropped underneath me, curling around my back and his chest falling flat against mine as he brushed his nose against the spot behind my ear.