Too Late // M. H. //

Too Late

Midnight.

His hands, my mouth - drawing shapes, coaxing a roadmap out of goosebumps, tracing a way out of an invisible labyrinth; savoring heaven, partaking into the delectable flavor of desire; indulging in a forbidden delicacy of sensual gratification. Makes and unhindered - demanding possession, trespassing territories, laying claim on each other's entirety. Mumbling lewd suggestions like a prayer, drunk on a promise of nirvana - only the silence is the witness to our sinful communion.

The clouds in the sky had obscured the moon, not allowing even a sliver of light to pass through. The room is plagued with darkness but we moved with grace - as if he'd memorized my contours and curves; as if I'm a virtuoso in the art of pleasure; as if we had done this a hundred times before.

We had.

"I want you." He murmured in husky desperation - a request, almost a plea - teeth grazing on my collarbone, nipping gently, leaving hickeys on his wake. The oxygen must be thinning - he is out of breath - but he's combusting nonetheless: heat gathering in his core pushing to find release.

"Then get me." A hint of teasing tainted my shaking voice as I disconnected from the trance of his stare. A naught smirk loomed in my face, taunting him to go on - to take it further - a glint of mischief directed to him - a whole world of fantasies lurking behind the black of my irises.

"Don't I already got you?" His question, asked in his almost indecipherable British accent, isa unsure declaration, and a wave of anxiety ran through me. A monosyllabic answer was held hostage as my subconscious panicked, wondered if he had finally saw through my facade - if he had already learned of the truth I tried to cover up with apathy and promiscuity.

I gasped an inhale of air when he suddenly squeezed my bare breast with his calloused palm. I keened against him, abandoning all logical thoughts, squirming below him. Sliding away from my upper torso, he trailed a path down my belly before cupping the apex between my thighs.

Shifting above me, he had his index finger along my opening, then as fast as it got there, he removed it. The wild look in his sun-kissed eyes screams for me: a siren call impossible to ignore - or deny. I live for these moments - when it was like everything has dissipated in a puff of smoke; when it was like I am the lone person in his sight; when it was like it's only him and me. In the following second, I watched him suck in his finger, tasting me on himself. I moaned.

"Fuck me." It was not more than a whisper - a quiet music of dark words dedicated for him alone.

As if worshiping me, he lowered himself, doing another exploration on my lips. The collision was phenomenal - an avalanche of sensations too much to bear, a stream of stimulus craving for a response. He pulled back, flashing me a grin. "Your wish is my command." An addictive rush of adrenaline flooded my veins, threatening to demolish my composure and sanity.

Gripping his nape, he found my waist. Putting a halt in our kiss, his forehead on mine, I couldn't help but to give a smile.

The man towering over me is beautiful. There is a stain of lipstick on his neck - the brightest shade of red, the same color as my blood. His skin is pale but somehow glimmers like gold - the highest karat of jewelry, the same color as ichor. He is covered in tattoos - indelible ink marking milestones in his life: he is art incarnate, the epitome of perfection.

My touch has strayed on his arms when he dipped into me. I held onto him, eyes screwed shut. "You're - God." My muscles contracted around him; his length fully buried within me. When the tension couldn't be endured anymore, he started to surge in and out - obeying the rhythm as old as time, the both of us slick with sweat.

"No, my name's Matty." His chuckle sounded of angel's - sweet to the ears and even in the midst of intimacy, I laughed. Our hips are on contact, creating fiction and I tilted a bit to accommodate him.

Pressure building, lust intensifying - my legs bracketing him, his weight straddling me, pinning me down. Syllables transformed into curses, the calm turned into begging as his every thrust and withdrawal became more furious, more fervid, more forceful. "I'm yours."

No. You're not. You never will be. My denial was drowned in a series of expletives, a string of unholy utterances, a pile of desperate grunts of encouragements.

Accelerating his actions, plunging into me deeper, my back arching off the mattress, my body out of control, writhing as we chased our own peak.

"Matty", I painted, my vision glued on his face as I brushed a wet lock of his curly hair away. My insides were bursting in satisfaction, and with a slip of the tongue, I betrayed myself. "I love you."

He leaned into me and that's all it needed to make me a molten mess of cells screaming for more. He drove into me with no mercy and I counted the throb of my pulse, my nails digging on his flesh.

Hovering over the edge, jolts of electricity, sparks flying, he failed to suppress the soft cries and whimpers - profanities that included my name, wreaking havoc in my well-being.

"I'm -"

"I know." Swallowing my admission in one gulp, he pecked me in the cheeks. He's losing his balance and -

"Shit." White warmth poured on me as he groaned - shattered, his body taken over by violet shuddering. I came after, quaking and quivering, crumbling apart.

Delirium.

He collapsed onto me - spent, tired, sated. He was so close; his heartbeat mingling with mine to form a harmony of thumping. His chest was still rising and falling - akin to the tides - when he rolled into the other side of the bed. I felt empty.

I knew what was next. The routine is to gather our wits - when the ocean had ebbed into ripples, when the flame had been reduced into cinders; drenched in shame or still intoxicated, one has to leave.

Matty surprised me by talking. "Don't fall in love with me."

"Too late", I replied.