It was new.
And yet so familiar.
As though they’d been doing it for ages. As though they sit close together, legs casually intertwined, his hand around her shoulder, talking about movies, every day. As if lying in bed together, talking about their travel tales while taking momentary breaks to kiss, was a routine they followed every day. As though ripping each other’s clothes off came so easily because they do it every night. You would never know by the synchronized breathing that this was their first time, and most likely the last. The way their bodies merged, setting fire to the already hot afternoon. The way her breasts fit in his palms so perfectly. How he knew exactly where she liked to be caressed. The way she left just the tiniest little mark on his ribs, so that his girlfriend wouldn’t see it. The way he knew exactly when to enter her, without she asking him for it, something her boyfriend never seemed to catch on to. The slow beginning. The steady rise in tempo. The arching of backs and locking of eyes and limbs. The gentle moans and desperate groans. The whimpers from her when he kept pulling out, torturing her oh so sweetly, and then pushing right back in, swallowing her gasp with a kiss as he did so. His strong arms pinning her to the bed, although there’s nowhere else she would rather be just then. That look in his eyes that told her that he was on the brink, holding on just for her. The look in her eyes that was telling him to break loose and let the pure lust overpower them. It was as though they lay together every day, having the most nonsensical and atypical of pillow talks, discussing everything from politics to horror movies, taking momentary breaks to kiss, running their hands over each other’s bodies, examining each other’s tattoos. The body was new, and yet, the touch so familiar. His fingers tracing the curve of her hips, her lips showering little kisses on his neck. His hands absentmindedly playing with her nipples as he rambled on about how stifling commitments can be, unaware of the storm stirring up inside her again.
It was new.
And yet, so familiar.
I've always been intrigued by erotic literature. I believe it so much more difficult to arouse your senses through words than it is through visuals. This is my very first attempt. And I'd like some honest feedback, please? But be nice, ya? Thanks!
And yet so familiar.
As though they’d been doing it for ages. As though they sit close together, legs casually intertwined, his hand around her shoulder, talking about movies, every day. As if lying in bed together, talking about their travel tales while taking momentary breaks to kiss, was a routine they followed every day. As though ripping each other’s clothes off came so easily because they do it every night. You would never know by the synchronized breathing that this was their first time, and most likely the last. The way their bodies merged, setting fire to the already hot afternoon. The way her breasts fit in his palms so perfectly. How he knew exactly where she liked to be caressed. The way she left just the tiniest little mark on his ribs, so that his girlfriend wouldn’t see it. The way he knew exactly when to enter her, without she asking him for it, something her boyfriend never seemed to catch on to. The slow beginning. The steady rise in tempo. The arching of backs and locking of eyes and limbs. The gentle moans and desperate groans. The whimpers from her when he kept pulling out, torturing her oh so sweetly, and then pushing right back in, swallowing her gasp with a kiss as he did so. His strong arms pinning her to the bed, although there’s nowhere else she would rather be just then. That look in his eyes that told her that he was on the brink, holding on just for her. The look in her eyes that was telling him to break loose and let the pure lust overpower them. It was as though they lay together every day, having the most nonsensical and atypical of pillow talks, discussing everything from politics to horror movies, taking momentary breaks to kiss, running their hands over each other’s bodies, examining each other’s tattoos. The body was new, and yet, the touch so familiar. His fingers tracing the curve of her hips, her lips showering little kisses on his neck. His hands absentmindedly playing with her nipples as he rambled on about how stifling commitments can be, unaware of the storm stirring up inside her again.
It was new.
And yet, so familiar.
I've always been intrigued by erotic literature. I believe it so much more difficult to arouse your senses through words than it is through visuals. This is my very first attempt. And I'd like some honest feedback, please? But be nice, ya? Thanks!
