How do I put into words what this man makes me feel? Alive, beautiful, protected, extraordinary. All the things no one has ever made me feel. He pulled me into him all those years ago, like an invisible line was somehow tugging us together, to be with each other at that moment in my life when I needed him most. Then ten years later, exactly the same when I needed him most, to pull me from the black hole I was so badly stuck in.
His beard is long, his hair longer then finger length, his mouth is a tight line in fear but also passion. His beautiful green eyes that pull me in shine so bright yet so dark. Like I could possibly read all his hidden secrets and demons behind them if I just get close enough.
His eyes close as both my hands are on his face, soft skin under my fingers, beard under my palm. I want to pull it, to bring him to me. Maybe I will get that chance in the future, just not now. He’s too fragile, no matter how much he denies he isn’t. It’s written all over his handsome face. The one most people choose to look the other way when he faces them, the tough exterior that he puts on for everyone.
I inch closer, knowing if I wanted to make a move on this man I’d be the one he would let in. He believes what he says. We aren’t meant to be. How can that be, though? Everything he is calms me, brings me peace, and makes me feel alive. Makes me want him so badly it only gets harder each time I see him.
My lips soft, his lips rough from his beard. I hear an intake of breath, his lips on my lips. He doesn't move, my hands remain on his beard. He’s breathing heavy with excitement… or nerves? I'm not sure which. So I kiss him softly, and he starts to move his lips—there’s no time for soft sweet kisses. My body presses closer to his, his hands remain on his side. I move my hands away from his beard and down to his shoulders, He only allows me lips on lips. Body pressed to body. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut. I feel his body tense beneath me. He doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't pull away either.
My hands start to slide down the front of his chest, and he flies backward to the end of the couch, away from me. My eyes reopen, his taste lingers on my lips. His dark green eyes are focused strongly on me.
“You shouldn't have done that.” His green eyes are darker now, fiercer.
“Why not?” I antagonize him.
He stands abruptly from the couch, taking two steps to be in front of me. He looks down at me and swings my legs around off the couch directly in front of his legs. He leans down, picks up my hands, joining them together, pinning them with one of his hands and pushes me back on the couch. He leans down, now his face inches from mine, his lips inches from my lips.
His lips descend on mine. They’re rough but soft, just like him. Rough on the outside, soft on the inside. My lips part and he gives me more than what he gave me mere seconds ago. His tongue enters me, and he kisses back with the same passion I’m giving him. My back arches, my body wanting to be closer to his. His hand slides down—making my stomach break out in butterflies—in between my breast, but it stops there and then there’s pressure. He pushes me down away from him. I want to protest, but I know if I do it will come to an end.
His hand stays in between my breasts—his mouth, his lips, assaulting me. It's fierce, so much passion. It feels like ten years’ worth of kisses.
As our tongues dance together with a wild passion I taste coconut.
He breaks for air, his forehead rests against mine, my hands still pinned above my head. Both of our breaths are heavy, our eyes connect and he goes to speak, but pulls away abruptly.
My hands drop falling to my side. I desperately want words to leave my mouth, but nothing seems to fall from my lips when I move to speak. His eyes do a slow burn, he looks unsure. He hasn't moved far.
“You need to leave,” his voice sounds gruff.
“That was…” I pause staring him, “…ten years’ worth of kisses.”
His head shakes, not disagreeing nor agreeing.
“That shouldn't have happened. We can't happen!”
“We can, and it would be explosive.”
His eyes leer at me while he bites his bottom lip. I sit up straight, closer to him, two steps away. I stand and take a step closer, his eyes tracking my movements. Another step closer, our bodies now touching slightly.
“Kiss me again?” My voice is tight, nerves taking hold. Unsure of what he’ll do or say.
It takes a while and I don't move, and neither does he. His hand snatches out and brings my body to his. I slam into the front of him and my hands come up, circling around his neck so fast there’s not enough time for him to pull away. His lips descend on mine. This kiss is softer with not so much aggression. I could kiss him forever.
My body grinds on him. I want to explore. His body pushes back into mine, the need, the want is there. I don't move my hands, afraid of what he will do. He doesn't like intimacy—not the sexual kind, just the love kind. His hands explore me. I let him. They're rough and unsure of what they’re meant to be doing. He isn't sure how to be normal. I don't want him normal, I want him just the way he is—fucked up and all.
“Touch me,” my voice is husky, turned on.
His hands slide up the back of my shirt and they unclasp my bra. They feather back down, and his hands come in between us. He pulls my hands away and they drop to my side, he grabs the bottom of my shirt, and in one swift movement tears my shirt apart. He slides it off my shoulders, then my bra. I’m now exposed in front of him, the top half of me completely naked. His eyes travel downward, stopping on my breasts. Roger used to make me feel insecure about my breasts. He’d tell me I had the chest of a boy. He never made me feel beautiful or desired. But the way Liam is looking at me it makes me feel all those things and more.
I go to reach for his shirt, but his hands stop me. He reaches out again, undoing my pants, and I kick my shoes off. He pulls my pants down, taking my underwear with them. I’m now completely naked and he’s completely dressed in his black trousers and white shirt. His hand reaches up and he undoes his first button, I see hair, it's not much, just a patch. The rest is next the shirt gets removed, his nipples are pierced with a barbell through each. No tattoos, just the piercings.
His eyes stay on mine, he kicks his shoes off then comes his pants. I'm afraid to look down. He isn't, his eyes don't stop traveling my body. My eyes stay glued to his face. He looks at me challenging, challenging me to look down. He smirks, and it's the sexiest thing I’ve seen. I remove my eyes from his face and trail them down from his chest to his stomach, which has a beautifully sculptured six-pack. I let my eyes travel further, where they stop at this cock. I gasp loudly. He has an apadravya, and the metal shines brightly at the end of his cock. He's manicured, clean, and very tall. My eyes shoot back up to him. His smirk is still in place. I've never been with someone who had a cock piercing. It should be interesting.
“I have rules.” His voice is husky, his eyes now on me.
“Rules,” I reply.
“Yes, rules…” he pauses. “…the biggest rule is no touching.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” he confirms.
“I want to touch, and I will touch.” He shakes his head. How can he say no? I’m naked in front of him!
“When I fuck, no one is allowed to touch. I fuck hard, I don't fuck soft. And I don't make love.”