exoticeva:

He always kisses me quickly, swooping in like he’s afraid to give me a chance to change my mind. Or maybe he’s just as impatient as I am to feel that rush again. But next time he kisses me, I want him to move slowly. I want time – just one suspended moment – to see the look in his eyes when he decides he can’t wait any more to feel my mouth under his, my lips opening, my tongue licking into him.

I want to feel the space between us weighted with his intent then that kick of adrenaline as he pulls me in close. That lightning flash of lust as his mouth hovers just out of reach and the air he breathes out becomes the air I gasp in. 

I want him to give me enough time to step back, to turn my head, just so he can smile when instead I press closer, sink into him, let him in. I want the triumph in his eyes, the knowledge that I’m his, that I’m caught up in the lust and heat and want, to be the last thing I see before my eyes close and I give myself up to the heady pleasure of his kiss.

I want him to move deliberately, to pin me against him as we kiss until everything around us fades away and  the pounding of my heart and the taste of him are the only things grounding me. I want him to kiss me the way I hope he’ll fuck me later – teasing taunts that make me ache, slow thrusts that assert his ownership.

And when we finally stop, when he raises his head and opens his eyes he’ll see the desire and greed written all over my flushed face. More. I want more.