He’d called it ‘Her place’, which, in this swirling world of ownership and property that he was pulling her into, had seemed odd at first. She was his, a truth that was becoming more and more a fact each day, and the idea that she could in turn own any part of him didn’t sit right with her. But she obligated him, if only because it was a place she liked very much. The smell, the feel, the taste…
She felt his cock twitch in her hand, the now familiar throb of his blood pumping through it, the size of it visibly swelling, making her whole body exhale, the muscles relaxing as she settled down. Her cheek was against his pelvis, wiry hairs tickling against the soft flesh, and she closed her eyes. Air rushed through her nose, nostrils flaring, and she smelled him. It felt taboo, almost, to enjoy that most basic of senses, dirty, uncivilised. That only made the flare of arousal that rushed through her all the more powerful.
It was right about then that she realised that she had been coming at things all wrong. It wasn’t ‘Her place’ because she owned it, because it was a piece of him that he was giving to her. She had no rights to it, nothing to covet and possess. No, it was ‘Her place’ because it was where she belonged, and where she would return to time and again. It was where she was meant to be, right here, with the sense of him against her cheek, in her hand, filling her nose, her sight. Him, permeating her.
ugh, men…just pulling down jeans, and sliding hands around…sorry, love it.
