They’d made a game out of whispered words. There was no room for creative interpretation, not when there were just two of them, but he’d managed to find some space to wriggle in, anyway, and she’d done her best to keep up. They planted seeds in one another’s imagination, and then tried to clear the rampant foliage and refocus on making one another moan.
She’d gone in like she had a thousand times before, but some fried circuit in her brain shorted, a quick trigger, a snap judgement, and she swallowed the words back down. This wasn’t that moment, in the same way it had been all those other times. Things can feel fated, some guiding hand leading her to kiss rather than speak, to lick instead of say, to bite instead of trickle the tease into his ear. She was at his neck, now, instead, and while for the first moment he’d tensed with surprise, now he was just enjoying it, the smile creasing his cheeks.
But her eyes were closed.
She was absorbed, the musk of his skin against her tongue, and the smell of his hair, the short ones that grow wild at the back of his neck, against her nose. It was primal, but more than that, it was feral. Just mindlessly running her mouth up and over that one part of his body, as if she could suck the whole of him through the single point, the straw of him.
And then his hand was at her forehead, pushing her away. There was a flash of fear, an anxiety that she had gone too far, done something wrong, been too feverishly excited in her attack. But he just turned his face and kissed her directly, cutting out the neckular middle man.
It was chaste, at first. Lips on lips, and while she parted hers, he kept his closed. He was teasing her, she realised, and just as she did his jaw flexed, opening just enough for her to try and dart her tongue between. But he grabbed it with his teeth, and she could feel her tastebuds grating against him as she pulled it back. It wasn’t painful, just.. rough. She liked rough.
And then he kissed her properly, and she felt as owned as she ever would.