The Need


He's waiting for me, just like I knew he would be, those long lean legs stretched out over the bed. One knee bent up, arm hanging casually over it, holding a cigarette. His skin is so pale, like hard marble. But after touching him. . . . so soft and smooth, so lean, sensual, with an easy, catlike grace. And his face. . . . He is the most singularly hansom man that I’ve seen. His lips, curved and full, as if carved perfectly from stone. They form a smug, hungry smile, my insides melt. A savage predator, looking completely at ease, totally relaxed, but really just waiting for that perfect moment to attack.

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   A tiger waiting to pounce. Shadows dwell in the hollows of his high cheekbones. Dark eyebrows arch over his amazing blue eyes. I want him. . . This killer. . . This monster. . . I want to be ravished by him, any way he wants me, I know I’m his for the taking. He kisses me, and all thoughts are gone. .

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  . His first kiss. Always the most tender. His lips barely brush mine, a promise of what is to come. for a monster he is surprisingly loving, surprising sweet. God I hate him. . . Now he backs away, his eyes hazy, lust-filled. I don't know what it is about me that makes him react like this, that makes him want me like I want him. But I know he does, I know that he is as hot and hungry for me as I for him. And I know that he asks himself these same questions. But we both know the answer. It's the lust. .

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  . The lust won't let us stop. The lust pulls us to each other, attracts us, lights us on fire, makes conflicting sparks run through us. Every time we fought, every time we looked at each other, we felt it. We didn't have a choice. We had to give in. I know when I feel him, he is intoxicated by the heat of my body, just as I am by the coolness of his. But I can't think about that now. . . not when his tongue is raking across my hot lips, not when his hands are slowly moving up my side, inching towards my breasts. His hands always move so slow. . . too slow.

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   Usually passion wants to grab and rip, not caress and worship. Not that I'm complaining. This is way too sweet a torture. You know it's funny, I had always thought of him as being rough and quick. . . I never suspected that his love could be so sweet, tender, breathtaking. . . A delicious contrast. His tongue explores my mouth, though he knows it well. He knows every part of me, every fold, every crevice, every inch. I wonder why he never seems to tire of me. I mean he's been with so many other women, more experienced women. Compared to them I'm just a little girl.

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   But I can't think about that now. His tongue moves in between my lips, coaxing and cajoling, teasing and provoking. I give into it, revelling in this feeling. Cool yet hot, like the ice of his touch is burning me. Everything conflicting, yet fitting. Hot and cold, love and hate. Love? What am I talking about? I don't love him, I love his body. I love what he does to me. But I hate him. I could never love a demon like him. . . . But oh god, I needed him. His hands run down my arms, then round to my breasts.

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   He teases so well. . . just barely touching me. He's so strong yet his touch is so soft. Those long beautiful fingers circling my nipples. The heat gathers between my legs, I moan not able to believe that he could turn me on so much. I'm burning up inside. I need his coolness to relieve me. Perched over him my knees on either side of his hips. I feel the familiar clenching in my groin. My head flings back, my breasts now totally cupped by his large hands.
    . . This is going to be so good.

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       To think, two months ago I didn't know anything about how wonderful this could be. Everything I know about sex I've learned from him. He's the only man I've ever been with. All that I know about sex, I've learned from him. I can't imagine ever being with anyone else. But I hate him. It's so thrilling, and I'm so close. . . it's so hot and tight down there, something's coiling deep inside me. His grips my waist with those strong hands, holds me in place as he thrusts his huge cock inside me, all the way to the hilt. I feel so full, like I'm about to split apart. This is what I really love. Being impaled on this killers manhood. Only to feel him draw out and thrust in again.

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       his movements so strong yet so smooth, sensual. Faster and faster, harder, harder, until we're both hanging on for dear life. I look down at him, only to see him looking just as intently up at me. I'm mesmerised. . . there so deep, so full, glinting with passion, lust, and something else, something I can't quite name. But the implications lying within them send me over the edge. The tight burning ball within me, suddenly explodes, sending waves heat and ecstasy rippling through me, then that falling sensation, when I’m sure I’m going to hit the ground, sure I’m going to die, but as always, he’s there to catch me. This is always incredible with him, always so intense, leaving me weak and sobbing into his chest. I roll onto my back, trying to catch my breath. He sits up, and lights a cigarette, resting his arm over his raised knee. “So love, same time tomorrow night then?”, his voice full of smug confidence. Furious, I gather my clothes, dressing briskly, not looking at him. I climb back out the way I entered and run home, hating myself for my weakness, swearing never to return.

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