I turn my head and lift it to graze my cheek against his while he thrusts into me from above. He presses my chest into the bed, my legs spreading as far as they can under his weight to beg for him.
There's no teasing with us. There's no aggression. No mystery, not really.
Instead my fingers curl into his while we both pant and groan. I match him with my hips. He breathes into the nape of my neck. I feel his lips brush my skin and his thrusts go deeper, making me cry out and hold onto his arm and the sheet.
Intimacy?
I don't need him to throw me around by my hips, control my orgasms, control anything. We are too in sync for that. We just knew what to do for each other. We just felt, moved, smiled, touched, fucked, breathed, kissed, bit, hugged, rested.
I find my spot, that dip between his shoulder and his chest. I smell him and me. I touch his arm, his fingers, his stomach. He rubs his hand gently over my side and my hip.
It would be so easy to fall asleep.
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