***

I hope I dream of you.

***

He tries not to think about her, he really does.

Tries to ignore how good her hair smelt that day, how bright her blue eyes were. He doesn't think of how it felt to have her brush past him in a cloud of femininity.

He forgets that their hands met and he felt the softness of her creamy skin on his for just a few more seconds than necessary, a few less than he would have liked, but long enough for it to be burnt in his mind.

The hand around his flesh tingles in memory, and it brings a groan forth to his lips.

It's not fair, his dick whines, why can't we have her?

His heart says something similar.

***

Her hair is gold and silk, and she looks up at him through her bangs. Her eyes are smiling and full of mischief, while her mouth continues to work him over. Teeth and lips and tongue all come out to play while he thrusts helplessly into her mouth. The couch is warm beneath him, she is hot around him. His entire being is focused solely on her.

She shouldn’t be allowed to be this good at giving him head.

She shouldn’t be enjoying having this much power over him.

But she is, and she does, and he loves every second of it.

***

His movements are a little jerky, he is shaking with the guilt.

Guilt of using her as his fantasy, guilt at seeing her in this light.

The Catholic upbringing screams at him to tuck his erection back into his pants, find the nearest church and ask a man in a black outfit to grant him forgiveness. Everything that he believes in tells him that fantasizing about her is oh so very wrong.

It should stop him, but it doesn’t.

***

His brain knows that women don’t have a specific taste. But he swears to God that she is the sweetest thing his lips have ever touched and he buries his mouth further into her.

Retaliation is sweet, he thinks, as he used his teeth and tongue and lips to driver her wild. He traces the alphabet over her heated flesh, making her squirm.

She isn’t allowed to let him do this to her.

She shouldn’t be rocking her hips against his face in desperate need.

But she does, and she is, and he loves every second of it

***

He knows that he could make her scream with his mouth.

Knows that if he did that to her, she would never let him leave. Knows her fingernails would dig into his scull to hold him to her. Knows she would pant and beg and demand more.

He isn’t allowed to do that. Or think about doing that, really.

So he pretends that he doesn’t want to and instead pulls on his own flesh a little harder than before.

***

He thrusts slowly, drawing out the pleasure for both of them.

She makes a whimpering sound in the back of her throat whenever he withdraws and she purrs when he slides in. He wants to stay here forever, wants to stay sheathed in her.

She is tight and warm and wet and holyfuckinggodletmedienow.

She isn’t allowed to let him into her body so willingly.

She shouldn’t be enjoying this at all.

But she is, and she does, and he loves every second of it

***

He comes, spilling into a waiting tissue.

The orgasm that washes over him is nothing short of pathetic. The physical release of hormones is there, but it’s decidedly unsatisfying and leaves him wanting more.

He wants her.

Maybe it’s time he went after her.

***

Gah. Crappy ending.