Member-only story
To F*ck or to Make Love?
There are 1am nights where we crash through the door like a wrecking ball or a meteor hell-bent on destruction. Her hands hold the back of my head as she kisses me like we’ll die if we happen to pull apart. I’ve got one hand on the small of her back, pulling her hips into mine and the other gropes desperately in the darkness searching, pleading for the door handle to magically unlock so we don’t end up half naked on the front lawn again.
The door slams open and we bowl ourselves inside.
We’re on the kitchen floor and she’s on top of me and we’re tearing off each other’s clothes. We are ravenous, beastly, insatiable. When she comes up for air between kisses the fire in her eyes is hungry and I’m the only food for miles. She licks her lips and takes a bite, tearing me limb from limb in a carnal, sexy feast of skin and bone and sweat and desire.
My hands grab onto her thighs as though they’ll keep me alive somehow, and her hips grind into me.
I flip us over, so now she’s on the kitchen floor. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as the arch of her back and the way her body beckons me to ravish her. I trace mountain ranges over her ribcage with eager fingers, taking detours along the way to explore the tiny, effortless peaks and valleys of her…
