Breathing
We stare at each other for a moment, and then our lips are on each other once more. His are soft against mine and yet, it’s like he’s kissing me with everything he has.
Zaid pulls me closer, his hands sliding beneath my shirt. His fingers dance over my skin and I shiver. It drives me crazy and I run my fingers through his hair, pulling him against me.
I gasp into his mouth as his fingers find the curve of my waist. His touch is greedy, feeling me like he’s starving for my skin. One of his hands presses against my lower back, the other slips higher, his thumb brushing just under the back of my bra.
It sends a tremble through my body, a moan past my lips.
The anticipation in my chest increases into an aching pain. I’ve missed this. I want to cry from the realization, but I swallow it down, afraid that it will make him stop. My fingers flutter down to his neck, my hips driving into his.
He turns us, pressing me against the wall.
My back meets the surface with a thud, but I barely notice it. All I feel is him. His mouth moving with mine, his chest rising and falling fast against mine. His knee presses gently between my legs, and my breath stutters as I clutch his shirt in my fists.
Need blooms low in my stomach. Spreading. Twisting. Craving.
He pulls away.
His breathing is ragged. His brows drawn. He’s shaking his head.
“We shouldn’t.” His voice is strained, his jaw clenched.
But I don’t let go. My hands are already beneath his shirt, palms flat against the hard lines of his stomach. The heat of his skin is fire and comfort and everything I like. My gaze finds his, and I know he can see it in my eyes.
“Zaid,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I’m not trying to run from anything. I’m not trying to lose myself.”
I press my forehead to his, our breaths tangled.
“I’m trying to be here. With you. Right now. I want this. I want you. Not as a distraction. Not because I’m scared. But because I love you. And I want to feel that. I want to feel connected to you in every way possible.”
His eyes search mine. They’re dark and burning. They remind me of the night sky, glittering with stars, light in the darkest places.
He blinks, eyes softening because he sees the honesty and clarity in my own eyes.
His hands slide up to my face, fingers tangling in my hair, and he kisses me again.
Fuck, he kisses me like he’s never going to stop.
It’s slower now, more certain and more intimate. We’re not running anymore, we’re not chasing a high. We’re making something, building a memory breath by breath.
His hands move as he continues to kiss me, gently removing my sweater. Slowly unzipping my pants. I pull back to watch him, following the curves of his face as he lowers his hand between my legs.
I gasp, back arching when he presses his finger against my clit and starts rubbing circles. His eyes hood over and the pure hunger in his look makes me roll my hips.
My body breaks into goosebumps and my hands tighten into fists as I hold on to his shirt. It’s so fast, but I want to explode already.
His fingers don’t rush. They slowly caress my clit until I;m trembling, until my legs buckle and he has to support me with an arm around my waist.
I’m panting for breath as I look up at him. My fingers trace the line of his jaw and he leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
Without saying a word, Zaid gently lowers us both to the floor. I feel the cool hardwood against the backs of my thighs as I sink down, his body following mine in a slow, fluid motion.
I can’t stop looking at him.
The way his eyes never leave mine, even as his hands trail over my arms.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt, and he lets me peel it off of him. When I press my palms to his chest, I feel his heart thudding beneath my touch.
Is he nervous?
He leans down to kiss the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the sensitive place beneath my ear. My skin comes alive with every brush of his lips.
His hands slide beneath my shirt, the pads of his fingers grazing my stomach. He pulls the fabric up, inch by inch, his eyes scanning every part of me as if it’s the first time he’s seeing me.
This isn’t about forgetting. Not for either of us.
This is about knowing.
Knowing each other deeper than we ever have. Letting ourselves be seen and be loved. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.
He lays me down fully, his body covering mine but never pressing too hard. My hands drop to his pants, to his zipper, and then I’m reaching inside for his cock.
My breath hitches, he tenses, a moan escaping his lips.
Fuck, he’s so hard. So hot. His skin is practically burning mine.
His hips jerk against me, his cock sliding through my palm. A moan rumbles deep through his throat. “Oh, fuck, I’ve been deprived of your touch for too long. I don’t know how long I’ll last.”
I shake my head, my lips grazing his. “I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”
“My love,” He whispers against my collarbone, and the sound of it makes me shiver. He kisses me there and then lifts his face to watch me.
He presses at my entrance, his hands dropping to my knees. I shudder with the anticipation, loosening my hips so that he can open me wide, my legs around his hips.
The muscles in his neck tense, his eyes simmering with heat. He slowly sinks into me, my breath leaving me in a desperate, delicious moan. He stretches me with every inch of him and I bury my nails into his shoulders as I take his girth.
Zaid looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
He drops to his forearms when he’s completely inside me. I pulse around him, blinking through the pain of stretching and breathing through the pleasure of having him inside me.
His lips find my neck and he breathes heavily into my skin. “You’re perfect.”
My nipples perk, grazing the skin of his chest. “Zaid.”
He lifts his head, eyes on me as he slowly rolls his hips. Pleasure sparks through me and I keep my eyes on him.
I don’t want to lose sight of who’s infront of me, of who is making me feel all of these things. Of who is making love to me.
I let myself feel it all.
Every brush of skin, every sigh, every drive of his cock inside me.
We don’t say the words again, but we don’t have to. It’s so obvious in the way we move together. Obvious in the way we look at each other without looking away.
This is us making love, the realist thing I have ever experiences.
He’s real.
I love him so much it feels like my heart can’t contain it. It aches with it.
He groans softly into my mouth, pulling me impossibly closer. His movements turn quicker, harder. My own climax crests through me.
This is more than sex. This is everything.
And being with him? Letting myself have this?
It doesn’t feel like falling.
It feels like breathing.
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