( her body still knows he's home. one of those undeniable facts you never forget: sky is blue, grass is green, and jake seresin is the only place that's ever been strong enough to hold her up. safe walls, quiet place, a solid foundation she could finally trust to carry all her heaviness. a man who built love the way others build houses: stupid, stubborn, sturdy. brick by impossible brick, promise by impossible promise. so she opens her legs wider to him, like she always did, always has, always will; petals apart with slick, shameless ease — warm, welcoming, wet. clenching down on his finger, her cunt, greedy, bossy, soaked with need: don't you dare fucking leave me again.
it hurts, a little. not because of jake — because her body jolts where he's pressed his mouth to the aching bruise of what she's become. months of skinned knees, trying to outrun the ghost of him in someone else's bed. weeks of begging for it to hurt just to drown out the echo of his name in her head. nights spread wide for mouths that never kissed her right, just spat her out when they were satisfied. never asked her where it hurts; never tried to make it better, only worse.
it tears a gasp from her, sharp and wanting. the whole of her sensitive, sore, starved, shuddering up to meet him like she might just come from the warmth of his breath alone. like she's waited decades for him to come back and kiss it better. feels longer still when his tongue drags a devastating line up her slit — too hot, too slow, too fucking much.
she shakes through it, the wobble of something strong threatening collapse. it's not polished or practiced; not costumed or choreographed like she's been for the others, only worth keeping around when the performance stays pretty. only willing herself to stay when they didn't ask for anything real. her spine bows, tight with tension; toes dig into the carpet, her other heel landing uselessly between his shoulder blades, sliding down his back in a restless stutter. hips squirming with a need to run from what feels too good, too raw, too ruining. )
God. ( a sobbing keen of a moan, done with all the hiding. ani's eyes prickle from the intensity. ) I fucking missed you.
( easy enough, to think she might just be talking about the sex, not how he fucking devours her even — especially — when she's mean, messy, mouthy. not how she knows, now, she's starred in his thoughts as much as he's haunted hers. not how his mouth between her legs always sounds like an i love you. her hand fumbles down to her hip, grasps at the back of his fingers. less desperate to come than to be chosen.
softer, ragged. safer to sigh, because his mouth is too full to answer fast: ) I thought you'd never come back.
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it hurts, a little. not because of jake — because her body jolts where he's pressed his mouth to the aching bruise of what she's become. months of skinned knees, trying to outrun the ghost of him in someone else's bed. weeks of begging for it to hurt just to drown out the echo of his name in her head. nights spread wide for mouths that never kissed her right, just spat her out when they were satisfied. never asked her where it hurts; never tried to make it better, only worse.
it tears a gasp from her, sharp and wanting. the whole of her sensitive, sore, starved, shuddering up to meet him like she might just come from the warmth of his breath alone. like she's waited decades for him to come back and kiss it better. feels longer still when his tongue drags a devastating line up her slit — too hot, too slow, too fucking much.
she shakes through it, the wobble of something strong threatening collapse. it's not polished or practiced; not costumed or choreographed like she's been for the others, only worth keeping around when the performance stays pretty. only willing herself to stay when they didn't ask for anything real. her spine bows, tight with tension; toes dig into the carpet, her other heel landing uselessly between his shoulder blades, sliding down his back in a restless stutter. hips squirming with a need to run from what feels too good, too raw, too ruining. )
God. ( a sobbing keen of a moan, done with all the hiding. ani's eyes prickle from the intensity. ) I fucking missed you.
( easy enough, to think she might just be talking about the sex, not how he fucking devours her even — especially — when she's mean, messy, mouthy. not how she knows, now, she's starred in his thoughts as much as he's haunted hers. not how his mouth between her legs always sounds like an i love you. her hand fumbles down to her hip, grasps at the back of his fingers. less desperate to come than to be chosen.
softer, ragged. safer to sigh, because his mouth is too full to answer fast: ) I thought you'd never come back.