Fantasia

It was his bottom lip that caught my attention. It gnawed at my thoughts as I wished to taste its flesh and softness. I would envision myself capturing it in a bruising, passionate kiss – biting, drawing blood, making him moan underneath me. My fingernails clawing desperately at his back and across his chest, I’d leave that enticing lip to trail his jaw-line and spend time behind his ear, nibbling slightly to hear him whimper. I’d pray that his hands would wander beneath my shirt and cool my feverish skin, burning with a need more than passion, what felt more than lust. Our heat would blend together – where did one end and the other begin? I would run my hands along his body, kissing and tasting every bit of skin I could see. I’d want it all: his body, his taste, his smell.


But even as I thought this, I knew it was only a fantasy. An imagination running loose, yet concealed by my impassive looks and emotionless eyes.


At times, though, a glance would catch me off guard and my breath would freeze in my lungs. His features shadowed and dark, his eyes would burn me even if they weren’t looking at me. Truly I tried to turn away, to stop my heart from leaping in my heaving chest, but that glance provoked fantasies beyond those of his lips and kisses. Him above, giving me that look; myself below, uncontrolled and hungering to pull him down and have him again, unwilling to wait until the heat was cooled by our sweat. I’d be lost again – so easily and unconsciously he would lead me away. It never hurt to be lost, only difficult to find my breath and pretend there was no moment of weakness.


For a while, I found they were more and more frequent. Weaving their way into my every waking hour, my daydreams plagued me and nearly convinced me to seize them and prove he was just as passionate. Only one night did I let the vision play out fully in my mind, corrupting my ‘peaceful slumbers’ into wild, ravaging fantasies. It started the same as the others – those beautiful eyes clouded by his inner want. His hands ran across my stomach where my shirt had lifted up. His eyes wandered higher, growing darker with desire. When his gaze reached my face, I took his head in my hands and brought him into the kiss I couldn’t wait for any longer. His mouth was warm, a fact I was aware of even in a dream. While we battled without air, my fingers pulled through his hair and forced him deeper. My skirt would hitch just a little bit higher every time his thighs would rub against mine, his jeans scratching my bare legs harshly. The friction was there – teased by the amount of fabric in the way. Our breathing was weighted now, coming harder and heavier. We broke apart and I could feel my face, my body, my soul, flush a deep scarlet. I worked my hands to the bottom of his shirt, ready to expose his equally burning skin. He met my inquiring eyes with an intense gaze, and I brought the shirt over his head and promptly threw it to the floor, not doubting that the same fate would be followed by my clothes.


He was perfect. I kissed his perfectly sculpted collar bones and the dip in between; I roamed over his flawless chest, biting his nipples lightly; I held his hipbones and let my tongue drop down into his navel. He was also tortured. Slowly and tediously I brought myself back to his lips and let him taste the salt from his own sweat. His tongue was deep and probing, fighting with my own while running softly across the roof of my mouth and insides of my cheeks. But my dream-self knew when a barrier is too long standing, and was anxious to move on, frustrated by the unfairness of our positions. He was ahead of me. Soon I was underneath him and he worked purposefully at having my shirt join his on the ground. When it finally was, he took the time to put me through the same agony as I had to him. His warm hands ran down over my breasts and he laid light kisses on the top of each as they swelled within their lace restraints. I sat up and reached behind me to unclasp the bra, not willing to wait for him to fumble with it. I heard his breathing stop while his eyes raked over me and sent chills throughout my body. At first he kissed them softly again and I whimpered from the mere touch. But he bit me once and the whimper grew into a moan as pleasure surged through me with the pain, barely comparable to that which would come. I caught him smiling, giddy with his newfound knowledge, and he bit again. I struggled not to cry out his name, and succeeded in only letting out a long winded sigh.


He stopped and looked at me to say the only words he would all night – “Now that’s not fair.” He wanted me to scream, to cry, to shout his name and immortalize him. I only hoped he would do the same for me.


His kisses fell in between my breasts and down my stomach, stopping at the top of my skirt, which he gladly unbuttoned. Then there I was – nearly naked in front of him, shivering from an inner chill and the excitement of his touching me. He gave me one last smile and a kiss before he went back to pay attention to the one part of me that had been harshly ignored through most of my fantasies. Cold air hit me as he took away the last restraining bit of fabric and gently laid his lips to the soft skin there. His warm breath and mouth playing against me was all it took and I was gone, over the edge and as high as a kite. When I came back down, he kissed me and I could taste myself – an experience I never thought was possible for me.


I felt him pressing me, still constrained by his jeans. I could only imagine how everything would look and feel, throbbing and waiting to explode. I freed him and threw his pants to the other side of the room, listening to him sigh and relax just enough... He looked at me with the same questioning eyes I had given him before: was I ready? Maybe not, but I wanted him and wasn’t willing to stop just because of my nerves. To have him in me would be ecstasy and I wanted that drug as much as I needed him. So I smiled and pulled him down for our lips to meet, for reassurance and as a cure for my anxiousness. It deepened and his tongue replaced itself in my mouth while he lowered his hips over mine, ready for me to take him. I bucked up, unable to vocalize my permission, and moaned when I felt him brush me, sending shocks through my body. Slowly he eased in, but I bit that wonderful bottom lip of his when the pain rushed through me, making me feel as if split in two. He tried to leave me, but I whimpered my protests, willing and wanting this to happen. He stayed and waited for me to adjust to him, his lips and eyes still locked on mine.


The heated passion that had just been flaming seemed dimmed, if not on simmer; a less rushed atmosphere had taken over. Finally he was sheathed entirely and the torture my body had felt subsided and was replaced by the euphoric knowledge that he was in me! I opened my eyes to meet his again and found that he had realized it at that exact moment also. He was hesitant to pull out again and eager to come in, setting a pace I met almost immediately. It might not have lasted physically, but the delirium of what we had just accomplished had the effect of a strong liquor – it went to our heads and lingered until it was the only thought we had.


Lying there next to him, I traced my fingers down his arms and left light kisses on his face and chest. Looking into his eyes and giving his lip one last nibble I wondered – why must it only be a dream?

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A/N - That's all there is and t'ain't nuthin more :-)