My fiction piece today is a little contribution to the ‘explore’ theme in this week’s Wicked Wednesday. Don’t forget to nip over to read everyone else’s hot and spicy work, too!

Happy reading!

Ina x


Can you feel my fingers stroking up and down the small of your back? I know you can. Your muscles are rippling against my hand. Do you want to kiss me, right now? Where people can see? I want you to. But I’m content with touching you, really gently, and watching your eyes deepen with desire every time you look at me. I can feel your body giving in to my fingers, the way they probe the contour of every bone. I can hear your breath grow heavy when I circle my fingers right in that sensitive part of the dip between ribs and hips. When will you open the door?

You make small talk – something about being pleased I could come – and I reply with chit-chat. All the while, my senses absorb the scent of your shower gel, fresh like pine cones and flowers, the hint of your toothpaste, your washing powder: all the superficial you. I want to strip off your shirt and run my face down your chest, soaking in the heat from your skin. I want to run my tongue over the heat, exploring every ridge, every contour of you from neck to waist. I want my lips to enjoy you. I want to know all of you.

You smile at me and pick up my case. I watch your fingers curve around the handle. I want them to curve around me like that. I want them to curl around my neck as you pull me in to tease yours with my kisses, to trace a pathway of discovery from the back of your ear in swirling, tantalising motion, all the way to the valley of your collarbone, my breath against you making your cock rise and swell beneath my hand. I want your mouth to take a long journey over my body, falling deep into the dips and lingering on the peaks so that my body burns beneath yours and calls you back to explore it over and over again.

My lips part into a soft, red open strawberry. Your fingertip runs all the way around them; barely touching but flooding me with need – I’m desperate for your hands all over my flesh. How much do you want to take my mouth with yours, to explore it with your own, to slip your hand up inside my top and hold the body that quivers in desperation for you? Will you do it, once we’re behind the door? What will you do? How will you explore my body then? Will you touch more than my lips? Memories of pieces of our conversations butterfly kiss me all over, how your hands will find their way up my legs and onto the rounded flesh that awaits your palm. Will you spank me softly? Or will you make it sting first and examine its heat once you’ve satiated your own desires? Your hand, even the thought of your thumb against my lips as it is now, drenches me between my thighs.

I’ve explored so many possibilities in my dreams. Of the way you might lead me in by the hand and take me to the nearest room. Raise my arms above my head, sliding your palms over me from shoulders to fingertips, before removing my clothes piece by piece until I’m naked before you. Of letting me undo your shirt, kissing you down to your straining cock and releasing it, straight into my waiting mouth. Of you pushing me backwards towards the bed, laying me over the nearest side and lifting my hips to meet yours. Of watching your gaze as you press your cockhead against me, seeing your eyes widen as you begin to sink it inside.

Sometimes I dream that I’m waiting for you, sitting on my case in the driveway. You pull up in the car and reprimand me softly for not phoning and letting you collect me. You grab my case and dump it down in the hallway, dragging me inside and slamming the door. You take a whirlwind tour of the gasping, panting rise and fall of my body, ripping away clothes and thrusting me up against the wall so that my legs wrap around you. You fuck me hard and fast, the wall grazing and pounding my back, your moans matching mine as you fill me and I flood with the urgency of your passion. What would it feel like, being fucked in needy desperation up your wall? I want to know.

My heart beats harder, faster as you open the door and push it wide so I can step inside before you. My breasts brush against your shirt; my hand roams over your hard, hidden cock. There in the doorway, your fingers wrap in my hair, pulling my head back until our eyes connect and I gasp up at you. Explore my mouth with yours. Please. But no, you let go and follow me inside. I can feel you pressed right behind me. I’m hot. So hot. Your fingers stroke the small of my back, leaving me quivering with every depression of your fingertips, every promise of the time to come, once we are behind that door.

The heavy wood clunks. You turn the lock. And now, here we are. Alone.

Look at me.

Explore my body. Take it. Take my heart. Capture my soul. Only touch me… now.

wicked-wednesday

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11 Replies to “Behind the Door”

  1. Ina – I was spellbound! This really grabbed me with the supressed passion your narrator felt, and I held my breath to see if it was reciprocated, as it had been in the narrator’s memories. Wow!

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