Flowers
“I would love to fuck you, will you let me?” he whispers in my ear, caressing me with his broken and fluid voice from which I drink like a hungry baby.
But it is not a question. It is in its origin: he is asking me, but when it reaches me it is not anymore; I only hear a desire, a longing that I know not if it is his or mine anymore. And he does not wait for an answer, why would he?, he already knows it, of course he knows it, it cannot be more obvious. Every single fibre in me, every pore from my skin writhes, impulses me against him and screams yes, of course yes, fuck me, disappear inside me and make me disappear with you.
He undoes the only button in his excessively antiquated underwear and he does not need his hands to get rid of it. No, he just gently swings his hips, slowly, like all of his movements, as if elegance fought with languor and made him into a simple continuum of seduction. He moves his hips while he moves his hands all over me and the fabric slides along his perfectly sculpted legs.
I know I am going to lose control, I feel it escaping from me like a handful of sand between my fingers, and I try to fight against it, to resist, because when the moment comes I will no longer be responsible of my actions and I will submit myself to his desires because they are the same as mine. I do not want to be a puppet, I need not to lose control. Once I have lost it I will be completely his, but he will not be mine, not fully. I barely know if he is it even a little.
His tongue tangles over my body opening trails of fire on its way; I melt and I feel myself starting to disappear when he glides it along my penis. I cannot help moaning, and with every moan it escapes from me a shred of my limited self-control. I get tense, or loose. Or…
I want to be able to think with clarity, but I palpitate inside his mouth and his moans blend with mine like a chorus that rises on the same rhythm and the echo of which jumps on the high ceilings of the room. But he retires in the middle of the way, not having gotten close to letting me finish, and I am thankful for it because I want to make this moment last, shape it in my hands and savour it.
The Prince separates my legs and places himself between them, he bends over me and licks my lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes…”