Mia sprawled across her bed, lamplight spilling over her bare skin, turning her into something molten and restless. Her hair snaked across the pillow in tangled, dark rivers, strands sticking to her damp cheek like the aftermath of a fever dream. The room was silent except for the slow, uneven rhythm of her breath, a hush that made every sound, every movement, feel amplified and dangerous.
She let her eyes drift closed, letting the weight of the day melt away, replaced by a different kind of heaviness. Her shirt was bunched high, exposing the soft rise and fall of her belly, the delicate swell of her breasts, nipples flushed and tight with need. She let her hand drift lazily over her stomach, feeling the flutter of anticipation in her muscles, the growing ache between her thighs.
Why am I always so hungry for this? she wondered, her thoughts flickering between guilt and excitement. Maybe it was loneliness, or maybe it was just the way her body thrummed with need every night, a craving that refused to be ignored. Maybe it was him, always him, even when he wasn’t there.
Her fingers traced slow, idle circles along her hip, teasing herself, savouring the tension. She let her mind wander, conjuring the memory of his hands on her, the rough scrape of his stubble against her neck, the way he’d look at her, hungry, possessive, like he wanted to devour her whole. She bit her lip, feeling her pulse quicken, her breath coming a little faster.
Her hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing the elastic of her panties, pausing just at the edge. She hesitated, drawing out the moment, wanting to feel every second of anticipation. What would he say if he saw me like this? Would he smirk, that cocky grin she both loved and hated, or would he just watch, eyes dark, breath heavy, until he couldn’t stand it anymore?
Sliding her hand beneath the waistband, her palm pressed against the heat between her legs. She was already wet, her folds slick and swollen, her body eager for touch. She let out a shaky sigh, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. God, I’m soaked. Just from thinking about him. Just from wanting.
Her fingertips circled her clit, slow at first, barely a whisper of sensation, just enough to tease. She let her hips rock gently, chasing the friction, savouring the slow build. The pleasure was subtle at first, a gentle warmth that spread through her belly, making her thighs tense and her toes curl. She closed her eyes tighter, letting herself sink into the feeling.
She imagined his hands, rough and sure, pinning her wrists above her head, his mouth hot and demanding on her skin. She wanted him to watch, to see how desperate she was, how easily she came apart for him. She wanted him to take control, to push her past the edge, to make her beg.
Her movements grew bolder, her fingers pressing harder, circling faster. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, mingling with her breathy gasps and soft, broken moans. She pinched her nipple with her free hand, rolling it between her fingers until she gasped, the sharp jolt of pain making the pleasure burn hotter.
Fuck, I wish you were here. I wish you could see me, see how fucking needy I am, how much I want you. She tried to whisper his name, but it caught in her throat, dissolving into a needy whimper. Her hips lifted, thighs spreading wider, her body arching into her touch.
She let her mind drift further, picturing him kneeling between her legs, his mouth hot and wet on her clit, his hands holding her open, making her take every bit of pleasure he gave. She imagined his tongue, relentless, his voice rough with need as he told her how good she tasted, how much he wanted to make her scream.
Her fingers moved faster, desperate now, chasing the edge. Her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, every muscle in her body straining, her mind blank except for the blinding, endless pleasure building inside her. The only language left was the rhythm of her gasps, the helpless, feral sounds of pleasure.
She thought, just for a second, I want to be ruined for you. I want you to see me fall apart, to know you did this to me. The confession was silent, savage, but it blazed through her as the pressure built, as the pleasure threatened to tear her apart.
Her noises grew wilder, words vanishing, replaced by raw, animal sounds, guttural cries, and high, desperate keening. She panted, mouth open, voice trembling, unable to form anything coherent. Her thighs clamped tight around her hand, muscles spasming, every nerve ending alight and burning.
Then her orgasm detonated inside her, violent, relentless, unstoppable. Her body arched off the bed, spine bowing as if her bones might snap from the force of it. Her fingers plunged deep, knuckles slick, grinding mercilessly against her clit as she shattered.
A guttural, feral scream tore from her throat, raw and animal, echoing off the walls and vibrating in her chest. Wetness gushed over her fingers, soaking her palm, drenching the sheets beneath her. She was coming so hard she could barely breathe, her vision blurring with tears, her mind blank except for the blinding, endless pleasure ripping through her in savage, unyielding waves. She convulsed, hips jerking, toes curled so tight they ached, every part of her body surrendering to the orgasm that seemed to go on and on, leaving her utterly wrecked, ruined, and gasping for air.
She collapsed back, shuddering, breathless, her skin glowing, the room echoing with the aftermath of her release. For a moment, she just lay there, ruined and aching, gasping; the ghost of his touch burning on her skin, the ache of longing refusing to fade.
