His scarlet throb traces my lips, slickens them in a honeyed froth. Though blinded by silk noir haze, I divine its hue from its hardness.
It probes, a plum brimming with the taste of his control, the first breach of unclothed submission.
I open for the deepest kiss I can bestow, all its flickering wiles unleashed to swipe desire’s tears until his swollen rage strains as one with my bindings.
Heat withdraws. I breathe frustration.
“Bet she doesn’t do this.”
His girth wedges my throat; his tongue flashes sweet payback.
All night, each rope brands my flesh with his denial.
