For Him

For him.

Our bodies, twisted, serpentine, writhing across the sheets. A trail of cotton marks left behind, stretched and distressed from the weight of us together. My arms around his chest, grasping him from behind. His hands at the back of my head, as he sightlessly reaches up and around, armpits exposed and elbows pointing at the ceiling. Our sweat glues us, back to chest, shoulders to shoulders, hip to groin. My mouth on his. Our tongues twined together, the roots of two water-hungry trees, permanent and joined.

For him.

Connected. Flesh to flesh. Hardness to softness—hammer meeting heat. Together we’re creating sparks that seem to light up the pitch dark room. With every thrust, he cries out. Grasps at me. Pulls me in more deeply, craving more. Cum from his ass joins the sweat, adhering us more tightly. My pubes are soaked. The hair on his ass is matted and wet.

We shift. I rest on my back. His ass rises. He’s lying atop me now, still joined ass to cock, legs spread wide, hole open, lips swollen and puffy. He’ll sting for hours after this fuck, and think of me. My hands rappel down his ribcage. Fingertips tease his nipples. Nails dig into his legs. Every sensation makes him call out, howl to some invisible, personal moon in the bedroom skies. My fingers circle his meat, lightly, so lightly. He thrusts up and through the loose circle I make, cock angry, as swollen as mine.

He hates the teasing. My hand closes, grips him. Like a madman he thrusts, buckling and taking my dick along for the ride. This is for him, all for him, and I let him know as I whisper the words into his ear. I doubt he hears, doubt he can distinguish one sensation from another—word from touch, sound from thrust, or scent from blinding flash of pain and pleasure.

I whisper that I love him. Hot as lava, the eruption that soon follows. Off the Richter scale is the ferocious quaking of the floorboards. He seizes, and strains. He’s not breathing—he’s heaving, and huffing, and rasping for air. His eyes are open and sightless. Twin craters form where he digs in his heels, vast and bottomless.

I cannot tell where my self ends and his begins, but if I could be any deeper inside at this moment, I would.

I hear him telling me he loves me. It’s the last sound I hear for some time. I get my wish, and seem to grow an extra inch in size. I cement our reunion a second time, hearing nothing more than the rush of blood in my ears, feeling nothing more than pulse, and heartbeat, and the warm blanket of him covering me, surrounding me.

For him, I said it was. But for me, as well.