Six fifty seven of the twenty-sixth of seven; His island to mine

We were unnamed territories, so we both decided to wander about on each other’s islands.

At first, I settled on glances and good mornings. He settled on slight touches of his skin on my skin. We just both found each other’s place. Still hesitant on stepping in.

Until touches were longer and it felt like his heat was going through my veins. And at first it felt scary, until it felt warm, and then it felt like I was on fire. And maybe there’s something bad about being on fire, but it also has the satisfaction of being able to take it so fiercely.

And I couldn’t quite remember the in-between’s; words spoken before, and right after our lips found their way together. When they said that you get lost in those moments, they weren’t lying.

Every kiss felt like a small form of suicide, for every parting of our lips made us lose our breaths, and the only way to breathe is to continue.

His hands started to travel from cupping my face, to holding my chest, to going through my thighs, making its way in the middle. And while he was at it, he must be good with coordination because his tongue knew so well where to slide in to. And I know I’m good with talking, but everything he did made me rummage for words I can’t seem to find a way to let out besides faint screams and curses.

I’ve counted the times he resisted to kiss me, through every kiss he gave me that night. The times he touched me and wanted to pin me to the wall, or the times he gave me those smirks and wanted to undress me by ripping my clothes off. I felt his need to do all those things, and I felt the frustration of not having to do them before.

But I also felt his relief and excitement. How he was frantic of what he would do if I didn’t let him, then replaced with pure elation for being able to have done it after numerous of stares, and holding, and hints of wanting- at long last, we’re in friction.

He held me with so much care as if I was a thin glass, but he also consumed me so intensely like he’s been thirsty all his life. He took my hand, and pulled me close. I wasn’t sure if it was with force, or just full of passion, and ache, and longing. And I’m sure I was so willing, he almost did not need to pull. If he had even missed a second, I would have been the one to dive in to him.

He crawled to me, our skin half an inch close, felt like too much space. His fingers, lightly trailing my curves, felt like bolts drumming torture to my skin.

His hands traveled from one place to another, his lips kept searching, he must have forgotten mine’s just right here on my face and not anywhere under.

But his tongue took me somewhere else. i was torn between wanting him to stop, or wanting him to continue marking my neck, down to where he pleases. Because I could not feel anything else besides him anymore. And I swear if I will ever need to not feel myself, I would, if in this way.

He made his way down, and I could not tell if it was his hands or his tongue. All I know is that I want him to, whichever he prefers.

Since then, we were never satisfied, but in a way that benefits the both of us. Every chance were taken, deeper, as if meant to linger for days until the next.

I’ve come to like darkness. Because it’s when small flashes of light show your figure in front of me, and how I hold your face near until my lips can trace your corners.

Maybe we were part of a continental drift, but it did led us to each other. And although we might be bumping and grinding each others sides and curves, creating damages and losing parts, I can’t deny how fulfilling it is when he crashes on top of me, and knowing how he felt by the way he breathes on my neck.

The first time, you asked me what I was going to do when I get home. I said I’ll read a book, or watch a series, and scroll through my timeline. But I didn’t tell you that I was going to think of you. The way your lips always finding its way to mine, your tongue searching, your hands being unable to loosen its hold, and smiles we both couldn’t hide. And the next day, you told me you thought about me, and I knew, we remembered and felt the same thing overnight.

If you ask, I can tell you how I got this mark on my neck, and everything before and after that. I will tell it as if you’re also feeling it. But most of all, I will tell it, because I want him to do it all again.

And we may not know where every movement may take us, but we’re definitely on it for the wandering, as long as it’s on each other’s parts.

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