[ He's going to push himself into you all the way to the hilt, as close as he can get you two because the press of you around him is overwhelming. When he dips his head so that he can drink from your lips, you'll feel how hot his breath is, how shallow his breathing has become. There should be no room for tenderness here, but he will always try, because he looks at you in the times that you let him have you this way and you look so impossibly young it's so jarring to juxtapose the image of how beautiful you are out there, on the field.
He'll start slow, because his hands are heavy on you, and he needs to press up close as if to blur the lines that keep you apart. And then he's sucking on the bruise beneath your collarbone again, because twice now, as he's thrusting into you, losing himself in you, has he caught his teeth catching close to your jaw, tongue trailing over your pulse as if prepping the skin there for the onslaught of his mouth.
His arms are trembling from keeping you down, from keeping you still, muscles corded from his forearms to his shoulders from the effort. He's trying to think above the haze in his head, the fog in his brain as he holds onto you, because he wants to tie you up, drag you close and make you ask for more.
It's terrifying, really, to realize how he wants to go there, to dark places he can't imagine going with anyone else, where he can picture clear enough the shape of you arched in pleasure with his name stuttered from your lips. How did you get into his bloodstream, pulsing past each nerve and seeping into the very marrow of his bones. ]
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He'll start slow, because his hands are heavy on you, and he needs to press up close as if to blur the lines that keep you apart. And then he's sucking on the bruise beneath your collarbone again, because twice now, as he's thrusting into you, losing himself in you, has he caught his teeth catching close to your jaw, tongue trailing over your pulse as if prepping the skin there for the onslaught of his mouth.
His arms are trembling from keeping you down, from keeping you still, muscles corded from his forearms to his shoulders from the effort. He's trying to think above the haze in his head, the fog in his brain as he holds onto you, because he wants to tie you up, drag you close and make you ask for more.
It's terrifying, really, to realize how he wants to go there, to dark places he can't imagine going with anyone else, where he can picture clear enough the shape of you arched in pleasure with his name stuttered from your lips. How did you get into his bloodstream, pulsing past each nerve and seeping into the very marrow of his bones. ]