I feel the pressure of his body above me. The bed sinks under our combined weight and I struggle from one side to the other, testing his strength. His face lights up in a boyish, endearing smile. He sticks his tongue ring out at me occasionally just to jest at me.
“What oh what am I going to do with you?” he asks me.
“Hmmm, that’s a good question there,” I answer with a minx-like smile.
There’s this teasing warmth to his voice as he leans in close to me. His lips are tantalizingly close, but far enough away that I can’t get to them. He leans in and moves away before I can bite the star tattoo on his shoulder. My teeth snap at the air and I just barely miss biting him. I eyeball the red star tattoo as it moves away from my bared teeth.
I remember the first time I discovered it. We were in my car outside of a restaurant and we talked for an hour or two before going in. I traced every tattoo he showed me that day.
The sexual tension was electric. Like an undercurrent of static cling created to draw us together. It was also the day I admitted to him how much I love sex. And another, apparently contradictory fact: that I despise being touched. Especially being randomly prodded by strangers who just met me. Or someone entering my bubble space just to see if I like them. Heads up, I will step back and hit you if you keep entering it.
I look up at him from beneath. I’ve listed his number under the name More in my phone. He’s one of the strongest men I’ve ever met. Yet, he’s also one of the most playful, teasing, and downright fun to tumble with.
With any other guy, I’d have them flipped on their back by now, pinned perfectly with precision. This isn’t true with him, and I’m held strongly with my wrists pressed against the bed.
I test his hold, flexing my muscles against his. There’s a slight bend, but not much. I pant and narrow my eyes. That infuriating, deliriously delicious grin grows on his face.
I enjoy it and despise it all at once. My submissive side says for me to lie back and enjoy. My competitive, stubborn, and inherently dominant side screams for me to get off my back and get him under me already.
I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that I’m a switch. A woman who can be submissive one moment, and dominant the next. He brings out these dual, strongly opposing sides. There are moments when he bows his head, giving into me overpowering him.
It drives me insane, and is incredibly sexy. In the same moment knowing that he can and does overpower me is maddening and hot as well. There are times where I give in, and then come back to my body with the thought, “What are you doing?”
His body is like the most fantastic playground I get to explore. I’ve always enjoyed exploring it with every bit of my senses on fire.
He flexes his abs and normally I would not care at all about a fit body. I admire the work that goes into it, but being attracted to someone is tricky business for me. It takes so much more; and so there are few, if any, that earn the right to touch me without getting punched.
“You’re getting tired, I think you gave up,” he teases me.
I let out an audible growl from beneath him. There’s a part of me that says to just flip him over and drive him past his breaking point. I try to get my heart rate to calm down and decide to use the sweat forming on my skin as a slippery advantage.
“And now you’re growling at me again,” he laughs.
“Yes, because I never give up. You should know that by now, and also do not antagonize me,” I mumble.
I don’t know why I love to wrestle and roughhouse as much as I do. My arm moves again and I notice a slight weakness in his grip. My wrist twists and turns until it’s loose and I grin. I only have a few seconds before he reattaches his grip like a barnacle on my skin.
He’s aware of the most powerful part of my body and keeps it constantly subdued. My legs kick and I move my hips erratically from underneath him. He rides me like a wild mustang trying to buck off her rider. I give a wild kick and flip my body upside down. My foot barely misses knocking over the chest of drawers next to his bed. I hear my other foot hit something and he’s distracted by that.
My feet find the carpet and I scramble up, free finally. My breath comes out in rapid pants. He gives me this look, one of those I’m impressed but I’ll never admit it looks.
I stand in a defensive pose with my elbows facing him. My body moves from side to side like tree limbs dancing in the breeze. He makes a false start toward me and I refuse to flinch. We size each other up like two wrestlers looking to take the other down.
It’s a game of minds and strength as we circle around each other. His hand latches onto my wrist and I try to pull it away. He somehow gets me so that I’m facing him and I know it’s all over again. But, even though my fate is sealed, doesn’t mean I will just give in.
He’s the catalyst to my sexual coming.