I remember what it feels like to press my flesh against yours.
Rolling over, pretending to reach across you, covering your body with mine.
I remember the way we fit together so completely.
Skin to skin, cell to cell, flowing into each other.
I remember the slickness of my cunt, the rising of your cock.
Rocking and rubbing, we find a rhythm.
I remember the sighs of contentment as I sink down, impaling myself.
We both relax into bliss, barely moving, savoring the moment.
I remember your mouth on my nipple, throat, neck, ear.
Leaning in, I beg for more with every cry, whimper, moan.
I remember the explosion of pleasure.
Grinding my pelvis against yours, clenching and clutching, pulling you deeper, squeezing harder.
I remember that I'm never really in control.
Bruised hips, swollen lips, resistance, acquiescence, giving myself over to the pleasure.
I remember you always take what you want.
Rolling over, finding a new position, fucked mercilessly.
I remember every sound.
Squeaks, groans. Whimpers, moans. A raging growl slashing the sex-filled air with release.
Oh yes, I remember. Which may explain why I just... need to....reach...over you....and...refresh my memory.
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Welcome to Wicked Wednesday. In my defense, I was trying to reach the alarm clock which sits on his nightstand. Could I help it if I decided straddling John Brownstone and rubbing my wet cunt against his cock was a much better idea? I didn't think so, either. Okay, enough about me, go check out what other smutty writers are sharing this week. The prompt is "Recollection."