That Last Time

The last time I saw you was after a brief gig your band played in the basement of your friend's house. I had thought the night would end with me driving home from there, not from your room again after unexpectedly leaving the event early. All pleasantries were promptly skipped as soon as we were inside.

You grabbed my hips and pulled me to you; the clothes came off quickly because I only had an hour before I had to drive back home. Despite the initial brusqueness of our encounter, the moment slowed deliciously as you peeled off my underwear. The dark-eyed look on your face floored me, as did the way you dove between my legs, my period having at last ended for that week. You tongued as deeply as you dared, one hand cupping my breast, and my knees could have buckled from when you turned me over to slip two fingers inside while your lips kissed my other entrance. To throw me off balance even more, you landed several stinging slaps on my ass, a hit to accompany every subsequent moan from my mouth.

No surprise then, that you slid in embarrassingly easy as I propped my legs on your shoulders, your flushed face framed between my ankles--an image I'd revisit often once I returned to my own home. The harder you pushed, the tighter I clenched, my fingers gripping the bedsheets to the point of tearing. At one point you bent down to kiss me with both my legs fully trapped between your flesh and mine. Before the pressure became too much for me, I felt completely...covered, if that's the right word. Held down, the way I was to the bed and by you. You and that glazed expression and parted mouth. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere else but there.

Like I was yours.