"Linger"

Why did I do it?

Why did I torment him so?

He was right; I knew exactly what I was doing.

His neck was always his hot spot. The one place guaranteed to get him aroused, no matter what. No matter if we were in the moment four years ago or if we were sitting in the rental car tonight. Here we were: cramped, tired, uncomfortably squished between the center console and the steering wheel, and all we could think about was sinking our teeth into each others' skin.

It was our thing. Pain of any sort was our thing; scratching, hair pulling, but especially the biting. Biting was almost a sure fire way to get us to climax.

I stroked his neck gently with the fingers of my right hand. I let them trail up and then down, sweeping along the back of his hairline before I receded. His hand idled on my knee, squeezing it tightly when I hit just the right spot. His breathing was becoming heavy. I love that in a man. I love when you can sense their discomfort and sexual arousal by proxy. Before I could make another pass at his neck, he grabbed my wrist and twisted it into a semi-painful hold. It didn't deter me. Instead I brought my left hand around to the other side of his head. He caught that wrist in the same hold. As I struggled against his solid chest he brought my left wrist to his mouth and very tenderly, very firmly bit it. The heat of his mouth seeped into the pale skin of my arm. He ended each bite with a lingering kiss, trailing his mouth down my forearm.

Bite. Kiss. Linger.

When he finished, he let my arm rest on his chest where my head was already laying. I was listening to his heart. It was pounding. Pounding in such a way that I knew what he was feeling. He wanted this. He wanted me.

"Why start what you can't finish?" he asked half teasing, half bitter.

We both knew the significance of his question. The heat began to dissipate from my wrist. I willed it to stay. I wrapped my arms around him tighter, wanting every inch of me to smell like him when he left. This light smell of man, detergent, and aftershave.

"I have to go," he whispered into my hair.

We climbed out of the car. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground for a hug. I bit at his ear. He immediately moved me away and buried his face into my neck. His whiskers burned against my cheek as his teeth played over my collar bone, his mouth scorching its hot, hot trail along my skin. He held me tight so as not to allow another go at him. When he released his hold, he gave me a little push in the opposite direction.

"G'night."

"Good night."

I climbed into the driver's side and watched him walk away. As his did, I brought my left wrist to my face and inhaled.

My skin smelled of his kiss.