Your Breath Is a Gift

Eyes to eyes, skin to skin—he drags himself across her shaking body, and the calming beat of his heart presses against her chest. But hers is not calm. As her desire for him grows, his rough skin teases her exposed flesh, begging her to dare him to rip off the rest of her clothes. She closes her eyes and lifts up her neck, expecting his hungry mouth to explore every sensitive, waiting inch of her. Every move she makes pushes his hot touch away from her, and that makes him even more delicious. His hot breath flows over her exposed neck and crawls all over her, protecting her from the terror of her own thoughts. Take me. Break me. Destroy me. She needs him to make her his and only his, but she doesn't dare to speak those thoughts into existence. She's never been this exposed. She's never been this vulnerable. She's never been this hungry ... for another human being.

Too slow to let the memory linger, his hands travel lightly from her stomach up to her breasts, sending chills down through her skin and into some part of her soul that's feeling what it means to be touched for the first time. He touches her chin, and her mouth opens, but she hasn't earned his kiss yet. His hands move down her neck, closing around her throat, soft and delicate at first. 

Her deep, brown eyes open suddenly to find his ice blue eyes staring into hers. With her body entangled in his, she feels his cock harden against her. Yes, he wants it, too, but only good girls get to feel all ten inches of his control. She's screaming inside to be fucked, to be his slut, to be covered in every single ounce of his sweat and cum. Her hips grind against his, and his hands tighten a little bit around her throat. 

"Your breath is a gift, and you haven't asked for my permission yet."

The grip on her throat softens, and his lips travel dangerously close to hers. He kisses her lightly at first, then deeper and deeper with each kiss, echoing how badly she needs to be destroyed by the entirety of his sexuality. But before she gets too worked up, he stops, and his eyes soften. "I want to break your entire body in half so that I can put you back together ... is that okay?"

This beautiful woman—a woman who had not allowed herself to be that—nodded her head slowly, lips quivering, legs shaking, heart still racing. 

"That's my good girl." His whisper, almost a growl, vibrates all over her body, begging her to take what she wants. "Tell me you want me. Say the words out loud."

He watches her lips as she whispers, "I need you."

Shaking his head, he pulls away from her and stands up, backing away from the bed. "Oh, no. That's not what I said, was it?" His hands grab onto his belt, and he moves as though he's in slow motion, sliding his belt free of his faded jeans. With each step he takes toward her, she feels the sting of his punishment. 

Take me. Break me. Destroy me.

It's a fear she desires, a fear she's only read about in books. As the anticipation rises and he steps closer to her body, she welcomes the death of who she fought so hard to be ... to escape who she didn't know how to become. She is a woman who's always been beautiful, but he's the first man to give her permission to love herself.

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