Empty Bottle

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

Her back arched as his hand trailed under her, her lower body grinding against him, an exhale of thick breath as she felt him press further into her. One leg hooked around him, brushing skin over skin. She was mindful of his maneuvers, of the minute shifts their bodies called for before a true rhythm could be reached. Oh, but they found that perfectly pleasing pattern quickly, the both of them too lost in the moment to worry about much else than satisfying the other.

As his mouth descended along her skin, she could not help the fingers, already tangled in his hair, that gently tugged and squeezed with each thrust. The friction, the biting kisses, the throbbing sensation in her own nether region had her body writhing into him with just a little more force.

Her breath was hot and heaving, vaporous clouds in the cool air, until his lips returned and pressed that kiss back to her mouth. She tilted her chin to orient to him, her already open mouth curving into his in earnest.

Her fingers wove out of his hair, releasing him from their grasp. They smoothed down over his shoulders, his back. But as the rhythm between them built up, intensifying, her fingernails left her own marks on his skin. They were light at first, not intended to be painful.

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep