At this point there was no excuse. I knew f*****g her was wrong. She called me a “monster” and dipping my d**k into her p***y showed an absolute lack of self-respect on my part, and at the same time, I knew I’d risk everything, including my pride, just to have her again.
God forgive me, there was no way I could resist tracing the delicate softness of her lower lips.
I pulled her towards me so I could reach her; my kisses were greedy when I adored her mouth with my tongue. It was important she felt how hungry she made me, and how overpowering was the pulse that throbbed in my veins; a scarlet web of desire.
She needed to feel pain in a way that was hard to endure—not the suffering of war, but the misery of unfulfilled passion. I’d torture her with my mouth until she trembled with desire.
