Her neck is only arched back for a moment, before Jeroen swoops down on her exposed neck like a vampire,, but instead of bites, he licks and kisses. The way he brushes her with his tongue leaves her fully aware of it as a muscle, its elasticity and strength along her skin and pressing into her nerves, insistent and slippery, beautiful.
She feels her mouth open, and forces it closed again. She tries to bring her neck back down, to leave her less open, but she only gets a little back, when Jeroen kisses her below the ear, and rains kisses down the muscle in her neck. It is so intimate, that spot, she turns her head away. He seems to understand, so instead, his teeth nip along the hard line of her jaw, and his fingers play at her the base of her throat. It forces her neck back, turns her face into the lights above them.
Blue, green, red, yellow, they flash with the music, such contrast to the burgeoning in her body, the swell that Orhan’s fingers and nails, and Jeroen’s teeth and lips, are engendering. Orhan’s strokes her like her cunt lips are the strings of a harp; the pleasure is soft but precise, and sometimes, rings through her.
The music takes a stronger beat, but she isn’t moving. The two men are doing that for her, swaying her in time to the electronic sound, all the while, both lulling her, and keeping her sharply aware of herself. Of the edge that she is teetering on.
Until Orhan’s hand sweeps upwards – such a short distance, but he still sweeps – and his fingertips find her clit. Sharp pleasure sears through her. She’d stagger if not held upright by two bodies, and a cry catches in her throat.
Next: 55. Needle
Image found on flickr, by pumpkinmook, used under the Creative Commons License.