Want - Sex Stories

Want

... reaching out to wrap his arm around my waist. I pull back, but he jerks me into him. It is too close and I know what being close to him does to me, so I arch my back to place some space between us. He leans into me, his displeasure at my response now obvious. There is no smile, just focused intensity and what could only be described as anger. His other hand comes to my neck and he wraps his fingers around my throat, holding it firmly. A part of me wants him to tighten his grip. I want him to squeeze, to show me his anger and to further invoke mine. Men like him only know what they want, what they feel entitled to take and to use. They do not know rejection, certainly not from someone like me, who has nothing they give any weight to or measure. Do it, I think. Squeeze. I want him to give me something to hate him for, something that will stamp out this need for his presence, his touch—his love. I challenge him with my eyes and set my lips in defiance. I want him to handle me wrong or say the wrong thing just once. That kind of anger I can identify with, I’m used to defending myself. I’m used to that type of pain and what it brings. I’m used to fighting to separate myself from it so that I can survive. My body goes rigid as I prepare to strike back. “What do you want?” His words are thick and move across my lips as he lingers there searching my face. Something unexplainable wells up inside of me like a ball and I begin to feel as if I cannot breathe. It is not the pressure from ...

... his hand; he has yet to apply any. His hand just sits there holding the length of my neck. I struggle to breathe just the same and I feel my eyes begin to burn. I close them immediately and squeeze them shut, hoping that nothing soft or wet escapes. He cannot see me like this. No, please, not like this. “Look at me,” he demands. “Now.” His lips are still so close to mine that I feel them move. His hand travels from my neck downward. He feels me. He stretches the neck of my top and lets the palm of his hand feel my over-heated skin. He feels my heart beating in my chest, the expansion of my lungs as I breathe. When his lips finally claim mine, his kiss is as desperate as my own. He takes me fully in his arms and I feel his hands spread possessively across my back. I touch the curve of his head, his face and the lids of his eyes as I return his kiss. “This man,” it is all I can think as I lose myself in him. “You want me as much as I want you,” he manages. “I feel it each and every time we touch, when you look at me.” If only that were true, I think. I want him more. He lifts me up and I wrap myself around him as I have so many times. I want to give him the one thing I know he craves, that which allows him to be mine for just a moment, to see that look on his face and in his eyes. I want to hear the sounds he makes when he releases inside of me. There are only two other doors, the bathroom and the bedroom. He finds the correct one and lays me down on my bed. He practically rips ...