| We lay on the grass, in the middle of the night. I didn't want him, he knew that, but I still was there.
I laid down, in an effort to ignore him and focus on the stars. Make the night worthwhile, at least for me.
He lay beside me, then moved so he was looking down at me, an arm on either side of my body. I waited for the kiss.
It never came.
His fingers trailed from the tip of my ear to my collarbone, paused, and then continued to my breasts. His other hand lifted my shirt and exposed my skin to the night. I wasn't cold, but I also wasn't hot. I was just there. Again, as he used to do, he touched the skin of my belly. So lightly, tenderly. Lovingly.
I looked at him. Our eyes met.
His hand lay flat on my stomach, then he pushed it lightly upwards, cupping my breast once he reached it. His eyes left mine and his lips moved to my nipple. I arched my back, because he wanted me to. I wanted to kiss him, because he wanted me to. We didn't.
The other hand, unoccupied, moved down to my jeans and slide themselves inside after minute fumbling with the zipper. We'd done this before, he remembered.
His hands knew me, his mouth knew me. Moving from my nipple to my neck, he kissed my skin. Biting gently. Making me forget him and remember me.
In my jeans, his hand worked harder. Grasping my cunt in a way he never knew how to before. It was wonderful. Different. Better.
He looked up from my neck, and I looked at him. Leaving my breast, he placed a hand on my cheek as I was about to cum. I moved forward to kiss him, and he moved forward to whisper in my ear "Look at the stars. If you can't love me, then love them."
I came.
Afterwards I told him what he didn't want to hear, what I'd been keeping from him in order to not break things entirely. It broke. I stood up to leave, but he drove me home.
I've not seen him again. Sometimes I want to, but now it's he who doesn't want me. |
