Myki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notbantamweight) wrote2011-10-03 10:45 pm
notbantamweight) wrote2011-10-03 10:45 pm
100 Fic Challenge; too much
She wanted him, but approaching anything close to a relationship with him would be crippling, she knew. He was the sort of man who demanded absolute attention, drawing you in, making the mere thought of any other man a ridiculous notion. He would ruin her absolutely and forever.
But that didn't stop her muffled moans at midnight, biting her lip to remind herself that the walls of her apartment were too thin, her neighbours too easily woken as her deft fingers worked their magic, leaving her gasping and trembling and sweating in the solitude of her tiny, messy room. It was too easy to imagine him over her, under her, all around her and overloading her senses with all of him - and too quickly did that finish her.
Her fan creaked, perched as it was on her windowsill, doing it's level best to keep the air moving about in the airless cinderblock box that made up her space. The air wasn't stale, yet it still smelt like sex and peanut butter and the meal from three weeks ago that she really needed to throw out that was stinking out her fridge. The silhouettes of leaves danced on her wall outlined in streetlight orange, and she suddenly felt like she was drowning in the atmosphere, as if everything was pressing down on her. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the wetness between her thighs and the fact that his damn face kept dancing through her subconscious every time she closed her eyes, but it was to no avail.
It was three am before she decided to finally stop trying to seduce sleep and kick it to the curb instead, rolling upright and swinging her legs onto the carpet-tiled floor. She shivered reflexively as the not overly cool night air hit her bed-warm and sensitized skin, and she pulled the covers around her, and sat there for a little bit.
But that didn't stop her muffled moans at midnight, biting her lip to remind herself that the walls of her apartment were too thin, her neighbours too easily woken as her deft fingers worked their magic, leaving her gasping and trembling and sweating in the solitude of her tiny, messy room. It was too easy to imagine him over her, under her, all around her and overloading her senses with all of him - and too quickly did that finish her.
Her fan creaked, perched as it was on her windowsill, doing it's level best to keep the air moving about in the airless cinderblock box that made up her space. The air wasn't stale, yet it still smelt like sex and peanut butter and the meal from three weeks ago that she really needed to throw out that was stinking out her fridge. The silhouettes of leaves danced on her wall outlined in streetlight orange, and she suddenly felt like she was drowning in the atmosphere, as if everything was pressing down on her. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the wetness between her thighs and the fact that his damn face kept dancing through her subconscious every time she closed her eyes, but it was to no avail.
It was three am before she decided to finally stop trying to seduce sleep and kick it to the curb instead, rolling upright and swinging her legs onto the carpet-tiled floor. She shivered reflexively as the not overly cool night air hit her bed-warm and sensitized skin, and she pulled the covers around her, and sat there for a little bit.