Crappy semi-Love scene

His hand paused in mid stroke when her eyes flew open. The whites shone in the faint moonlight streaming through the velvet curtains; pinning him in position, leaning over her. Her lips parted on a question and he silenced her with a kiss. It was pure madness. She was playing his mistress, and he hadn't planned on making her his in truth.

She tasted of sugar and cinnamon, her lips lush and smooth, parting expertly beneath his. He rubbed his knuckles against the soft curve of her cheek before cupping her face and angling it closer to his. A soft pant flew from her parted lips and he took that as an invitation to slide closer to her.

The skirt of her silk nightgown was cool and alluring against the roughness of his bare leg and he pressed closer, adjusting his weight before covering her, his thigh pressing tightly against her mound. She groaned and he released her lips, pressing chaste kisses to her closed lids, her cheeks, her chin before pressing a hot, open mouth kiss to the curve of her neck.

Her fingers raked urgently through his hair and she undulated against his leg, her warmth seeping from the juncture of her thighs to heat his body. He obliged her unspoken needs and removed his leg and replaced it with his hand, cupping her. Her back arched and he shifted his attention from her neck to the tightly budded crests of her nipples.

The Deflowering

She rubbed the toe of her scuffed Doc Martens into the gravel, dislodging the tiny, gray grains. They tumbled over each other, putting her in mind of eager puppies scrambling to meet their master.

His eyes were gray.

She peered up at him, worrying her bottom lip with her slightly crooked teeth. He gave her a tentative smile, extending his broad, callused palm in her direction.

A gust of excitement flew through her. Was it possible...? Did he...? She ran a self concious hand through her bright pink, shag before placing it in his hand. Her breath caught as she watched his tapered fingers curl over her small, tanned hand.

Was he as affected as she was? She darted another glance at him as he turned and began pulling her after him. His profile was stern and boyish at the time same; the lines that crinkled at the edges of his eyes at odds with the deep dimples that flashed in his lean, beard stubbled cheeks whenever he turned a frequent smile upon her.

They didn't need to speak, she thought. The frequent glances he threw her way were words enough. Her belly twisted and churned beneath her bright blue halter; she was certain he could see its palpitations and rolling motions beneath the faded, dingy cotton.

He led her to a tunnel.

Her nose wrinkled. It stank of sewage and old bums. But she followed him anyways.

A moment later, her back was pressed against the cool, damp graffitti vandaled wall, blanketed by him. His mouth was on hers; savage, hungry and a tad frightening. She yelped when he nipped at her mouth, his hands questing and seeking against her body.

She arched into his rough palms, groaning with the realization that they cupped her bare flesh; he having divested her of her halter before she had even known it. Heat scalded her flesh, quivering and consuming until she burst into a million tiny sparks.

An intrusion was felt a moment later. A foreign, hard substance that sought entry into the innermost crevise of her body. She whimpered, grasping the slick, broad surface of his shoulders, knowing she should stop this, but helpless against his jaded, knowledgable onslaught.

A grunt and a shiver wracked his body and then he went rigid; slumping over her a minute later. She felt wet, sticky and sore. And a bit bewildered.

His eyes were opaque as he removed himself from her. He turned his back as he hastily pulled on his clothing, ignoring the slime and slush that coated it. She had nothing else to do but dress as well.

His palm was cold and hard beneath hers; his profile hard and distant as he led her from the tunnel. She was unable to read anything in the distracted glances he cast her. His jaw flexed and tightened. She felt her heart thump once, twice, before pounding in her ears.

The interior of his car was old. It smelled of old french fry grease and engine oil. A hula dancer bobbed gently in the back window, a pair of not so fuzzy dice dangled limply from the rearview mirror. The leather was cracked and hot against the backs of her thighs; her feet barely reaching the edge of the floor.

She felt small and used; she wanted to curl inside of herself and reverse time to before.

She stared numbly at the broken air vent as the engine started, a gust of moldy air blasting her tear stained face.

The car sat for a moment; they sat in silence, drowned out by the roaring of the engine.

A warm hand covered her fist and she looked over at him.

He smiled.

Once Upon A Wicked Time

Once upon a wicked time
I was yours and you were mine
A starry night
A warm blanket
And it was past divine

Once upon a wicked time
You used to lie and say "I'm fine"
A tight, false smile
A brief, cool pat
And I responded in kind

Once upon a wicked time
I used to hang our laundry out to dry
A missing sock
A lip sticked stained frock
I knew that you weren't mine

Once upon a wicked time
You used to be my love line
A ticking clock
An empty chair
And I was all alone