Bite Me

“Doing the washing up again?” Your voice is right next to my ear, low and amused.

“Bite me,” I tell you lightly, rinsing the glass I’m holding and reaching to pick up another one. Your fingers close around my wrists, and I hesitate. Your body pushes up against my back, and I can feel your cock pressing against my ass.

“Bite you?” you say, still sounding amused.

I deliberately start moving my arm again, taking your hand with me as I reach for a glass. Your fingers tighten, and I can feel your shoulders tense around me. My arm stops moving, and I strain against you. You push me harder into the worktop, and force my hands down so they’re resting on the surface.
And then I feel your breath on my neck, and your teeth gently bite into my skin. I shiver, and you bite again, lower and harder.

“I didn’t expect you to take it literally.” I manage through the surge of emotion that chokes my words.

You drag my hands together, pinning both wrists tightly. “Too bad.” Your teeth bite into my neck again as your free hand drops down to my thigh and begins to push my skirt up.

You aren’t gentle, but that’s exactly what I need; you leave bruises on my thighs and red marks around my wrists, bite marks in my shoulder and my body shaking from the mix of pleasure and pain. I’m just coming down from my climax when your hand tightens on my wrists and the other digs into my waist, and then you bury your teeth in my shoulder again and thrust fiercely into me as you come, pushing my hips against the counter so hard that I have bruises for days.

We stay bent over the sink for a few moments, and then you let go of my wrists and gently kiss my shoulder, making me wince as your lips brush the marks.

“I’ll leave you to finish the washing up,” you say with a grin in your voice, and then you’re gone as quietly as you came.

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