Instagram ellopiageenos: i'm taking you closer to the egde


i'm taking you closer to the egde

I love waking up to you, too. But I love being in  bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and  billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four-poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms.
Love that you are giggling and wet.
You are everything I need.
What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you.
With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart—in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens. His heart is beating a frantic, pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine; his jaw is tense, his teeth clenched.The blood is pounding in my ears as the rhythm of my heart rises to match his.He releases my hand, leaving it in place over his heart. I flex my fingers slightly, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He’s  holding his breath. I can’t bear it. I make to move my hand.
“No,” he says quickly and places his hand once more over mine, pressing my fingers against him. “Don’t.”Emboldened by these two words, I shuffle closer so our knees are touching and tentatively raise my other hand so that he knows exactly what I intend to do. His eyes grow wider but he doesn't stop me.Gently I start to undo the buttons on his shirt. It’s tricky with one hand. I flex my fingers beneath his hand and he lets go, allowing me to use both hands to undo his shirt. My eyes don’t leave his as I pull his shirt open, revealing his chest.

He swallows, and his lips part as his breathing increases, and I sense his rising panic, but he doesn’t pull away. Is he still in sub mode? I have no idea.Should I do this? I don’t want to hurt him, physically or mentally. The sight of him like this,offering  himself to me, has been a wake-up call.I reach up, and my hand hovers over his chest, and I stare at him . . . asking his permission. Very subtly he tilts his head to one side, steeling himself in anticipation of my touch, and the tension radiates from him, but this time it’s not in anger—it’s in fear.I hesitate. Can I really do this to him?“Yes,” he breathes—again with the weird ability to answer my unspoken questions.I extend my fingertips into his chest hair and lightly brush them down his sternum. He closes his eyes, and his face creases as if he’s experiencing intolerable pain. It’s unbearable to witness, so I lift my fingers immediately, but he quickly grabs my hand and replaces it firmly, flat on his bare chest so that the hair tickles my palm.“No,” he says, his voice strained. “I need to.”

His eyes are screwed up so tightly. This must be agony. It’s truly tormenting to watch. Carefully I let my fingers stroke across his chest to his heart, marveling at the feel of him, terrified that this is a step too far .He opens his eyes, and they are gray fire, blazing at me.Holy cow. His look is blistering , feral, beyond intense, and his breathing is rapid. It stirs my blood. I squirm under his gaze.He hasn’t stopped me, so I run my fingertips across his chest again, and his mouth goes slack. He’s panting, and I don’t know if it’s from fear, or something else.

I’ve wanted to kiss  him there for so long that I lean up on my knees and hold his gaze for a moment, making my intention perfectly clear. Then I bend and gently  plant a soft kiss above his heart, feeling his warm, sweet-smelling skin beneath my lips.
His strangled  groan moves me so much that I sit back on my heels, fearful  of what I’ll see on his face. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, but he hasn’t moved.
“Again,” he whispers, and I lean into his chest once more, this time to kiss one of his scars. He gasps, and I kiss another and another. He groans loudly, and suddenly his arms are around me, and his hand is in my hair, pulling my head up painfully so that my lips meet his insistent mouth. And we’re kissing, my fingers knotting into his hair.
 He twists and pulls me down on to the floor so that I am underneath him. I bring my hands up to cup his beautiful face, and in that moment, I feel his tears.He’s crying . . . no. No!“ please, don’t cry. I meant it when I said I’d never leave you. I did. If I gave you any other impression, I’m so sorry . . . please, please forgive me. I love you.I will always love you.”He looms over me, gazing down into my face, and his expression is so pained.“What is it?”His eyes grow larger.
“What is this secret that make you think I’ll run for the hills? That makes you so determined to believe I’ll go?” I plead, my voice tremulous. “Tell me,please . . .”He sits up, though this time he crosses his legs and I follow suit, my legs outstretched. Vaguely I wonder  if we can get off the floor? But I don’t want to interrupt his train of thought. He’s finally going to confide in me.He gazes down at me, and he looks utterly desolate. Oh shit—it’s bad.He pauses, searching for the words, his expression pained . . . Oh? Where the hell is this going?
 “I can’t give you what you need.” This is it—this really does mean we are incompatible.The world starts falling away at my feet, collapsing around me as panic grips my throat.This is it. We can’t do this.He frowns. “No.No. No. You can. You do give me what I need.” He clenches his fists. “Please believe me,” he murmurs,his words an impassioned plea.“I don’t know what to believe.This is so fucked-up,” I whisper, my throat hoarse and aching as it closes in, choking me with unshed tears.His eyes are wide and luminous when he looks at me again.

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