Re: Sonrisa: Sam A & Cris M
Something about being close, it soothed him too. Sappy, but true. It was what he wanted—that lacka distance. Her up against him, gravitating back with force, colliding, and Cris didn't doubt nothing, no. There were tears to it, salt and snot, blood too coming in copper—she bit him, his lip, pulped the sensitive flesh there under her teeth. It earned a sound from the guy, not pain, though it did hurt. It was a pleased sound, through the nose and rumbling from chest to throat, and if he hadn't had to talk, he wouldn'tna stopped, huh? Kissing her. Fucking obliterated, exhausted and emotional, and he still woulda kept on going, 'til the botha them keeled over with locked knees.—And maybe that was coping, huh? That unhealthy thing. But, he really did want her. And her tongue on his bruised and bitten bottom lip, following his, wasn't helping.
Another hum. He ran thumbs over Sam's bowed lips. He wanted her. He told her to stay. She went shy and he smiled at her, lowered lashes and all—and he was gonna tell her, yeah, he did mean it—but her hands clamped down over his mouth, and, after a seconda surprise, he waited patient, huh? To let her get out whatever it was she was gonna say—but, then her hands remained where they were. His breath came back to him hot from the sidea her palm.
Cris waited brief, then he turned his chin, to free himself, his hands grasping at hers now. "I get it.—When I say 'ours,' mami, I mean it. The rules, they ain't gonna be mine, huh? Ours. And, baby girl, it's a learnin' process. We might hit some bumps, but that's all a parta it, prometo." One last swipea his tongue on his lip glossy with Sam's spit, and he tugged at her—leading her by the hand outta that studio, leaving the paints a mess, the canvases spattered over, the blankets, alla it, to take her upstairs to that lil rooma hers and right to that bed. They'd ruin her sheets. They might even ruin the floors, but Cris wasn't thinking 'bout that.