He grabbed her face, his eyes rushing over hers, waiting for some alarm, to see her suddenly regret

He grabbed her face, his eyes rushing over hers, waiting for some alarm, to see her suddenly regret his action, force him to back off. He saw only excitement, arousal flaring between a pair of eyelids. So he tiled her head back, kissed her. Hard. No tongues, just lips and the hardness of teeth behind them, tasting her.  What next? He raked his mind over the situation, looking for inspiration. She was pressed tight against him, hips against his groin, and his hand took the lead for him, trailing down her back, finding the swell of her arse, squeezing. She moaned. Relief and arousal mixed in his head, and he kissed her again. This time it was her who grabbed, pulling the side her his face tight to her.  His hand moved from her rear, sliding around her waist before finding the front of her, the flimsy fabric of her dress barely doing anything to protect her. Everything was an engineered deja vu, playing out in his mind, and then suddenly becoming a reality. It was surreal, dreamlike, plucking a fantasy out of the air and shoving it into the real. It couldn’t have made him any harder. He turned her around, pressed her up against the wall, and ground his palm against the slickness of her sex. She moaned again. Still good. Success bolstered him, and he slipped his lips around her earlobe, catching the flesh between his teeth and biting down, the pressure increasing slowly. She squirmed against him, the right kind of struggle. One hand at her throat, the other stroking, grinding, pushing. He could feel the weight of her head against his shoulder, her arse pressed against his groin, her hands… everywhere. Anywhere. Wherever they could go.  And then the deja vu slipped into the present, the lines blurred, and instinct took over. He didn’t need to think, he just needed to do. Push her down, smirk an order. Fuck. Spank. Do whatever. Just let it course through him just as it coursed through her. She was his grounding rod, and he was the lightning. The metaphor would have made him laugh if he was paying attention, if every thought that slipped through his brain wasn’t just a direct line to his limbs, and his body, that this is what they need to be doing, right the fuck now.  And the whole time, she never stopped loving it. The best kind of positive feedback loop. -- source link

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