[P] MEMENTO MORI; MAYHEM

Time had long since hung in the air by the time they evolved into animals consumed by their carnal needs; the scent of rough, passionate sex permeated through the atmosphere. Every sliver of bliss that tingled through his member had drifted him into yearlong minutes; every millisecond of dominating her bent form, roughly pounding his wrath while kissing the sweaty smoothness of her neck, being rode by the liquid silk of her lips—he wished every position eternal.

He noticed that the golden chalices atop the nightstands had long shattered on the ground, and it was apparent they had fell deaf on the sexual intensity that barred their ears; he could only remember the sounds of her pleasure as they rolled into the night.

And still, after he had relieved every ounce of his fluids, he gazed his fervent eyes onto her, found himself captivated by the lovely symmetry of her face, and every trickle of perspiration that framed it. He was struck by her beauty, the indescribable way wrath and mayhem harmonized with her soul. He had no thought of this happening, but there wasn’t a hint of regret lingering in his content smirk; he was awash in his emotions—the freedom of passion. He cherished the waves, the way they drowned every lump of his tension.

His arms were rested behind his neck, his visage graced with satisfaction. Copious beads of sweat had long since slivered down his roughly breathing neck, impeding the hints of his exotic cologne atop his defined, strapping torso; dampening his abs, and onto his thighs. Though, he had lost track of how many different liquids slicked onto his lower region. He gathered his breath in a deep exhale, licking his lips and tasting the lasting flavor of her body.

“This is the freedom of wrath – and only a taste of it.” He said, chuckling lightly. “Vieni qui e baciami.”

He unraveled his arms, and stretched his exposed body form towards hers. His right hand curved onto her cheek, and he intertwined their lips into a last kiss; giving her a sample of her own essence.

The sheer thought of sending her off sent a twinge of regret and irritation into his heart, and he nearly felt himself short-circuiting with the pangs of desire her traveling hands wired throughout his body. Her lips were nothing short of a conduit for boundless passion, and each second they intertwined with his, the significance of her army dissolved; his body beginning to refuse reason at every turn. He teased her with a quick slip of his tongue; inflicting her with a taste of her own juices. His left hand slithered a sensual trail down her thigh, his lips parting ever so hesitantly.

And for a moment, it seemed as if any words he wanted to say were stuck in between the mere inch separating their lips. The growing velocity of his heart drummed an obvious, wistful beat. But, as if drawn by an unknown potent force, his lips began to move on their own.

“Fuck your army.” He whispered, pecking her affectionately. “Stay with me tonight, and we’ll burn everything tomorrow – together.”

It astonished him when he realized what he had just said. But it seemed that even him—in all of his glory—didn’t have the will to part with her, and it would be an insult to let such an exquisite piece of art sleep alone. He opened his eyes onto her sweaty visage; his right hand stubbornly curved about her cheek, and smiled at the sight. And before logic could shock him, he closed his eyes and kissed her again, inviting her with the masterful thrust of his tongue.