Beneath sheets, she swears the world is nothing in comparison.

As his fingers slide up the course of her back, she closes her eyes and believes that a simple touch can heal a broken heart. When the lights are turned out, when the sounds of the birds lay to rest, he kisses her collarbone and leaves a mark; he is never too rough, he is never too gentle. He can tear away her idealisms and rebuilt them in seconds.

He is the only person who can leave her breathless, tainted by a sense of perfection.

But there is a million miles between them — he is aged by experience, and she is young because of her youth. Yet, beneath the sheets and below the lights, they forget that this is wrong, that what they're doing is corrupt. She has someone else; he doesn't need anyone else. They are just two souls who are intertwined by the desperate, aching need to feel wanted.

Underneath his weight, with his skin hot against her, she feels more alive than the world around them. When his hands travel up her thighs, leaving a prickling sensation, she falls further and further in love with the wrong person. As his fingers push into her, with a careful force, she crashes against the waves of destruction and bliss, where nothing but this man and her exist.

He trails kisses across her shoulders, putting special emphasis on the line of moles that lay inconspicuous between the crook of her neck. Her breath comes out in sharp, short gasps because only he knows how much she adores being kissed there. And as his body moves soundly with hers, she finds herself standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting with bated breath to fall into an ocean with him.

They move faster, roaring with passion, pressed together so wonderfully, as she sways in unadulterated ecstasy. His sweat drips onto her skin, sliding down her body and mingling with hers. They can both feel it — sense the readying to fall. She wants to cling to him selfishly as they plunge together, but she knows he'll go first, but her reassurance is that he'll wait.

He always waits for her.

And then he digs fingernails, sharp as needles, into her skin. His pace is quick and agile, he is holding onto her as if she'll slip from beneath his very fingers. He puts his forehead against hers, his mouth falling open as ragged breaths slip free; she can see him jumping, falling, diving. She can tell he's crashed into the water, as he slows down.

Kunpimook doesn't stop though; he's never been the kind of man to leave someone without their ending. Instead, he goes slow and steady, bringing their hips together and arching her back. Around him, she contorts and twists, her hands weaving through his hair as she rocks back and forth. The only sound is her voice, lifting higher and higher, as she too, readies herself to plummet into an ocean of amenity.

And when she does, Chaerin swears that in this moment, they are infinite.

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Owenbabe, Lmao. First Story for Us. Je t'aime