The Hardest Part

"I've wanted to fuck you since the first moment I saw you." He says it matter-of-factly. Conversationally. The bastard.

I pause for a long moment, struggling to keep my face impassive. I can't decide whether to jump him or punch him. Finally I snap, "What the hell took you so long?"

He shrugs, grinning now, challenge in his eyes. "I try to wait until I can't stand it anymore," he says. "I like the anticipation."

And then he's on me--biting my neck, pawing at my tits, pinning me against the wall. He pulls my shirt up, finds my nipple and sucks. I swoon, delirious. He doesn't kiss me. This isn't about romance. This is about heat, about desire, about him getting inside me as soon as humanly possible.

He hikes up my skirt, gropes me through my panties, then pushes them aside. Without warning he shoves a finger into my cunt, and then another. I open to him readily, gratefully, panting and groaning with pleasure, and then his hand is over my mouth. "Shut up," he murmurs, and whirls me around. I barely have time to brace myself against the wall before he slides inside and begins to fuck me, grabbing my hips, pounding into me relentlessly. I come so hard I see stars. I feel his cock twitch and pulse a second later.

Breathless, we slump against each other.

"So," he says, "was it worth the wait?"

I kneel, take him into my mouth. I'm not waiting anymore.

[written for Alison Tyler's "seven dirty words" contest]