G is dark and handsome. G is warm and lonesome. G takes me high, drops me down, picks me up. Always picks me up.
My insides shiver and stutter, G's scent clouding my judgement. Hard and heavy, bruised and broken. Trace his scars with my fingertips, groan, moan. Fuck, if this is what it feels like, I can't stop myself from screaming, hear my rugged breath over G's big, beating heart. Always on edge.
G comes back up, G dips his head lower, arousal a heady scent in the air. G's kisses are soft and tasting like myself, the tangy-salty flavour of a high coming down. I'm liquid all over, stretched over him, dropping lazy bites on his lips. "You OK?" Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes. G's big, beating heart is hammering a fast tempo against his ribs, though the rush of the moment is gone already and it's all a haze. G tries to kiss me. I let him. Always let him.