No rules

Feel the tempo — that's the main thing.

The rhythm here pulses like a heart at its limit: phrases break off, flow, shatter — and all of it works on the body, on the sensation.

Very here and now.

I allow myself to feel.

To be hungry, insane, unstoppable.

Without looking back.

⸻

…I want you. Right now. Here.

I whispered it into your neck, pressing close in the dance. You're so close — I feel your body, your hands, your breath on the nape of my neck.

You cup my head and tilt it back to look into my eyes. I look at you… my gaze drops to your lips.

—

You're crazy…

— Y-yes… we're both insane…

— Yeah…

— I don't want to be normal. Kiss me…

Your lips cover mine. The floor swayed under my feet. I clung to you to stay upright. Hot. Tender. Desired.

And even if the planet were to break from its orbit — right now, in this moment, nothing else matters. There's you. There's me. And this flame between us.

I'm breathless. It's not enough. I want to touch your heated skin. I want your lips on mine. I want to kiss all of you. I want to love you.

As if we're alone. No one around.

But… sorry for the prosaic detail — we're in a restaurant hall. It's full of people.

I don't want to stop. I don't want to break the kiss. Everything inside is melting. And flowing.

You lift your head. In your eyes — the same fire that's burning me up. You squeeze my palm. Take a deep breath. An attempt to smile — doesn't count. It only turns into a predatory grimace.

You grab my purse and pull me after you, striding wide toward the exit.

— Where?..

You swore crudely, looked up at me from under your brow, grinned. Opened the rear door and gestured for me to get into the car.

Me — in a long floor-length dress, with a wrap at the thigh and on stilettos. An outfit for the dance floor, not for the back seat… even of the most comfortable car. That only spurs me on. I rush inside. You — after me.

The door slammed shut. The purse flew onto the front seat. After it — my shoes. Your jacket. Glasses.

You devour my lips with a greedy, hungry kiss. No ceremony. Not a drop of tenderness. Only animal desire. Lust. Carnality.

You tear the bodice of the dress — the zipper can't take it, gives way. Your hand grips my breast hard — to the point of pain, to the point of a scream.

No air. I'm suffocating. With impatient fingers, I undo the belt, button, zipper… my hand is already there. Touching you. You moan.

You turn me with my back to you. Hike up the dress, rip off the panties. I just manage to brace against the seatback…

Your hands on my hips. You enter sharply, powerfully, with full force.

— Mmmm…

We both cry out something inarticulate.

⸻

I'm not looking for meaning. I'm just remembering how it happens.