It's Not a Sin if it Takes You to Heaven

One and only.

I looked into his gray eyes.
Gray. 'Twas all I could read, for they were my mirror. At the time I was no more and no less than what I saw of myself into his gray eyes.
Our rhythmic breaths made a bit of steam that weaved a thin layer of fog upon my gaze.
The temperature raised between us with every blink of a second. I tried, and failed miserably, to remove his bleach hair out of his eyes. The try was futile because his forehead was dripping with sweat, making the hair stick to it.
I smiled an exhausted, though ecstatic smile and blew a mouthful of air over his forehead. He closed his eyes smilingly, starting to hum a song he didn't know himself. "You know, your
breath is just as warm as all the air in the room," he said in a sad attempt of irony that came off as a loving compliment.

Suddenly, I felt utterly sinful as I felt some kind of gaze upon us from somewhere at the top of the room. I felt as a depraved demon corrupting a pure angel to sin. So was our image, seen from above, at least. It was a horrifically attractive portrait of the embrace of good and evil, his milk-white skin violently caressed, his thin arms all too sensually hugged by my dark skin that smelt of dark dreams. The sweat of dark and bright combined, every hair on our backs risen by a lust too strong to fulfill, too strong to hold back.
A dance of perfumes defied any rule that could have held us apart, as our bodies embraced their contrast, as his hands explored each pore of my coffee skin. A dreadful rhythm grabbed a hold of both our minds and bodies, leaving behind any earthly sensation, offering us a handful of pleasures that seemed, and were, cosmic.

With every finger pressed against my skin, he took me up into the skies, only to bring me right back with a kiss, and then back up again. I freed my primary instincts, the ones suspected to be present in me by people at the sight of my exotic features. I deepened my nails into his lean, white arms, and bit hard into his hard, bony shoulder. Waves of full-rhythm tainted pleasure made my body tremble at the sound of his ragged voice screaming savagely out of pure, masonic satisfaction. His weight over my body made me feel him voluptuously deep into me.

It's not a sin if it takes you to heaven.
♠ ♠ ♠
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