Royal Imitation | Kylo Ren

Painted Affairs

Lost in a thick tension, one much more smothering than the dark skies above, my misty clouds were hazy with the rush of my blood which downpours lust so tenaciously into my system, until I am eventually drowning in its intoxication.

Before I knew what was even happening, the canvass had crashed to the ground in our quick moments which were spun with vital intentions as one thing led to another and then eventually, I was laying upon the wet paint of the previously, perfect portrait, as Kylo Ren kissed me – And I kissed so softly back.

He climbed over me with his thighs pressed over my hips as he leaned over with his leather gloves which were now coated in pastels as he began to press his lips with more desire. I could tell quickly, with the taste of his slick tongue fighting my own, that this kiss wasn't like the kisses that were purely fuelled by arousal, this was a real one – Almost resembling the potential of when I kissed Anwar in the rain, not so many days ago.

My eyes widened as he removed a painted hand from the canvass I laid upon, hooking it around my hips and leveraging me closer, as if he wanted to crash our souls together in this passionate moment that had come out of nowhere, and nothing.

It never failed to startle me when he did that, picking me up as if I weighed nothing and only using one hand to do so – Which caused paint to form all over the back of my dress, which was already stained a new colour than the light blue fabric it was meant to be.

Kylo's breath drew in sharply through his nose and he lifted and settled himself against my inner thighs, where his hand once previously played, making me loop my arms around his thick neck, smearing pastels into his raven hair. My thighs squeezed nervously around him, causing him to chuckle into my rosy, vinous mouth.

My conscience fought behind the kiss for only a short moment which I shot down quickly with the guilt that brewed in the concoction of my lust. Out of all the things I could possibly get away with, there's still some invisible string that tugs onto the idea of Anwar and the possibility of loving him more than a friend, wishing that he was the one wrapped around me rather than Kylo, but in the kiss he gave in the fields, it didn't have any hidden desires tingling beneath the taste.

I felt foolish, in the fact that I had allowed myself to become so addicted to Kylo Ren's touch when truely, it was his soul that could bring me to death or tears. He had managed to do something to my ardour of physical closeness, but my mentality doesn't understand the overdrive.

Sex and love are not the same thing, this I have sharply known to be clear. There is not an inkling inside of me that loves Kylo Ren, in-fact I still debate with myself as to whether I actually like him at all. But the way he can make me come undone with his touch, is both beautiful and dangerous, giving me an unspeakable sense of exhilaration with every grind and kiss.

The sounds of the rain faded away, and everything felt like it was trapped in slow motion. The smell of his musk and manliness made me lightheaded. Curls of his long dark hair kept brushing over my cheeks like waves of silk, occasionally brushing stokes of colour upon the slate of me, like the bristles in the water-jug, once scraped paint among the canvass that we had ruined.

Underneath his thighs, the firm hold of my hands moved and pressed up and into his chest. Keeping him aloft against me, just leaving enough space to twine our lips into one another.

The throbbing between my legs was a dull, steady thud, like a heartbeat and I couldn't tell whether it was coming primely from me or him. He ached, I could tell by the harsh grip that clawed at the wet canvass, which had no time to even think about drying.

Kylo groaned deep in his chest at my tongue which slipped into his mouth, and I grounded against him despite myself, blushing with shame at his primal sounds.