"I think the challenge is about a kiss, not... this."
She laughs, but it's uneven—breathy, like she's just run a mile. There's excitement in it. And something else… almost a plea.
"Haven't I been kissing you?" I murmur before nipping the inside of her thigh. Her body jerks. "It never specifies where."
Her muscles tense, and I feel it in every cell. She doesn't say no, doesn't push me away, doesn't laugh again. She just breathes—faster, shallower.
I keep moving up, slow, savoring this intimate darkness where only sensation matters. The air is thick with her scent—warm, intoxicating, so close it seeps into my skin. My heart hammers a jagged rhythm of impatience, fingers flexing like they're starving for more.
And when I'm finally between her legs, she doesn't pull back.
Quite the opposite.
Her legs lock around me, warm and demanding, pulling me into her like a single shared impulse. The strength of it staggers me—as if in one motion, she's seized control of this moment. Trapped me in it. The heat is so sudden I gasp.
I shiver—not from cold or fear, but from the sheer hunger in the way she arches against me. It's too much. Too hot. Too right.
A trap.
She's shut the door behind me, and I no longer belong to myself.
Her uneven breaths scorch my skin, burning hotter than words ever could. Every exhale is fire. A silent command I can't ignore.
No way back. Not that I want one. Only forward. So I go.
Bracing my hands beside her head, I lean down and find her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. The material stretches under my lips, and her body answers—a shudder, a sharp inhale. She shifts beneath me, breaths coming faster, heavier.
"Wait—wait a second!"
Her voice slices through the air, freezing me mid-motion. I pull back, though every instinct rebels.
Katrin writhes, caught in some silent struggle. Did I cross a line? Should I remove the blindfold? No. It would ruin everything—the game, the tension, this fragile moment where sight means nothing and feeling is everything.
"Keep going, Max."
Her voice wavers, barely audible. But I hear it. Feel it.
The second she gives permission, I'm on her again. My lips find bare skin this time, and I realize—
She's torn off her shirt and bra.
I can't see it, but I know. Where fabric once was, there's only warm, trembling flesh. Velvet-soft skin pebbling under my breath.
Heat floods me. My kisses turn ravenous, like I'm trying to memorize her by taste alone. I don't see her—I map her with fingertips and lips and ragged breaths. This isn't just closeness. It's revelation.
Shifting my weight to one arm, I trail my free hand down her stomach—flat, taut as a bowstring. She flinches when I brush her ribs, and I smirk in the dark. Found a weak spot. So easy. So real.
I dip lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her navel. Her muscles jump.
Then higher. My palm cups her breast—warm, perfect weight. A firmer squeeze wrings a gasp from her. She doesn't expect that. I feel the battle in her: want versus control.
And then—
I bend to her other breast, swirl my tongue over the peak. It hardens instantly, alive under my mouth. Katrin moans. Her breathing fractures, hips rolling like she can't decide whether to pull me closer or shove me away. Every twitch is a plea: Don't stop.
"Keep still, love…" My voice is rough with strain. "Or you'll ruin your own fun."
It works.
Rebel goes motionless—as if spellbound. Only the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrays her, each breath a hammerstroke.
"Are you sure you're still blindfolded?" Her voice is husky, fraying at the edges.
I grin, chest tight.
"Yeah. Take yours off and check, if you want. I won't peek."
Silence.
I feel her thinking. Her heartbeat thrums under my palm, each second stretching taut. Finally, a sigh—like she's surrendering something vital.
"Fine. I'll take it off. But you keep yours on."
The rustle of fabric echoes, and then suddenly…
Her fingers touch my face. At first, cautiously, almost timidly, as if testing whether this is real or just a dream. A touch as light as a breath of wind, barely perceptible, yet it makes my heart beat faster. With every passing second, I feel her warmth seeping into me, as if she's leaving not just traces of her touch on my skin but a piece of her soul. Then—more confidently—her fingers glide along my cheek, over my temples, into my hair, as if discovering something new, exploring me. I feel her breath quickening, her movements growing surer in their desire, in her need to be closer.
And then…
She tangles her fingers in my hair and yanks me toward her, forcing me against her. My body, unable to resist, gives in, and our lips crash together in a kiss that is scorching, wet, devoid of any tenderness. It's something more—passion, desire breaking free like fire raging out of control. Everything before this moment is irrelevant—time, place, consequences. We merge, consumed by each other, not thinking about what comes next, not worrying about what might follow.
I follow her lead, careful not to move too abruptly, not to shatter this fragile harmony between us. My heart hammers wildly, but my mind is empty—only her, only her scent, her warmth, her lips, her hands, all of it becoming a part of me, dissolving me into her.
Her hands slide down my back, but my T-shirt gets in the way. It feels like an unnecessary barrier, an inconvenient divide. Every movement through the fabric sends sparks across my skin, leaving behind an unbearable need to tear it away. And this barrier isn't just clothing—it's something bigger, something keeping us from truly being close.
I pull back—not because I want to stop. No, I don't. I pull back because now I need to take it off. To strip it away, to erase the distance, to let her feel every breath, every heartbeat, so we're not just bodies but something more, something singular.
"Let me take this off—it's in your way," my voice comes out hoarse, almost ragged, my breath uneven from her touch, leaving me no room for thought. I need her, all of her, and I can't think of anything else.
"Yes."
Her voice is barely a whisper, a promise, a signal that she wants this too, that we're both hurtling toward this moment. It's not just consent—it's a step into the unknown, a place where nothing exists but the two of us and what's happening right now.
One word, but it's filled with so much hunger that my fingers tremble as I grab the hem of my shirt. Every cell in my body responds to it, to her desire—raw and unguarded, pouring from her soul.
I yank the fabric up, tossing it somewhere near the floor. My heart pounds heavily, my breathing turns ragged, as if we're diving into something far greater than just a moment—something irreversible, unstoppable.
Then her hands dig into my shoulders, dragging me down to her. I don't have time to think—only to feel her heat, her hands, her lips, everything merging into one frenzied current sweeping me away. Our lips crash together again—hot, messy, no trace of restraint. Every touch is like a lightning strike, every gasp of hers a fire raging inside me, consuming me whole.
But Katrin doesn't stop there.
Her mouth drifts to my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut as her tongue traces a wet line from my collarbone to my ear. Her touch stretches time, seeping into the very core of me, making me forget everything but her. The world blurs; nothing else matters—I'm just an extension of her touch, her gaze, her breath.
Her tongue glides over my skin again, and a knot of heat coils in my stomach. My heart lurches into a frantic rhythm. Every kiss, every movement is unbearably intense, as if she's branding her passion into me. I'm breathing hard, powerless against the flood of emotions crashing over me with every second.
Her breath is hot and uneven, and my hands, feverish, roam her back, unable to let go for even a moment. I can't stop, can't escape this mad dance pulling us deeper. She keeps going, and with every touch, I forget everything but her.
Then her lips brush my collarbone, and I bury my face against her skin, overwhelmed. This moment is so close, so intimate, that my mind and heart whirl into chaos. I want time to freeze. I want nothing between us. I want us to become one—undivided.
"You're driving me crazy."
The confession spills out—unfiltered, unplanned. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. It's not just words; it's the truth, tearing free.
Rebel Girl smirks against my ear, her voice low, playful, a whispered threat and a promise all at once:
"Maybe that's exactly what I want to do to you."
Her teeth graze my earlobe, and I suck in a sharp breath, fingers digging into her hips. Her body responds to every shift, every pull—we're fused in a dance where time and doubt don't exist.
"Then you're doing a damn good job."
I don't know where she ends and I begin. We're so close the boundaries have melted. All that's left is this wild, almost feral impulse locking us together, refusing to let go.
My fingers trail over her skin—soft, fever-hot under my touch. She gasps, the sound quiet and broken, and my heart pounds harder. I lean in, her breath hitching, her body trembling in anticipation.
At first, just my lips—a feather-light kiss, testing. She freezes, then her hands clamp onto my shoulders, fingers pressing into flesh. Silent permission. A plea for more.
I don't make her wait. My tongue drags slow over her chest, tracing every curve, every ripple of skin. She cries out, then bites her lip like she's fighting to stay quiet. I love it—love how she unravels, how her body arches into every flick of my tongue.
I tease her with contrasts: tender kisses that leave wet trails, sharp nips that make her jerk, slow, filthy licks that have her grinding against me. Her hands fist in my hair, tugging me closer, then pushing back—like she can't decide whether to savor this or devour it.
Her breathing fractures. Lips part. Whimpers spill out, louder to me than any music. I feel her heart hammering under my mouth, her body shedding the last shreds of control, surrendering completely.
This isn't just touch—it's a conversation without words, where every gasp, every shudder, every moan is a sentence. And I plan to keep talking until she's screaming in a language only we understand…
Then the world dissolves. Just us. Just this air thick with want. My hands roam her body, memorizing the heat of her skin, her ragged breaths like she's starving for oxygen. I approach again, listening to her whisper, feeling her lose more and more control with every touch.