Classwork

Multiple scents wafted around the room, indiscernible, but somehow clearly demarcated. At least, she could easily tell which came from whom, or maybe that was also because the scents she could discern were so deeply ingrained in her every waking thought that she didn't need them to have name-tags. 

Apart from a peevishly mewling feline outside the closed door, there was relative silence. Nothing to distract her from breathing in the scents around her and from relishing every cell’s reaction to the stimulation she was receiving. Actually, more actively and selfishly demanding, than the passiveness denoted by ‘receiving’. 

His legs stretched on forever, allowing her to intertwine hers in pleasure, feeling like any amount of closeness was insufficient given the temporal nature of the current setting. His fingers were sending arrows of fire along her frame, making her gasp in a mixture of surprise and extreme levels of something beyond satisfaction. His hair under her hands was silky, she loved how his lips felt on hers, it was somehow, one of those coincidences in life… His lips and hair sent sensations akin to lying freshly washed and dried under those light, soft sheets of summer nights. Soft, and so damn arousing, she needed to hold him as close to her as possible, she loved how his skin felt under her fingers. She loved to touch him, run her palms along the smooth, warm surfaces he allowed her to view once he took off his shirt. 

She had never met anyone with this potent a presence. She felt as helpless and drawn as a crow to glitter. There was something about him… With him, every inhibition, every hang-up she had carefully cultivated till date just went on holiday. She felt, hell, she felt like Cleopatra when he looked at her; like something beautiful and unique.