Magnesium | Incendiary | Ice | Vintage | Incentive
Incendiary
A night of passion reignites with just a drip of icy water and a heated breath.
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It was a lazy morning, just the two of us in bed. Nothing to do, no plans, so snuggling under the covers was the only incentive I needed. But, it wasn’t a moment like when you strike a match, and the flame sparks to light.
A match is a few specific chemicals that start a fire, a bit of red phosphorus under the cap of potassium chlorate, then add a bit of friction from the side of the matchbox, and things start to burn.
The chemical reaction between us that morning was incendiary. It wasn’t like two sticks rubbing together, creating friction, friction slowly building heat, and smolders in the dry kindling before a puff of breath bursts into flame. Dry kindling is a poor metaphor, given what transpired the night before.
We burned bright and hot, like magnesium, after we got home from dancing, rubbing our bodies against each other. I watched her rub against other men, which got me hot. And hard. This wasn’t like a vintage fire starter which takes time and patience, slow burns that last for hours. No, last night was hot and bright and brought us to the peak in searing heat — fast and furious. Completely spent, we fell asleep tangled in sheets and each other, recovering from the night’s passion.
Perhaps it was that as a prelude that got us rubbing against each other in the last throes of slumber. Sleep-hazed minds, warm flesh, soft curves, and firm grips stoked the fire within us again.
Magnesium doesn’t extinguish with ice. So perhaps that explains why she got heated when I grabbed that melted ice cube from my water glass. It was small and shaped like a cute little nipple when I held it in my fingertips and let the cold water drip onto her breast.
This won’t shock you if you’ve watched science experiments with elemental magnesium. But her eyes blazed with awakened need as fast as her nipple pebbled from the icy water. Magnesium burns in a carbon-dioxide-rich environment. A bowl of ice can ignite a bit of the element in a conflagration so bright a welder’s mask has trouble dimming it.
Intrigued by the fire in her eyes and needing both hands, I slipped the ice sliver between her lips. The way she sucked that sliver into her mouth had me rigid as I slid between her thighs. My hands gripped her wrists and lifted them above her head. My hips ground my hard cock against her mound, feeling the molten heat I’d reignited. Collecting both of her wrists in the grip of one of my hands, I looked at that glass of water, then back at her.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, not meaning a word.
A moan of arousal as her hips pushed back against my shaft as my fingers dipped into the icy bath to retrieve another sliver of frozen hydrogen dioxide. The hiss of her breath as the cube hit her hard nipple was all it took…
Author’s Note: Thanks to @AndreaHTodd (ice), Sophie P (ice), @CToothaches (incendiary), Lane Hearst ⭐️ (vintage), and Meg Becker (incentive) for their words. I hope you enjoyed this half-woke fiction and that it took you on a journey. If you’d like to write the part after the ellipses, please do, and link back — let’s see that kind of fire starts. I appreciate your CLAPS, HIGHLIGHTS, COMMENTS, and SHARES if you’d like to read more, mash that SUBSCRIBE link below.
