What The Hickey!
My back hit the bed, the sheets cool against my skin as his body pushed down mine, pressing me down.
His mouth was on me in an instant, lips claiming my neck stealing the breath from my lungs. His teeth grazed my skin – sharp enough to make me whimper, soft enough to leave me wanting more. Then he bit down, just shy of painful, the sting making my body arch up against his.
“Still good?” he asked, his voice a low growl, rough and unsteady. I barely managed to nod, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, trying to anchor myself as his tongue soothed over the spot he’d just bitten.
“You’re going to look at yourself tomorrow,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and tantalizing, “and see every mark I’ve left on you.”
Before I could respond, his hand tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back and expose more of my neck to him. The sharp tug sent a shockwave through my body. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips finding the hollow of my throat, his teeth sinking in just enough to leave another mark.
I gasped, my nails dragging down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. He groaned, low and primal, his hips pressing into mine. Even through the layers of clothing, I could feel him – hard, the weight of him a promise of what was to come.
His free hand slid down my body, rough fingertips dragging over bare skin, tracing curves. His grip on my hip tightened, possessive, holding me firmly in place as he pressed against me. I couldn’t stop the way my legs shifted, parting, inviting him closer.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” His voice was dark and teasing, but there was no mistaking the strain in it, the way he was barely holding himself back.
“You’re one to talk,” I managed to breathe out, my voice shaking as he rocked his hips against mine, the friction sparking a fire deep in my core.
His chuckle was low, but it quickly turned into something else – something darker – as he pulled back just enough to yank my shirt up, leaving me bare beneath him. He didn’t waste time, leaning down to take the swell of my breast into his mouth. His teeth scraped against my sensitive skin, and then he was sucking, hard, drawing a cry from my lips as his tongue teased and taunted. Another mark. My fingers found his hair, gripping tightly as I pulled him closer, needing more.
His hands roamed freely now, rough and demanding, sliding down my thighs before gripping them and pulling me closer. The motion had me gasping, the hard press of him between my legs leaving no doubt about how much he wanted me.
When his mouth returned to my neck, his hips pressed harder into mine, the rhythm growing more insistent. Every thrust of his hips made me whimper.
His grip tightened in my hair again, pulling my head back as he kissed and bit his way along my collarbone. “You feel that?” he growled against my skin, his voice raw. “That’s all for you.”
All I could do was nod, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps as he kept moving, kept pushing, the rhythm of his hips mimicking a deeper, harder need.
His hand slid down, rough fingers grazing my inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there before moving higher. My head fell back against the pillow, a broken moan spilling from my lips as he touched me, his fingers testing, teasing, slipping where I was already drenched and aching for him.
“Look at you,” he muttered, “So wet for me already.”
I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing as he worked me with his fingers, his thumb circling just the right spot until my hips bucked involuntarily. “Please,” I managed to whisper, not even sure what I was begging for – only that I needed more.
I felt his grin against my neck before he bit down again, marking me.
He didn’t wait much longer. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, and I felt the blunt, solid press of him against me. My entire body tensed in anticipation, my breath catching as he pushed forward, the stretch almost too much – but exactly what I needed.
The thrust stole the air from my lungs, hard and deep, filling me in a way that made my entire body arch up against his. He didn’t give me time to adjust, his hips pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a rhythm.
I cried out, my hands clutching at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything I could reach as he drove into me, relentless and rough. Each thrust sent shockwaves through me, the force of his movements pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
He tangled his hand in my hair again, pulling my head back so he could claim my mouth with a kiss that was as intense as his pace. His teeth scraped against my bottom lip before he pulled back, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’re going to come for me,” he demanded, his voice rough and hoarse.
His hands gripped my waist, holding me in place as he drove into me again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with my broken cries.
His thumb found my clit again, circling with just enough pressure to send me spiraling over the edge. My body tensed as the orgasm crashed through me that left me gasping and shaking under him.
“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to thrust, drawing out every last shudder of my release. My nails dug into his back, and I felt him shudder above me, his movements growing desperate, until he buried himself deep, groaning my name as he found his own release.
We stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing. His lips found my neck again, softer this time, pressing a kiss to one of the marks he’d left.
Few things in life blur the line between romance and chaos like these little love marks. Some see them as thrilling, while others treat them like a dirty secret requiring turtlenecks, scarves, and concealer.
If we’re putting on our nerd glasses (and why not?), a hickey is a minor bruise caused by blood vessels breaking under the skin due to intense sucking or biting. Romantic, right? Who knew blood pooling under your epidermis could double as a love letter?
Hickeys are rarely part of anyone’s romantic game plan. You don’t hear couples whisper, “Let’s light some candles, put on sexy music, and bruise each other’s necks for fun.”
You wake up, glance at the mirror, and BAM! There it is. A purple blotch the size of Australia. Suddenly, your romantic sexcapades feel less like a fun memory and more like a crime scene.
So, what do you do? There are two types of hickey recipients in the world:
1. The Prouds
These people walk into work or class like they’ve just won the lottery. “Oh, this?” they’ll say, pointing to the mark. “It’s a hickey. Jealous?” They treat it like a gold medal in neck-based affection.
2. The Shy
These are the scarf-wearing, foundation-slathering warriors who will go to weird lengths to hide the evidence. They’ll spend 20 minutes color-correcting that bruise like it’s their full-time job.
If you’re in the second group, here are some survival tips:
Concealer is your best friend. Just make sure it matches your neck; otherwise, your cover-up will attract more attention than the hickey itself.
Cold spoons and ice packs. Yes, it’s not just an urban legend. Applying something cold to your hickey can reduce swelling and help it fade faster. Bonus: you’ll look cool with a spoon pressed to your neck.
Toothbrush Trick. Allegedly, lightly brushing the area increases circulation and helps dissipate the mark. Results may vary, but at least you’ll feel like you’re doing something productive.
If your partner works in a corporate office or teaches children, maybe don’t treat their neck like a sketchpad. Keep it subtle, or, better yet, keep it hidden. Collarbone territory, anyone?
Believe it or not, not everyone loves wearing evidence of their love life. A simple “Is this okay?” can save a lot of awkward conversations later.
Too much suction can actually lead to problems. (Yes, you can Google “hickey-induced blood clots,” but only if you want to ruin the mood.) Play safe!
Pop culture loves a good hickey moment. Think about all those teen movies where the lead shows up to high school with a giant hickey, starting endless gossip. It’s like a rite of passage – your first hickey, your first heartbreak, your first time hiding something from your parents.
At their core, hickeys are about passion – messy, unrestrained, and slightly ridiculous passion. They’re love’s little oopsie, a reminder that sometimes things get wild and weird, and that’s okay.
So, whether you’re hiding one under a scarf, flaunting it at brunch, remember that hickeys are a part of life’s sexy chaos. Embrace them. Laugh at them. Or just learn to suck gently.
And hey, if nothing else, they make for a great story.
