/lit/ - Literature

A young, digitally colored picture of the eternaly pure Jane Austen.

Reposting this to get different opinions, translated from Spanish.
Also, is it weird to write the ending/middle first? I'm not too crazy about my ideas for the beggining.

As always, her eyes are the first thing I notice, clear and guarded by well-defined eyebrows. She’s got a look of cheerful confidence that only age can take away. A button nose barely distinguishes itself from her pale skin. A mouth bordered with lips so thin they might as well not be there, resting in its usual spot slightly to the left of her face. The whole ensemble gives her a look that locks me in place every time my eyes cross hers. I’m almost certain that she knows what I want to do to her, but I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or exited.

She is young, very young. The ponytail she sports everyday fits her too much. She must be about seventeen.

Elastic and energetic. The joy of watching her dance engulfs me to the point that I can hardly manage to avoid staring at her. Like a young, provocative Sun. I must only look for brief, casual seconds. Never directly.

Her routine is about to finish. I know this because the mix-tape is always the same. Fatigue is starting to show. Her usual pale and smooth face blushed into a meaty pink. My teeth clench with the desire of biting her cheek. Her mouth, usually tightly closed now opened into a mischievous smile. She always smiles when she’s tired.

The song ends. She and her group hold a pose for a moment. The teacher gives a monotonous cheer and the room is flooded with sighs and groans. But I can’t hear them. My senses focused on her heavy panting. Arousal bristles my skin. I take advantage of her closed eyes to sink mine into her. She is crouching. A lone strand of brown hair escaped from its tie and found place over her face.

I can see her mouth, but it is not enough. I want to hear her exhausted moans. I want her breath to warm my ear while her petite body rests on top of mine. I want the sweat flowing down her neck to salt my mouth while I kiss it. She leaves. I proceed to collect my stuff.

“I took too long”. I think to myself. I took too long getting my things and now she is gone. I needed to see her one more time. I can’t wait a whole week.

I stumble down the stairs into the lobby. She is here still, it’s raining. I hadn’t noticed. She’s on a hurry, staring impatiently at the rain. Without hesitation, I grab someone’s umbrella and go for it.

We are outside. The umbrella is small, but she keeps her distance. I extend my arm and cover her fully. I don’t care about a little water. She must not have noticed the gesture. The rain rages on. She lets out a squeal and clings to me. Her face and hands firmly against my chest, her palms closed. I’m in shock.

“I can’t get wet”. She explains. “I’m a cat”. Her voice is not what I had imagined. A much higher pitch than what I expected. Christ. How young is this girl?