As a matter of fact, all of him seems to freeze.
There’s no sound except our breathing and the sounds of the television.
After a few agonizing seconds of absolutely no movement, I gather my bravery again and crane my neck to look back at him over my shoulder.
His eyes meet mine, the blue striking directly into my soul. Our lips are almost brushing, our breath mingling. He holds my gaze for just a moment, before dragging his gaze to my lips. He seems to study them almost as if he is trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Or if he’s wondering how I taste. I’m certainly wondering how he tastes.
I can’t stop my hand from drifting up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips.
I slowly bring my fingers to his lips, tracing their full shape. He lightly kisses the tips of my wandering fingers. I feel like he’s looking for something in my face, but I’m not sure what it is.
He brings his hand up, holding my fingers to his lips as we just breathe in sync. There seems to be something building between us and the air feels heavy with it.
“Are you…” he trails off, swallows. Tries again. “Are you sure?”
I can’t even speak. It feels like the breath is backing up in my lungs. I can feel his warm, hard body pressed against mine. I can feel his length pressed against me. His calloused fingertips are holding mine to his lips. Our breaths areis mingling and it feels like every nerve ending in my body is yearning and dying to be with this man.
Dumbly, I nod.
Rather than continuing, he continues to study me, asthough he’s looking to be absolutely sure. As though my verbal consent isn’t enough, and he needs to be exceptionally sure.
I close the distance, parting my lips, slowly, brushing themmy lips slowly against his. Just the barest hint of contact, barely enough to tickle. I slide the very tip of my tongue along the outline of his lips, while his eyes never leave my face. I can feel the starts and stops of his breath against my lips as I continue to torment him. If he wants consent, he’ll get it. In spades.
He pulls back just a fraction and I freeze, in terror, that I have somehow completely misread this situation. He looks at me in disbelief and I see the shadow of absolute need in his eyes before he drags one hand up my body to the back of my neck, dragging my mouth to his in a feverish kiss.
Oh. My. Gods. This feeling… I’ve never felt anything so erotic. His tongue slips between my lips, deepening the kiss. I feel shivers racing down my spine as I feel the warmth of his tongue against mine. My head goes light with the absolute power of the body pressed against mine, the feel of his mouth on mine. Losing myself in him, I’m only vaguely aware of turning to my other side so we are front to front and feel the relief in my neck at no longer holding the odd angle. The couch is too narrow, so I go to toss my leg over his.
He anticipates my move and raises his top leg, trapping my knee between both of his. I can feel the hardness of him pressed against my leg. Meanwhile, my body rejoices at the feeling of a hard, hot thigh between my own. I’ve had no partners that I can remember, but I know, on a soul deep level, that nothing has ever felt likethis. I’m not going to stop. I can’t stop. Stopping would feel like dying.
I need this man, now, more than I need my next breath. I need to feel the security of his weight on top of me. His hands in my hair, on my throat.
He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. All consuming. Like this is the answer to every question that’s ever been asked, all the sustenance he needs to continue his insanely long life. Somehow, it feels familiar, like coming home.
His hands begin to roam over me, frustratingly remaining on top of my clothes. He explores the length of my body, cupping my breast through the thin tank, before running his palm down the span of my ribs to my hip, gripping it and pulling me even harder against him. Without my consent or knowledge, my hips begin to move of their own volition, creating a delicious friction, leaving me dizzy and wanting even more.
My breath catches as her hips start to move. The slow, insistent grinding. Gods, she doesn’t remember. Not consciously. But her body – her body knowsme.
It knows us.
I groan into her mouth, one hand tightening on her hip, grounding us both as she gyrates against me. The couch creaks beneath us, too narrow to contain what’s building, what’s always been there and what — please, gods — always will be.
“You feel me?” I groan against her mouth.
She doesn’t know. Not with words. She can’t. Not yet. She throws her head back, lips parted, eyes glazed. One of her hands fists in my shirt, tugging me closer like she needs more of me, all of me. And I’m willing to give it. Then, now and always. I’m hers for the taking. Even if this is the first time for her, in this time and place, it’s the thousandth for me. And it’s the first. A rediscovery, a coming home.
I shift above her, pushing her flat on the cushions. Rising over her, bracing my arms on either side of her head. She gasps at the sudden dominance — my weight, the pressure, the want and need I’m sure is showing in my eyes. Did I make a mistake?
Then her legs spread, seemingly without thinking, welcoming my weight between her thighs, and I settle in with a low, reverent sound, grinding my hips against hers.
Oh gods. The heat, the pressure. It’s unbearable. I can’t stand it and don’t want it to end.
The heat is unbearable. Her thin shorts are soaked through. I can feel my cock straining behind the denim of my pants, impossibly hard and pulsing. But I’ll take my time — I always take my time with her. I remember every spot, every sound she’s ever made, the way she likes to be touched. I have to learn them all over again and carry the weight of remembering, of knowing that she doesn’t.
My hands finally slip beneath her tank top, roughpalms brushing over smooth, soft skin blanketing long, lean muscles. She arches against my touch, whimpering when my thumbs graze her nipples, already hard and begging. I palm her breast fully, lowering my mouth to the other, suckling her through the thin cotton of her tank.
She moans, low and broken. “Oh gods … please. Whatever you’re doing — don’t stop.”
“Never,” I growl, my mouth moving lower, teeth grazing her ribs, tongue dipping into her navel, before returning to ravage her mouth with a rough kiss. “I’ll never stop.”
