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Undoing
I'm surprised when he stops me at the door – hand on my shoulder, a trembling thumb rubbing the nape of my neck –
I turn around and the force of his kiss almost takes my breath away and for a moment, I'm still too caught up in my head, contemplating our height difference, worrying about his back bent irregularly, wondering about how I taste, and feel and and –
Then my thoughts fold and fall away, and I finally lose myself in him.
To be honest, I knew that was always a danger – losing myself. I sort of knew that he would always have that power over me. It was something that coiled in my belly as a warning the very first day I laid eyes on him:
He will be my undoing.
In a haze of feeling, I mirror his hand, placing it on his neck and caressing the taut skin beneath the soft ponytail that hangs there. I think part of me is trying to make sure this isn't just a dream, trying to make sure my fingers don't just push through him like a ghost, the same fingers which always ached over how untouchable and unreachable he'd always seemed to me.
But then I smile against his mouth when I feel the warmth of his skin there, reiterating the reality of the situation, and he smiles too, and coos a bit, and my heart begins to race to a dizzying speed with my own giddiness.
"I've given up on holding back," he whispers his confession as he stops for breath, his words almost moans, hanging heavily between us before his lips come crashing against mine again.
I feel a bit ashamed for the rush of relief I feel at this, but then become quickly distracted by the soft flicker of his tongue against mine, sending quick surges of electricity right through me, causing the white-hot fire of arousal to pool between my legs with its emergent, needy throbbing.
(Beneath it all, I can feel the depth of our connection sparking between us, changing its shape and nature, yes, but I still revel in it as it undulates around and within us, drawing us deeper and closer together.)
We move slowly in concert, attempting to navigate through the living room to make our way backward to his couch. It is slightly awkward, of course, and the two of us nearly trip and stumble along the way, but soon we arrive and he's falling backward onto the cushions and I am right there with him, straddling his lap, our passionate kiss resumed.
To be honest, part of me doesn't know what to do, worried that if I misstep in some arcane way, that the moment between will end just as quickly as it started, fading back into the realm of fantasy. So, I ease back and let him take the lead, and try my best to simply focus instead on the journey he's pulling me through.
It feels nice, actually, giving myself over to him, to this, and I find myself almost purring as his hands run up and down the length of my back and his hips lift to press his growing arousal against me.
I've never been good at giving up control, truth be told, but even though it feels dangerous right now, it just also feels so right.
He flips me to his side to lie on his couch beside him and the warmth of his body stretches over mine, his breath heating my neck as he moves his kisses there.
"I want you," he whispers, pressing the words against the hot flesh beneath his kisses.
I can feel that he's almost trembling and I wonder for a brief moment if he's as nervous about the situation as I am.
"I'm all yours," I reply with a laugh, cringing at how trite it sounds, but finding that better – sexier -- words seem too far beyond my grasp.
He pushes my shirt up and quickly pulls it off me, and for a moment I feel a bit cold with the rush of air on my skin, until he is there again, kissing me, kissing my skin in a hot, lingering trail around my breasts and slowly down my belly.
My skirt is discarded as quickly as my shirt was, despite the slight bit of obstruction of tangled limbs, and soon his heated breath is burning against the moistened crotch of my panties and his warm hands are delicately spreading my legs apart.
He eases down to his knees on the floor and leans down to nip and kiss lightly on my inner thighs. He'd always warned me he was a tease, so I hold my breath a bit, wondering how long he's going to drag things out between us.
It's difficult at first, of course, my desire for him, so long denied, pushing me toward wanting everything now, wanting everything to move faster and harder, just letting ourselves get consumed in passion. Still, I know, deep down, along with being a tease, he seems to also be a patient man, so my reprieve will not be so easily earned.
The curl of his tongue against the silk of my panties draws my attention back and I do my best to resist shoving my fingers into his hair to hold his mouth there. My clit, hard and bent beneath the fabric, begs for his touch, begs to be pleasured by him.
It feels like ages before he finally hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties to tug them down my legs, ages of kissing and nipping around my thighs and belly, teasing and teasing me with the occasional, fleeting touch between my legs before moving back on to the other surrounding curves and angles of flesh and bone.
