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Though neither of us have ever had a problem with needing to fan the flames higher. I think we’re always on the verge of burning so bright it could set the world ablaze. An intrusive thought tells me the feeling might not be mutual. That’s a real fear— that it’s been one way and this is some weird form of slow torture— the back and forth, the sex and fights, the courting one day and ignoring the next. Then there’s the fact that he’s done a lot with far too many women for me to ever think that this is something special to him. But it’s incredible for me, and obviously, he keeps coming back, so it has to be good for him in some way. Right? That’s what I have to convince myself of, to align with the lust practically possessing me right now.
“Hi.” I finally whisper back after his hand stops moving, and his fingers press against my lips.
“What are you thinking about?” I chuckle nervously, mostly because I’m the one who normally has to ask this question. He’s always been mysterious and elusive to me, but tonight, I’m the one with secret inhibitions. And I like the way he’s trying to figure me out.
“Does this feel good to you?” I ask him, looking down at his fingers lingering inside me.
“Yeah.” He nods like it’s this definite thing, which makes me feel better than it should, and worse because I’ve not done things I thought we would before actually having sex. Given, that’s where this is supposed to be leading.
“But, is there something…?” I inhale a quick nervous breath, attempting to push through. “I don’t know…” I shake my head. “Something else that I could do for you?” He blinks at my lips, then back to my eyes.
“Are you asking if you can…?” His brows rise implicitly.
“I’ve only used my hands to…”
“I know, but you don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He twitches a grin that’s soft like the look in his inviting gaze.
“I want to.”
“This is a lot for you in one night. What if we just focus on you and us?”
“You don’t want me to…?”
“I do…” There’s a quick distance in his eyes that travels across his face. I don't understand why, but my first inkling is to assume he’s withholding something from me, but what could it be? Does he not want me to try things with him because he thinks I’ll be bad? Am I not good at this stuff? I’m new to it, but he hasn't seemed to have a problem with my lack of skills before.
“But?” I press nervously, and he looks back at me before shaking his head.
“Nothing. I do want you to.”
I bite my lip before pulling his to mine. For a second, I think he hesitates, stiffens his neck a little, but we still collide. When we do, everything fades away, and it’s just desire in the air that we’re breathing. I’m fully ardent for him, wanting whatever he has for me to consume my body and take me into another reality where nothing matters but getting exactly what we want.
His hands grip me now with more determination, and he lifts my lingerie off my body, exposing everything to him. He holds me closer to his bare chest before lifting me up and carrying me over to a bookshelf. He rests part of me on one of the shelves, pressing me against it before kissing me again. I drag my nails into his tattooed back, and he throws his neck back a little, chin raised. With a grin, I kiss down his neck, covered with tattoos and the scent of the most incredible woody cologne.
His hold on me is firm and assuring. I’m exhilarated by him, lost in what we are to each other currently— tools of pleasure. If I keep telling myself this, I can have him the way I want and ignore my heart telling me to stop this immediately. I reach for his sweats by sliding my finger tips down his abs, but he stops me right when I’m at the line of his boxers underneath them. He grabs my hand, and brings it back to his chest before whispering into my ear, “Not yet”, then placing me on my feet.
I freeze, watching as he drops to his knees, pulling me closer to him, and I hold on to the shelf behind me to steady myself on his shoulders. Before I can fully gain balance, his tongue is pressed to my clit, and I’m gasping from the surge of pleasure it sends throughout my body. He traces his tongue in a steady figure eight— over my opening, then back to my mound.
It’s a form of endurance, trying to hold myself steady as he rolls over me. He speeds up just a bit but continues in the same pattern until my legs are shaking, and he’s slipping a finger inside me. His adamant tongue flicks over my aching clit until I lose control over everything, and I’m grinding my hips into him. He steadies them just as the bursts of pleasure become too much for me to bear, and I let out a moan as the height of my pleasure takes over.
Chills rise across my thighs as he grips them tightly, knowing full well that I'm at my peak, but not slowing down. I try to reach for his head, tell him I’ve come, but he grabs it and carries me back to the fur covered center of the lounge.
He drops me down rather quickly, briefly knocking the wind out of me, but my collision with it is nothing compared to the pleasure building once again. He’s at my opening again, and he doesn’t stop, pulling my thighs over his strong shoulders just as I rise to a pleasure I’ve never known. It’s out of this world, immeasurably euphoric.
I can’t hear myself for a second, but I know I’m moaning his name, short sharp moans only being released because I have no other way to release such pleasure.
He kisses up my stomach, stopping at my nipples, and takes turns between the two. Our sticky bare skin presses against each other as he looks into my eyes, inserting a finger in my drenched sheath again. He moves it slowly as he licks my nipples lightly. My heat quakes with pleasure as I hold him steadily, wanting more. Then the chills rise and my head curls back, and he shoots up to my face just as I am released from the euphoric pressure, into bliss once more.
His eyes study mine, greeting me when the chills subside and my muscles relax. Slowly he pulls his hand out of my wet heat and I watch in a daze as he wriggles out of his sweats and underwear with one hand, in a swift movement. He kisses my lips with his, that are still damp from my heat and the moistness of our collective sweat. It’s salty and sweet, but his lips are soft like they always are; Plump and perfectly fit for mine.
He kicks his clothing fully off his ankles using his feet. I watch, mostly because his body is spectacular and because his long hard length is so close to my opening that I begin to shake a little. He doesn’t notice, and he sits up on one of the emerald sitting chairs with a soft blanket draped over the back, calling me to him with his fingers.
I rise, crawling over to him as he watches, stroking himself just a bit as his smirk grows, eyes dazed like he’s never seen someone like me before. His hand reaches for my head, when I get nearer to him, rising onto my knees, so my face is at his length. I let him tangle his long fingers in my hair, guiding my lips to his tip.
“Try.” He whispers when I hesitate, not sure what to do, but hoping instinct will take over. Do people have an instinct for sucking dick? Or is this a new concept? I’m pretty sure it’s just as natural as everything else we’ve done.
With one last breath, I open my mouth. The second my lips collide with his tip, he lets out a little moan that makes me wetter than I already am.
I flick my eyes up to his as I pause, and he gives me a nod like everything is better than okay, so I continue. I suck all the way down to the base of his length and back up again.
