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Shit.
I went off on a tangent. ("What's that? I should kill everyone and escape? Ha! Sorry. The voices...")
Where was I?
Ah, yes. His tongue.
It was his tongue soothing me, tasting me for the first time directly from the source—he'd licked his magical fingers clean after they'd been inside me before. (*whimpers) And there was still this little asshole voice chanting "you're not perfectly shaven smooth" and "you're making him think he needs to do this, and then he's going to peace out because it's YOU who's supposed to be doing it to HIM" and "you probably smell and taste like those brand-new panties you were too excited to wear and didn't wash first" followed by "yum, fabric dye and shipping container—exactly what he wants to be breathing in."
But again, he shut them up with his breath against my flesh as he spoke "you're so fucking sexy, sweet girl."
And the next thing I recollect is suddenly being on my back, stretching out long because—again—he could sense without words that my hips were hurting from being locked in position while I sucked his cock and then while I was spun around and he laid beneath me, healing me with his kisses. He ordered me to lie however it made my hips feel better, so I stretched my legs out straight, my feet on either side of his body.
I thought we were just going to talk for a little while—one of my very favorite things to do with him. He's so goddamn smart and funny with all sorts of stories to tell. He's a decade older than me, and God, no one has ever stimulated my mind and body the way he does.
It still makes me laugh and slap my forehead when I remember I told him not long after meeting him "Wow, you're actually smarter than me. That doesn't happen often with men."
Hold that thought.
I just got a message from him...
FML.
I had sent him a meme about how my zodiac tends to hide all their emotions so they're taken more seriously and looked at as a more logical being.
His response: "Hide from the rest of the world if you must.. Suppress nothing with me. I want all of you, all your love, all your hate, all your joys, all your fears, all your obedience, all the crazy... I want YOU and everything that comes with it. I will train you to be more you than you ever thought possible."
One moment please. I need to catch my breath.
Okay, I think I can brain again.
FUCK. Ok, on my back, stretched out, thinking we're just going to talk for a minute until my hips feel better and I can get back up on my knees to please HIM.
Zen had other plans.
Zen has magical fucking fingers.
Zen can suddenly turn flesh that I couldn't stand being touched into pure quivering need.
I was soaked from his mouth and just... me, how completely aroused he makes me, when I had forgotten what that felt like for years from being so utterly jaded.
And his fingers were so gentle, so gentle I was shocked he had so much control over himself. Not like... mental control, as in keeping his own desires in check, but that he had such an accurate ability to control such a big, powerful body, such masculine, strong hands. My Rough One could also be my gentle giant?
Is there anything this man can't be for me?
Those fingers had me melting into a relaxed puddle of goo at first (after I forced myself to stop worrying about my not-perfectly-shaved-because-she-wasn't-supposed-to-get-any-attention pussy) but then...
Fuck, my eyes just opened after unconsciously closing to vividly remember what it felt like, and I literally just clenched.
Bliss.
Fucking bliss is what it felt like.
A gentle, almost clinical touch, as if he'd slipped into his brilliant mind and occupation to make sure I was really okay, not actually hurt in any way. Slipping one then eventually two fingers inside me, he then pressed his other hand down on my mound and just above it. I'd felt that position many times in my life, always with lubed-up and gloved fingers, my feet in stirrups, shivering cold while staring up at a doctor's office's ceiling.
But this time... the wetness was ours, no glove between our flesh, and my toes were curled on either side of his muscular body. And there was nothing cold about me, but I was most certainly still shivering. Full-body quivering as that familiar position morphed into something so far from clinical it's almost obscene.
And within a matter of what could've been seconds, minutes, or hours—I have no idea—with his sexy voice urging me on, telling me what a good girl I was, thanking ME for making HIS morning so wonderful...
I came so hard I'm pretty sure my soul left my body.
Again.
Because he does that.
Every time.
And I don't know why, but when he had wrung all of my orgasm out of me and he slid his wet fingers up my leg, it felt more like he was marking me with his achievement instead of just cleaning off his hand. Almost like a sexy, confident smirk that said "look what I made you do, little one."
