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He chuckles and rocks his hips. “He says good morning.”
“Feels as if he wants some action.”
“He’s got his fingers crossed.”
That makes me laugh. I turn to face him, hooking my leg over his, and he rolls onto his back, bringing me with him.
Brushing back my hair with both hands, he studies my face, his eyes filled with something akin to wonder. “How do you look so amazing when you’ve just woken up?”
“I think you need to get your eyes tested.”
He smiles, but says, “I mean it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Little tip—you don’t need to flatter me. I’m a sure thing.”
He slides his hands down over my back, then around to cup my breasts in my T-shirt nightie. “In that case, I’d better take advantage of my good luck.”
“Definitely.”
It’s the last word either of us says for a while. We’re too busy kissing, licking, sucking, and stroking, taking time to arouse each other, as the sun slowly fills the room with its thick, buttery rays.
He kisses down my neck to my breasts, and cups and nibbles them through the tee, while he strokes between my legs through the thin fabric of my underwear until it’s soaked with my moisture, and I’m begging him for more.
I brush my fingers over his erection through the cotton of his boxer briefs, then eventually slip my hand beneath the elastic so I close my fingers around him, and marvel at how hard and long he is, arousing him with firm strokes until he groans and flips me onto my back.
Pulling the duvet over us so we stay in our snug den, and stripping off my underwear, he presses the tip of his erection down into my folds, and slides inside me easily. I sigh and wrap my legs around him, and he plunges his tongue into my mouth and kisses me deeply as he begins to move inside me.
Oh, the bliss of making love in the early morning, when you’re warm and safe and with the man you love. I like sex hard and fast; sometimes it’s fun to be a little rough and passionate. I enjoy trying new positions, and oral sex is just heaven. But my favorite is like this—slow and languorous, lazy almost, in missionary where I can look up at him, and he can drive the pace. And this morning he wants to go slow, and we sort of drift toward a climax as if we’re on a punt in the river, gliding downstream.
The nice thing is that I don’t have to reach or make any effort at all to get myself there. With Titus, it’s like he’s gently steering the punt, making small alterations so I don’t drift into the bank, but I know he’s going to get me there in the end, and all I have to do is lie there and dream as I look up at the sky.
I don’t just lie there, of course, I put a bit more effort in than that, but that’s how it feels.
He seems unhurried, keeping up the same slow rhythm for ages, but my body stirs, moistens, swells for him, my muscles loosen, my skin grows warm, my nipples and lips and everywhere, in fact, grows super-sensitive, and eventually deep in my tummy I feel the first exquisite flickers of an orgasm.
“Ahhh…” he says, so I know he can sense it, and he increases the pace of his hips and lifts up onto his hands so he’s looking down at me.
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, torn between wanting to watch him climax and needing to close my eyes so I can concentrate on my own pleasure. In the end I have no choice, and my eyelids flutter closed as he thrusts me closer to the finish line.
I’m hot now, under the covers, and our skin is sticking together. He tosses the duvet aside, and I welcome the cooler air as it brushes across our skin. The rich honey-colored light of the sun falls across us, filling me with a sense of sweetness and warmth. The muscles of the man above me glow as he moves. Jesus, he’s so fucking beautiful.
“Ah God, don’t stop,” I urge, even though I know there’s no chance of that.
“I won’t,” he reassures, demanding, “come for me.”
The pleasurable sensation spreads out from my core and claims me with several fierce pulses that leave me gasping as I fall back onto the pillows. Ooh… mmm… that felt good, and it’s still not over because now I get to watch him climax, which is almost—not quite, but it’s a close thing—as sweet as my own orgasm.
He thrusts harder, faster, his eyes closed, and I know he’s focusing on the similar sensations deep inside, feeling those flickers in his tummy, that fantastic clenching of muscles. He shudders, no doubt feeling the heat of his gorgeous silky fluid rushing up through him, and then he comes inside me, hips jerking, giving sexy, throaty groans.
When he eventually opens his eyes, he looks into mine, blinks, then blows out a long breath.
“Do you want kids?” I ask.
His eyebrows rise, then he laughs as he withdraws and flops onto his back. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.” He watches as I lift up and lean on his chest. “Do you?”
“Mmm.” I draw a heart on his chest. “I was just thinking how amazing it is that what we just did could make a baby.”
“Yeah. Every time I study the process, I think what a fantastic design it is.”
