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You lay me down and plant kisses against my collarbone, nipping and sucking a line of warm pecks all the way down to my breasts. You lave at my nipple, causing it to pebble and stiffen beneath your tongue. You mold and shape it into the perfect point, then twist it gently between your thumb and forefinger, causing me to writhe beneath your fingertips. I know you’re an arse man, and you know you’re an arse man, but the way you pay special attention to the parts of me that make me feel good speaks to your character.
When you’re satisfied with how wanton you’ve made me, you continue to travel downward.
Kiss. Sternum.
Kiss. Ribcage.
Kiss. Navel.
Kiss. Oh.
Your tongue works at me, sliding within and without. I cry when you take it away from me. Selfish bastard. When it returns, it seeks vengeance for all the times another could never finish me.
This time feels different. As you flick and suck at the most sensitive part of me (except for maybe my heart), you ignite me. A fire burns deep and low in my belly. You fan the flame and I start to rock against your face.
Grasp hair. Rock.
Head back. Rock.
Sigh heavily. Rock.
Oh. Rock.
It's a series of movements. A pattern. A dance between lovers. The most universal language that any two people could speak together.
As I press my head further and further into the pillow, I call out to any deity that will listen. I raise myself to meet your lips, but you firmly pull me back down, burying your tongue deeper and deeper into my folds, as if searching for my release. The flames rise higher and higher, until they're out completely, and I sob and ache as soon as you pull away. You swipe at your mouth and growl a little. Enough for now.
You reach for my hand and bring it toward your impressive length. You're hard and hot to the touch, already throbbing and swelling for me. You hiss as I wrap my hand around you and I smile to myself because I've got you in the palm of my hand.
I begin to pump you, and your chin falls to your chest. Your eyes flutter closed as you allow yourself to loosen up. With each movement, I feel you relax in my hand. I look up at you questioningly, offering you the one thing I typically can’t stand, that you’ve made me love. You lean down and place your palm against my cheek, cupping it in your massive hand. You ask if I’m sure, as your thumb runs over my lower lip, begging to be let inside. I nod and part my lips, granting you access to my mouth. A resounding fuck yes. A sound of strangled need emits from your throat as I purse my lips over your thumb and suck lightly. I pull back and smile, and reach for you.
My tongue swirls at the tip of you, taking the time to taste and to feel. I will never understand how you could taste salty and sweet simultaneously. Soft and hard all at once. You taste like velvet and familiarity. The sounds you make as I take you in meet my ears, a song of praise that I never want to end. So I take you deeper still, and the song continues.
I engulf you, surrounding you in a blanket of warmth and wetness, daring you to get lost in me. I feel your hands grasp at each side of my head, your hips flexing with each press into my mouth. You're gentle and understanding. There is no pressure, except that which is building at the back of my throat, and between my legs. I just want to ride you to completion.
With one final gentle thrust, you slow your movements, saying that this has nearly been over more than once tonight. I imagine that's a testament to how good I make you feel. God, you make me feel the same.
You pull away, saying that you want me, need me, have to have me straight-away. I assume the position I'm most used to, one of coldness and distance. But you pull me up from my hands and knees and ask me why I ever thought you'd make love to me without looking me in the eyes.
It's then that I know. You're it for me.
We collapse into each other, two stars circling for all of time, finally crashing and desperately wanting. Lips, and hands, and hearts roving, we fall against the mattress, into oblivion. You're above me, pressing kisses against my face.
Temple. Kiss.
Cheek. Kiss.
Nose. Kiss.
Mouth. Oh.
Your tongue plunders mine, claiming my mouth as you climb over me. I can feel you against me, searching for friction. You ask if I still want this, and God I'd be a fool to say no now. I nod as your stubble grazes my skin, causing me to moan in bliss. I grit out that I need you, and no sooner do the words come from my mouth do my legs part for you, and you line yourself up against me.
There's no need for build-up. At this point, there's just need. You don't waste any time. Suddenly you're there.
Filling me.
Wanting me.
Loving me.
Oh.
You drive against me, not forcefully, but not gently. You fill me so well. I can feel myself begin to fall. The flames within me are restored and you're stoking them, encouraging them to burn and consume me. And consumed, I am. You're moving within me and I clutch at your back, certain that my nails leave a distinct line of half-moons in your skin.
I bury my face in your neck and gently rake my teeth against the skin there. The angle has changed and you’re hitting me in just the right spot, and I can’t stand it. I nip at your skin and hear you growl into my collarbone. You’re close too, I can feel it.
A hand works its way between us and you seek out the infinitesimal bundle of nerves that will end me. You work your thumb gently against it, and suddenly I sound louder than I did before. There’s a buzzing as heat builds up at my core and I start to go numb. You coax my release from me, like a bear urging its newborn cub from the den for the first time. You beckon me into flowers, and sunshine, and warmth, and I fall, fall, fall into the intense, slow roll of pleasure that you’ve brought upon me.
I barely register the feel or thrust of you, as you press against me a few more times, finding your own release inside me. I hear you murmur my name, something of home, and something of love. Then it all fades away.
I can no longer hear anything above the roaring in my ears, the din forcing its way into my brain. I see nothing but black as my body quivers, and shudders, and stills. I blink my eyes open slowly, like that of a newborn fawn. Suddenly, I am aware. It’s no longer you that’s above me, but him.
The familiar hairiness, gone.
The faint scent of smoke, gone.
The solid, comfortable form, gone.
Oh. Gone.
You’re replaced by smoothness, a chemically manufactured smell, and a slim figure. As I come back to myself, I realize that he’s bewildered, angry, even. When I can finally see straight and hear clearly, he’s pulled away. Oh yes, he’s angry and yelling. His cheeks are red and his eyes are fire.
He’s asking me why I’ve said another man’s name.
He’s asking me why I’ve said your name. Oh.
Fuck.