You stand behind me, thinly veiled impatience shimmering between us, your hands on my hips as I open the door.
The door closes behind us. You push me up against it.
Your eyes glitter in the dark.
You bury your right hand in my hair and slant your lips towards mine. I’m rigid, seeking your mouth, wanting this kiss more than I could have ever imagined.
You make me wait.
Instead of the onslaught I expect, soft kisses, nibbling at my mouth, making me arch against you, making me whimper, wanting more of you than you’re giving me.
When you slide your tongue between my lips, it brings heat and wetness and delicacy that I never expected. It disarms me. My nipples rub lightly against your chest, so tender, so sensitive. I want your hands there, lips and tongue and teeth.
My patience isn’t endless.
My fingers trail up the insides of your thighs, honing in on my goal. You lift your lips from mine and moan lightly as my fingertips rub over you. I seem to be touching everywhere at once.
Your patience isn’t endless, either.
Next time, we’ll take the time to lick and stroke every new inch of skin revealed, delighting in each other. This time, we want each other too damn much.
Your hands tangle in the soft cloth of my t-shirt before lifting it, sharply, over my head. I feel the urgency too. My fingers are frantic as they move from your cock to your shirt, fumbling with buttons before finally swearing and pulling at them. You smile against my lips and help me undo them.
Your pants slide down your legs with the help of my hands. My underwear is ripped to my ankles, skirt pushed up to my waist by your impatient fingers. Your lips and tongue lock on my nipple, suckling strongly as you turn me and maneuver me backwards toward the bed.
When we land, I can feel you beside and over me, fingers starting at my knee, rubbing smoothly, moving higher, and I can’t help myself. I spread my legs for you.
You moan against my nipple when you feel how wet I am.
I gasp, head arching against the bed, when you take that wetness and rub it against the small hardness between my legs.
You turn and kick your pants from your ankles, sliding down the bed, telling me how incredibly good I feel, how badly you need to taste me.
You slide between my legs, coaxing my knees even further apart, running pussy-wet fingers between my lips, opening me completely to your gaze and the tip of your tongue.
I am suspended in anticipation, barely able to breathe, everything between my legs pounding and throbbing and aching. All for you.
You close your lips around my clit and I moan. It doesn’t even sound human.
I am literally shaking. You can feel it.
You suckle me, lips moving over my clit in ways I can’t begin to describe. God, your mouth… it’s like you’re connected directly to my brain, and know just how much pressure, how much to slide, how much to lick, how much suction to give. I arch against you and slide my fingers in your hair, trapped in an endless moment.
“God, please, please…” I beg you.
At this point, I’m not even sure what I’m begging for any more.
With a low growl, you release me from your mouth and travel upwards again, chest hair tickling my nipples. You arch over me.
With no warning, no buildup, you slide your cock inside. Hard.
I’m so wet the movement is effortless. I clench around you, the terrible emptiness inside finally filled. We’re both making sounds, comfort and arousal and sweet pain and wanting, adjusting to the feel of you inside me.
You don’t move yet.
I slide my legs around you, holding you close, not letting you move, and tell you to count to thirty.
Your eyes close.
I can feel your cock jerk inside me. Can you wait that long?
You start to count out loud. You’re going too fast. I clench my ankles harder against you, grinding my clit against you, and warn you to slow down.
I never realized there were so many numbers between one and thirty.
By twenty-five, we’re both trembling, muscles aching from holding back.
Finally, finally, you hit thirty and I release you and you start to move.
Finally, finally, the sweet friction I’ve been waiting for.
Months of waiting.
Sliding into me and against me.
You slide your hands beneath me, neither of us caring about being able to breathe, just have to get closer. You grab my ass and grind me against you. You hold me still for your long, deep, powerful strokes. I’m moaning against your shoulder, not even hearing, nonsense words that come from someplace deep within.
Bodies damp and slick in the moonlight, sliding against each other, timeless.
I can hear your groans just above my ear, whispering how tight I am. How good and wet and soft I feel around your cock.
How your talk turns me on.
I can feel it coming.
A freight train, gathering speed.
Something in your angle, so perfect. You’re hitting my clit with every downstroke. Oh God. I can feel it. Little flutters around you, letting you know how very close I am.
You moan in my ear, tell me to come for you. Tell me to come all around you.
Something in your voice and the way your pubic bone is hitting my clit and the lovely pressure of your cock inside and your glans rubbing up against me and the idea of shuddering and squeezing all around you letting you feel my orgasm and letting it send you over the edge and then it’s actually happening and my hips lock upward everything centered from navel to knees and my pussy is fluttering all around you and you groan and lift your head and watch my face in a rictus of ohmygodyesness and you drive into me once more and twice more and then oh yes deep as it starts for you feeling like scalp and heels and everything in between exist only for this, this orgasm that makes your fingernails hurt and draws a wrenching sound from your throat like you’re a dying man while your cock spurts inside me, jerkingonce, jerkingtwice, jerkingthreetimes, just as my own flutters are dying.
You collapse on top of me, rolling us slightly to the side so we can both breathe.
I want to lick your eyelids in thanks, in praise.
But am too exhausted to move.