Expressions . . .
I’m sitting at my computer, typing up a new story, when I hear some one knocking on the door. I’m not expecting anyone so I am surprised when I open the door and see you. “I thought you were going to be out of town for a few more days.” I say after closing the door behind you.
“I came back early so I could see you,” you reply, “So how were things while I was gone?”
“Same as they usually are . . . horrid.” You walk over to where I’m standing and wrap your arms around me as you pull me up against you. Your hand slides up my back to my shoulders, where you begin to knead my tense muscles. Closing my eyes, I melt against you, lulled by the brush of your lips against my hair and the magic of your tender caress. I make a little sighing sound as your hands cup my butt, lifting me, pressing me against your body. “So tell me what expression is on your face,” you tease.
I think for a moment before I answer, “Happy. Turned on, if that is an expression. Perhaps a little afraid.”
“Lets explore that last one,” you suggest as you rock my body against yours, the friction drawing a gasp from my lips. Luckily you are still holding me because I’m not sure my own knees will hold me up. I hide my face against your shirt front, breathing in your wonderful, unique scent. “Tell me what you’re afraid of,” you insist.
I’m quiet for a moment before I shyly whisper, “I’m afraid of being alone again . . . that one day this will all end and you will leave me.” You say nothing to ease my fears . . . instead you grab my hand and pull me toward my bedroom. When we stop beside the bed, I close my eyes and bow my head toward the floor . . . trying not to cry. I hear you shrug out of your jacket and toss it onto the chair. Then you surprise me with a request, “Angel, would you take off my shirt for me?” I open my eyes to see you standing just inches in front of me. I reach out to your broad chest, covered by crisp, light blue oxford cloth . . . I can feel your heart thumping as I slide my hands to the shirt buttons. You stop me for a moments by lifting my hands to your lips and kissing each in turn before you return them to your chest. I begin to slide open the buttons . . . my fingers touching warm skin and crisp hair as the fabric parts. I can’t resist slipping my hand inside, burrowing into the crinkly hair . . . when my fingertips brush against a flat nipple, you let out a low grown. You feel good . . . wonderful and sensual . . . and touching you brings a wanton heat to my own body. Your rapid breathing and wildly beating heart tells me that you like what I am doing. When the shirt is out of the way, I travel the path my hands had taken again, only this time with my lips and tongue. You bend to nibble at my ear as you huskily say, “My turn.”
I am suddenly shy again, but I can deny you nothing. “Yes,” I whisper, nodding against your heated skin. You must know how I feel because you don’t take a direct approach.
Slowly, your hands slip under the back of my tee-shirt and splay against my flesh . . . then they slide up and down my ribs, touching the sides of my breasts. I shiver, wanting more . . . you give me tiny, provocative kissed as you unhook my bra and push it out of the way. When you take the weight of my breasts in your hands, I can’t hold back a satisfied cry. You seem to know what will feel good . . . what will drive me higher and higher so that all I want is more and then more still. I hardly notice when you pull my shirt over my head. All I know is that I am gloriously free in your arms . . . moving my naked breasts against your chest . . . crying out at the rasps of your hair against my sensitized flesh. You clasp me to you, restricting my freedom of movement, “I want the pleasure of watching your face when I touch you in all the places that feel good.” I am beyond knowing what to expect from you . . . beyond knowing what to expect from myself. “I want you stretched out on that bed,” you whisper while sucking and nibbling on the side of my neck, “beside me . . . with nothing between us.” A shiver runs through me at the thought. “Does that frighten you?”
“A little, but it makes me . . . hot, too.”
“Good.” Again you take my hands but this time you bring them to the buckle of your belt. “But first I would like some more help.” You wait patiently while I undo the belt and the metal hook at the top of your slacks before moving to the zipper . . . vividly aware of your rigid flesh behind it. I feel you stop breathing as I move my hands to your hips . . . slipping them inside your slacks, caressing your strong muscles. I want this . . . want you naked so I can love you . . . it is as simple as that. So I hook my thumbs over the edge of your pants and push my flattened palms down. You exhale the breath you had been holding then, telling me again how much you like what I am doing. Using your feet, you kick the pants the rest of the way off and out of the way. My hands slide up and down your hips and thighs, learning your superb body. There is one more place I need to touch, one more part that I need to know . . . when my fingers brush your hard shaft, you go absolutely still. I close me hand around you, measuring the hot, rigid length . . . I hear you utter an exclamation that is more groan than anything else. Your head settles on top of mine as you say, “Ah, sweetheart, that feels so good. Too good.”
You step back from me, but before I could miss your touch, your hands are back on me, removing my remaining clothes. “Lord, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper. “You’d better let me lie down before you knock me off my feet.” I am the one who is having trouble standing . . . just in time, you bend and pull down the covers. Slipping between the sheets, I move aside to make room for you. You come down beside me and gather me to you. I snuggle against you . . . wrapped in your embrace, your scent, your warmth. I had never imagined this much joy. You kiss my eyelids and my cheeks before taking my mouth in a hot, deep kiss. “Let me love you, angel.”
“Mmm . . . yes.” I thought you would part my legs and move between them, and I waited for the sensuality to change to insistent male urgency . . . instead, you press your lips to the thrumming pulse point at the base of my throat before sliding them lower, kissing the tops of my breasts and finally finding one distended nipple.
I gasp in pleasure as you take it into your mouth and start sucking. I gasp again as your fingers mirror the erotic touch with the other nipple. A small explosion seems to go off inside me, and I arch into the caress. You murmur low erotic phrases against my skin as your hand slides slowly down my body, giving me time to know where it’s headed. When you cup your fingers over the mound at the juncture of my legs, I tense . . . but the tension changes into melting desire as you begin to caress the exquisitely sensitive flesh. I can only draw in panting little breaths as the gliding strokes of your fingers turn me molten. You take me to some high plane I have never visited before, then higher still . . . until my body writhes and my hands move restlessly, beseechingly over your shoulders and back. “Baby, please . . .” I plead, not even sure what I’m seeking. “Yes,” you murmur, “Oh, yes.” When your hand leaves me, I whimper . . . then you are over me, gently moving between my legs. I feel your touch and start to tense again . . . to my surprise, you tenderly kiss me as you surge forward and into me. Then you go absolutely still, “My sweet angel.” You kiss me as you begin to move. At first it is a slow and sensuous rhythm that tunes my body to yours, then faster as hot currents surge through me. Frantically I move against you, desperate for something I can’t name. I feel as if I am on the verge of exploding. My heart hammers, my body is drenched in sweat, vibrating with pleasure almost beyond bearing. I will die if I don’t . . . if I don’t . . . “Baby, I need . . .” your hand moves between us, stroking as you had before. Then with a sudden convulsion, my whole body tightens and releases over and over on wave after wave of ecstasy so intense that I sob out your name. I hear you shout something incoherent as you go rigid about me. I cling to you, lost in a haze of rapture as little aftershocks of pleasure still quiver through me. You roll to your side, taking me with you. The physical storm had left me limp . . . the emotional storm is even more intense. “I didn’t know . . .” is all I can manage to say.
You kiss my damp brow. “Well, now I feel damn cocky.”
I giggle, “I guess you should.” An arrogant male laugh vibrates in your chest as I cuddle against you.
“You must be exhausted. I am too. I only got a couple hours of sleep last night, which is more than you did.”
“So what are you like in bed when you’re fully rested?” I murmur, half asleep. “You’ll find out later.” Reaching down, you pull up the covers that had slipped to the bottom of the bed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” With that promise, I snuggle closer to you and drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Written 12/98 by Night Angel
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