Last Night

bylustybard©

It was too late when I went to bed, I knew I'd only get a few hours sleep. But I couldn't help but lie there for a few minutes and reach out to you, couldn't help but think about our conversations and what I'd do if you were suddenly there beside me. It was far more important than sleep by that point.

I thought of our bodies entwined, of you half-asleep and slowly twisting to lie against me, within the circle of my arms, my cock barely brushing against your belly, your thighs, and that slightest contact causing me to stiffen and to lean closer until the length was pressed against you. I thought of my hands sliding down your back, fingertips interlocked across your spine, of the rise and fall of muscles beneath my palms and how you would stretch, your arms crossed above your head, as my hands parted and followed the swell of your hips, the inviting curve of your ass toward the sheet beneath. I thought of my hands sliding down further, working their way beneath you, fingers tracing the cleft, finding the opening and stroking it gently before moving on, while I was trailing kisses down your throat, sucking at your neck almost hard enough to leave a mark, then nibbling up and down the length of it, my tongue darting out to taste your skin. I thought of brushing my face against you, my cheek against your shoulder, lips finding the upper edge of your breastbone and following it down, and yes, obsessed like we all are at one point or another by the breasts themselves, ringing them with kisses spiraling upward, my nose brushing against each nipple unconsciously before the mouth finds it, my eyelashes fluttering against your skin as I lick lightly, as I tease my lips across, first closed, then open, allowing the rigid tip to slide inside and back out, my tongue caressing it, several times before I do turn to sucking at it and allowing my teeth to close gently, tugging ever-so-slightly then pausing, waiting for your response.

Already, my thoughts were racing forward, unable to be held back by overwhelming sensation as I would be in real life, and they moved further -- thinking of the slow roll and thrust of my cock against your thigh, of the shaft, swelling and grinding over your soft, sensitive flesh, of the thick, smooth head slick and sliding over you with increasing speed, even with a certain type of grace. I thought of how badly I'd want to be inside you by that point, before my fingers had yet eased their way into your wetness, testing the depth, the readiness; of how my urgent cock would try to take over my lusts, needing to feel the embrace of your lips, of your ass, but most particularly the perfectly-formed, sweet surround of your cunt, diving to the very floor of your oceans, thrusting and rocking and bursting through foam as it surfaced again. I would want all of that so agonizingly, I'd be moaning against your breasts; and yet, I would pull back from you until only my lips pressed against you, perhaps the sweep of my bangs, and deny my cock for the time being as my kisses moved down your ribcage, as they traced the curve of your belly, the corner of my lips catching at your navel and my tongue teasing out for another moment.

So many times I've imagined this already -- the way my chest would be pressed between your thighs, your legs up over my shoulders, as I moved down to devour you, as the almost-invisible hairs on your lower belly would tickle my lips and the scent of you would rise to fill my nostrils, even more enticing than I'd expected, and again making it difficult to move slowly. But I'd find the control, wanting to take time, to make you my own and savour every individual perfect moment of the act.

Even after descending, I'd begin by kissing my way up the trembling trail of each inner thigh first, feeling your body already shifting beneath me, your legs spread wide, your hips tilted to offer me more of yourself. But I wouldn't linger there for long -- my kisses would find you, soft as air for a beginning, tracing the outermost edges first, then moving in, barely touching as they moved over each fold, as they came so close to your wetness that the humidity approached a hundred percent, then moved back up to the hood covering your clit, and there my tongue would peek out for the first time, as if to invite this other hidden flesh to expose itself, perhaps teasing the very tip of the tongue beneath to say hello ... but then sliding down; once the tongue is introduced, it cannot be ignored, and I would explore you with it every way that I could find. I'd lap at you, I'd flutter gently at your clit and at the opening to you, working it bit by bit apart, I'd twist and turn and tease my way inside, finally drinking you in, finally learning the true taste of you and how you would shiver at that first lingering hidden caress.

But by then, my fingers would have grown anxious to play -- after moving from hips to breasts, squeezing, tugging, and back down, they would want to be inside; and my tongue would have its own agenda as well. So the first finger would replace it, sliding smoothly to as yet-untouched depths and curling up to stroke you; and my lips would close over your clit, urging it out, the very tip of my tongue causing electric shocks each time they were pressed together. Prolonged touch would be too much, and you would gasp, shake, twist your fists into the sheets; so my tongue would retreat slightly, passing over your clit, quivering in time, fluttering faster as I added another finger inside and they began to slide out, then ride the wave back in, finding a rhythm that your hips matched a moment later. They would spread inside you, they would shake, one would curl upward to find the hidden spot that would make you moan and cause the first shocks of the coming quake to spread, and the other would reach as far, as deep, seeking the center of you as fully as possible. Eventually, a third might join in, but by then all touch would be turning to an urgent, wailing race to make you come, fingers fucking you hard and fast, my tongue a blur against you, the covers thrown aside, a streetlight flashing in my eye each time I'd pull up for a quick breath then dive in again, the sheets soaked beneath us, your whole body lifting, thrusting, every muscle tensed, half-hearing you cry out my name and then all at once, being flooded, a gush down my palm, my wrist, you clamped tight around my fingers, racing through pleasure after pleasure, and even when you collapsed, gasping for air, pushing me back, taking you right into another one until I heard you scream, until you locked your legs around my back and I thought you'd crush me.

Then, I'd ride through the aftershocks with you, kissing your thighs, nuzzling against your belly, your hands in my hair, and even though the darkness would hide it, I would smile. I'd move up to hold you, murmuring your name, wrapping my body close around yours, kissing you slow and deep in ways that said more than any words I could choose. Eventually, you would recover, and we would find things to do with the hardness that would still press against you ardently; but last night, I was reaching for you, and what I wanted was to be the one filling you with unexpected joy.

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