Morning After

It's early on a cold, quiet morning and a light snow is falling. I just woke up. My eyes are blurry and unfocused, my heart is clear: Where are you? There is warmth, I feel it. It comes not from the dieing fire in the corning of the room, it is to my left. Your form lies flush against me buried in a heap of thick covers; your hair, the color of bright copper, is splayed out wildly on the pillow.

I lose my breath, as I do every time I look at you; your beauty racks my mind. I don't deserve you; my own perverted twisted form doesn't possess the grace to yours. Your chest rises up and down slowly in a symphony of a lucid vision. What are you dreaming of? I hope it is of me, a livid romantic dream of our first time, quick and awkward but passionate; it is a memory only a day old. My heart beats wildly, thinking about you envisioning me, don't you hear it? I am perspiring a little, wrapped in my cocoon of sheets, blankets and you.

We were not each other's firsts, but the way we both moved last night, it could have been. We both wanted to do so much with each other, both craving each other bodies for our own pleasure and yet also wanting to please each other.

As I look at you, I am torn in indecision. I want to rouse you, hear your voice and feel you pull yourself around me. My desire, my lust, my love wants me to make love with you. But I cannot... You are so perfect, content. I can watch you for hours in this sweet state; not a care in the world, not a trouble or bother. How could I end it?

You stir slightly; I both fear and hope you have awakened. You shrug in your sleep and expose your shoulder. The bare flesh tantalizes me; you have the most pure skin I have ever seen, the soothing color of cream. The few freckles gracing it call to me, and I slowly move my hand to caress the warm skin.

I need more... now. It feels as if my finger tips are sending a calm orgasm through my arms.

On your side, I can only see your body from the neck up; the bitter chill keeps you tucked away beneath the duvet. I run my hand down your shoulder to your neck and along your jaw, causing you to moan slightly and myself to smile; and I worry my touch has awoken you. My fingers lightly caress your cheek until they touch your lips. My fears are realized when your kiss my fingers when they center your soft lips. You take my index finger into your mouth lovingly, gently sucking on it with your eyes still softly shut.

The warm moistness feels like ecstasy on my finger tips, I can feel your love reverberating through my entire body into my heart. I need to say something to you, how I feel, how much I love you, how much I don't want you to stop... but I enjoy the agreed upon silence between us.

I bring my other hand to your shoulder and begin to push down the cover veiling yourself. When it is nearly down to your elbow, your eyes automatically flash open revealing panicked green wells to your soul. You have always been embarrassed about your breasts. Barely a handful, you try to conceal them, ashamed of yourself. Your eyes plead with me to leave them be in their cotton shell, your hand holding the sheet with a death grip. I take it gently and try to pull it away softly and for the first time I press my lips against yours. We kiss softly, but full of passion and we are both lost in the moment.

I pull your hand to my heart, I want to show you how I feel, but no words can describe it, only the beat of my heart.

Your eyes close lazily in yielding concentration and I slip my hand down your neck and my fingers tease your precious skin with the light touch. My fingertips slowly trickle down further and further. You pull away slightly out of reflex... Why do you conceal that which is so beautiful? They belong to you; they are yours so to me they are the most perfect set of breasts I have ever seen. Your eyes stop me in my tracks, but I must continue, I need more of you, like a violent lust that enchants me.

"I love you..." I whisper softly and honestly as I take your breast in my hand. My fingers caress the pure flesh, taking in every curve and bend of your body. My thumbs lightly play with your light brown nipples, pushing them from side to side. I see that at first you resist my touch to your shamed area, but you begin to moan as I your nipple between my thumb and pointing finger. Your eyes move between cycles of squinting and shooting wide open. Your breathing is erratic, you mumble quietly. Perfect, I have you just where I want you.

My hand glides down your stomach, stopping only to trace the hole of your bellybutton with a finger. I see you shiver faintly and I stop to pull the duvet over your shoulder again and I scoot closer to you, our chests pressed together. I feel your breath on the hairs of my chest; the warm air is a delight to my goose-bumped skin. You smile, and kiss my neck.

I can feel your patch of hair now. My fingers begin to snake through it until I see your eyes. They are closed again, and now you have nudged your head into my neck, your cute little nose nestled against my jaw. I can feel your breath on my face now, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body. How odd, I think, the little things a lover does that can mean so much more than just ecstasy.

"I love you." I whisper again, kissing the tip of your nose.

"I love you too." You place a soft, but lingering kiss on my cheek.

"I don't deserve you..." I said to both myself and to you.

My hand stops above your mound, it cannot move down any further. So are so content, and for one of the first times of my life, I decline the sex you have submitted yourself to and return to your face and chest. I caress your cheek and kiss your lips, and pull you as close as possible to me. Your wetness is dribbling down my leg and your pubic hairs are sensuously tickling me, but I don't care. The last thing I hear before I fall asleep once again is you sighing in content.