These Lights

Her lips feel fucking good.
Maybe it’s the lights.
Maybe the music.
Or both
now slowly fading.
You didn’t know how good lips could feel
until this very moment when she pressed
hers against yours.
Her hands are warm,
hot even,
yet you still shiver as they slide under your shirt and rest against the small of your back.
One hand begins to move.
A fingernail traces
the waist of your pants,
a heat seeking missile searching for the source.
Wedged between your bodies
the missile finds its target and drops
under the waistband
despite the pressure of your bodies
pressed against each other.
Your gasp is swallowed, replaced
with a tongue as the hand continues down, led by the middle finger,
under your panties
and immediatly strikes your clit.
Stars explode into the ocean
causing a wake rippling up your spine.
You never thought
about how long her fingers were, but now as it makes it’s way further
you are very aware.
One snakes inside,
hungry and pushing deeper,
making small circles to create
a burrow for the next.
Now two fingers wrestle inside,
their writhing is echoed in your body
held to hers with the other hand.
The sensation so intense you almost
forgot her lips.
Almost.
Her tongue learns from the fingers
slides in and teaches the same dance
to your tongue.
so close
you’re unable to tell whose heart
is beating harder
between your sweat-soaked shirts.
An orchestra of moans squeezed between lips
and drumming hearts
drowns out all other noise
and reaches its crescendo.
Something between
crying and cumming
happens.

She never lets go.