Blooming Pt. 01

She had a tattoo of a bird, mid-flight, underneath her breasts. I could only see its center from this position, but my tired mind couldn't help but imagine what the rest of it looked like.

As she peeled a tangerine with deft fingers, her soft voice broke the silence. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not unless you invented hailstorms."

She snickered. "Want something to eat? Drink?"

"No, that's alright, I'll just keep you company for a while if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

We sat at the kitchen island together, facing each other. She pierced the tangerine's flesh for the first time and juice burst onto her fingers. Unthinkingly, she raised those fingers to her mouth and licked the juices off. Her lips wrapped around them. My eyes followed their path back to the tangerine, unable to look away. I noticed, for the first time, that she kept her nails short.

She caught me watching her.

The space between us shrunk down without either of us noticing. Without speaking, she touched her fingers to my lower lip, which parted for her. My eyes closed, lashes fluttering nervously, as the tang of her fingers coated my tongue. And then her fingers were gone and her lips were on mine. Her hand went to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer, and I leaned into her guiding touch. She sucked hard on my lower lip, nibbling slightly, and I gasped. This wasn't an innocent kiss with the potential of romance. This was heady and urgent. Desire rose in my chest, hot and pink and blushing, as my hands went to her hips, pinkies threatening to dip below the waistband of her shorts.

Before I knew it, we were both standing as Blythe grabbed hungrily at my waist. She boosted me onto the kitchen island behind us and yanked the shorts she'd let me borrow down to my ankles. I kicked them to the floor, my bare skin tingling on the frigid marble countertop. I was warmed quickly, though, by Blythe's hands worshiping my thighs. She worked her hands upward, under the button-down I'd been wearing all day, now loose and disheveled. A soft, guttural moan left her throat when her hands found my tits, free underneath the cotton fabric.

Goosebumps rose across my body as she explored my hardening nipples, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger. She gradually applied more and more pressure until she found the exact spot -- right on the edge of pain -- that made my back arch and hips buck as they searched for more. It was like she was tightening an invisible thread connecting my nipples to the rest of my body. My cunt was already wet and clenching and eager with need.

She looped her arms underneath my legs and yanked me forward. She held my legs up, spreading them wide, as she crouched forward. The first words since we'd broken the professionalism boundary were hers as she looked at my exposed pussy, which I hadn't shaved in months given the dry spell my career had caused. I was flush with insecurity, but when Blythe took in the sight of me, she was practically drooling. "God, you are gorgeous."

Before I could respond, her mouth was on me. I could tell that neither of us had done this for a long time, but both of us were falling back into it as easily as riding a bike. Breathy moans bloomed from my lungs as Blythe's tongue discovered each millimeter of me, possessed like she was navigating a treasure map.

She slid her two middle fingers lightly along my entrance. Teasing. Then she plunged them inside of me and I groaned at the new fullness. It had been too long. Way too long. Her mouth returned to my clit, this time completely confident that she'd found the ways to please me, which she definitely had. The only sounds were my pleasure, her fingers inside of me, and the rhythmic hail like tapping on a snare drum. The three of us were a cacophony to rival the best symphonies warming up.

Her tongue flicked up and down just beneath the hood of my clit, in absolutely no rush to make me cum even though she knew exactly how she would. Instead of aiming to overwhelm my senses to get me off as quickly as possible like everyone I'd fucked in college, Blythe took her time to enjoy herself. She wasn't eating me out; she was savoring a banquet. For a while, she stayed like that, just warming up as my insides knotted up, begging for release. My hands went up to my breasts to replace hers. My fingernails dug into the thin skin, leaving pink half-moons behind, and I pinched my nipples hard.

Satisfied with how much I was writhing and whimpering for her to give me more, Blythe curled her fingers inside of me, back toward herself, faster and harder, massaging my walls and stretching me out. At the same time, she ramped up her speed on my clit and changed to circling it, over and over, firmly and insistently. Each pass around heightened the intensity. I felt myself gushing around her fingers, inching closer. My face and chest were hot and my breaths rasped through my throat.

My cunt began to throb, tightening up toward the absolute peak of pleasure. When she felt me starting to squeeze on her fingers, she slowed down agonizingly, keeping me there with expert control. I squirmed and my thighs clamped down around her head while I ground hard against her face. It was desperate and we both knew how badly I needed it and that only made it hotter for her to edge me closer.

Finally, she let my orgasm burst like the juice from a divine fruit on her fingers. Still, she guided me through every second of it, never letting up. I was fully rooted in my own body as each nerve and synapse sparked, fresh and new, reignited for the first time in a long time.

When the waves of bliss finished crashing on the shores of myself, Blythe pulled me up and kissed me hard. I tasted my own gentle tartness on her as my hands roved over her body. She pulled back, hands on my hips, and said, "Thank you, by the way, for calling me beautiful. I wasn't sure how to respond earlier."

Still breathless, I replied, "You've definitely made your point now, I'd say."

Blythe pointed toward the ceiling. "Hail's stopped. Let's get you back to bed."

She kissed me, so softly it took my breath away anew, and intertwined my hand with hers. We walked back up the stairs. Usually, my mind would be wracked with anxiety, trying to figure out the other person's intentions, wondering if there was any unspoken obligation, analyzing every moment that had passed.

But with Blythe?

With Blythe, I just felt sleepy and calm. She didn't walk me to her bedroom and stopped walking at the door to the guest bedroom. Her hand cupped my chin. We kissed one more time, this one lingering a moment longer in the quiet, and she opened the door for me. It was a clear signal that there were no expectations, no disappointments, no shame. So, I rested, easily and deeply and contentedly.