California Afternoon

The offshore breeze is a cool caress on sun-warmed skin, carrying with it a tang of salt. You've spent the day playing tour guide, and while the sun won't be down for a couple hours yet, you're headed back to his hotel out of necessity; he wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, and managed to soak his shoes in a fountain. He said it was because you were too distracting for him to notice a large fountain, then exaggeratedly ran his eyes up and down your body. That felt almost as nice as his broad hand on your back as you moved through the light crowd; a constant light touch, an occasional caress, warm breath on your ear and neck as he leaned over to whisper a comment in your ear. It was thrilling, to be seduced again; even though you knew what was happening, you let it steal into your thoughts.

You glance at the mirror before getting into the right lane. You've both been talking without saying much of anything, but you didn't notice until now how he's been looking at you. A smile plays across his lips as he leans against the seat, his eyes watching your lips. You laugh, saying "What?" in the midst of the giggle, self-conscious, and he keeps giving that grin, just saying "Nothin'" as he continues to drink in the sight, the presence, of you.

It's a bit brighter as you get out of the car in the hotel parking lot he gives a muffled curse as he puts his bare foot down on the blacktop, then reluctantly puts on his wet shoe and squelches to your side, offering you the crook of an elbow to rest your hand on. Once you're safely in the shade, he doffs his wet shoe, carrying it, dripping, across the foyer to the elevators. One of his long fingers stabs the button for the seventh floor, and the doors slide closed. His free arm slides around your waist, pulling you close, hand resting on your thigh. He bends to whisper in your ear "Whatever would we do if the elevator got stuck?" and you become aware that his thumb is caressing the top of your thigh as he breathes in your ear "Think we could find something to do while they spent an hour or two fixing it?" The door dings open on the seventh floor, then and he traces your hip and waist to rest his hand on the small of your back, leading you off to the left and his room.

Once inside, he goes to the balcony doors with a view of the hills, opening them up and placing his dripping sock and shoe on the table. He hops for a moment, taking off the other shoe, then uses it to prop the door open. "Won't take but a minute" and he walks to the drawers taking out a fresh sock, and a different pair of shoes from beneath the dresser. He sits on the bed and strips off the remaining sock, chatting about the breeze and the things you saw today. You can't help but tease him about missing the rather large fountain. "Good thing that didn't happen at La Brea... the tar would've been a bitch to get out." You sit down next to him as he puts on one sock, and lean comfortably against his shoulder. He forgoes the other sock, reaching over to take your hand. You look at him quizzically, and he bends to kiss your palm, your wrist, your forearm, his body leaning across yours as his kisses work their way up your arm to your shoulder, your collar, your neck. You can feel your breathing catch, the almost butterfly touch of his lips, and the touch of his close hand, running up your thigh from knee to waist. When his kisses reach your lips, you lean into it, pulling yourself in front of, then laying on top of, him, his hands roaming up the backs of your thighs, dragging the hem of your skirt higher with them. You lay atop him, giving him the kiss he had been hinting at all afternoon, his hands loosening your shirt, unbuttoning the back clasp of your skirt, and sliding down the zipper. You sit up, a grin on your face, and one of his hands uncups your your butt to move a strand of hair out of your eyes. You can see him want, feel him pulse with need for you beneath him. He starts to sit up, but you place a finger in the middle of his chest to keep him down. He's breathing so hard at the sight of you, and you hear it catch when you pull your shirt up, over your head. As you shake your hair free, you feel him trace your body from shoulder to hip with one hand. Your skirt is bunched around your waist as you straddle him, but he guides you up his torso to straddle his head. His breath, so deep and careful, teases your thighs as his fingers tug at your panties, moving them to the side to allow him to gently caress you with his breath, his tongue. You can feel yourself start to breath faster as you straighten above him, one hand back on his chest to keep upright, the other on top of his head. You start to rock in time with his movements, letting the clasp of his hand on your buttock keep you steady.

He explores your lips gently, teasing the nub as he moves deeper. First he gently strokes near it, then around it, then presses deep into the well with a tongue that responds to your wants; you're unsure if you're telling him what to do, or he's simply knowing from the clasp of your hand on his head. You can feel his greed for you in his hands on your butt and back, his insistent tongue, his own moans of pleasure as they vibrate through you. You reach to touch yourself, caressing your own breasts and neck, letting the tide of feeling wash through you, rising ever higher. The flush of your skin started at your neck and loins but now suffuses your entire body, a warm glow across your skin that counterpoints to the heat in your blood and the gentle kiss of the breeze. The feel of your skirt on the tops of your thighs, his own shirt on their backs, and the tug of panties moved rather than removed leave you feeling even more needed... he couldn't even wait for you to be undressed to have at your body... to touch you there, to explore every inch of you. The tide of your pleasure peaks, then crests, then collapses like a wave upon the shore. Your body shakes, clenches, arches, and only his hands keep you upright as he continues to taste you. He clasps your body with his forearms, keeping you up, keeping you feeling, until the touch of his tongue is so exquisite it's painful. You hear a cry from your own throat, and throw yourself sideways to escape the overload of his attentions.

You lay panting on the bed, half-dressed, your skirt around your waist and your shoes still on. Your bra was lost sometime in the middle of it... thank God for front clasps, and you're not sure if you took your shirt off or if it simply burned off of you. He crawls up next to you, always in contact... a light caress on your calf, a touch on your thigh, a kiss on your hip, a tracing of your breast. Aftershocks run through you, making you shudder with new joy, closing your eyes as his lips touch yours, his tongue parts your lips and caresses your teeth. Your own hands are not idle, opening the fly of his shorts, tugging his shirt up and out of the way. You feel him, so hard it seems he will burst, then feel his moan in your mouth. His cock has the heaviness of one that is begging for release, and the wet tip of one that is nearing explosion. You stroke it gently, feeling its length bob and pulse as you slide your fingers from tip to base and back again. He takes a deep and shuddering breath, which gives way to deep, heaving pants as you continue to tease him. You know you can't do this long without him losing control, so you take the convenient handle and turn him onto his back. Once again you straddle his head, but now face his feet, gripping his member with one hand, teasing it with fingers and tongue. You gasp in appreciation as he returns his attentions to you, panties worked past your thighs to puddle at your knees and be slipped behind his head. You both employ tongue and hands with great industry, urging the other to greater pleasure, daring the other to be the one who climaxes first. It is no contest, really; while you are further along, he's not far behind, and hasn't had a release. You get only the cry of "OH GOD, IT'S HERE" before he erupts in your mouth, his back arching, his hands forcing your bottom down and your wetness to his mouth. His tongue shoves into you, his hands hold onto you for dear life, and your own body begins to shake as you come on top of him again.

You pant on top of him, your head pillowed on his thigh. It is only a few moments before he begins to stir, touching and tasting parts still too sensitive to bear any more. You see his cock jump groggily, gradually growing hard and hungry again. You both move to the side, and you turn around to face him... both to continue your kisses from earlier and to cease the attentions on you before you can recover. The kisses are full and deep, both of you testing each other's boundaries, and inviting your own to be tested. You feel his hardness against your thighs, and know that he's ready for round three. You reach down to grasp him, to hold him back a moment, and feel the throb of his need in the palm of your hand. He pushes himself up, then on top of you. You open yourself to him, and cry out as he enters you, pushing deep as you cross your ankles behind his thighs.

He holds himself above you, stroking himself in and out of you with a forced measure... you can tell he's controlling himself only with great effort, with a look of pleasure that spreads across his face, the subtle grunt at the base of each stroke. You encourage him, lifting your thighs to wrap around his hips, your heels on his butt, your hands around his neck. As the tide of sensation grows with in you, you hear yourself whispering to him, filthy encouragements and descriptions of how it feels and how much you love what he's doing to you. He moans in response, crashing his mouth into yours for a passionate kiss, his cock still pulsing as it pushes deep inside. As your own passion rises, you dig your fingers into his back, your breath shuddering through you Every part of you is on fire, your skin so tight it feels like you're going to explode in the next instant... then you push farther, and the shuddering locks your body in a tight arch, a scream ripping from your body. He thrusts twice more, hard enough that it would hurt had your body not been beyond that, your mind floating in a sea of pleasure; you're vaguely aware of him crying out in pleasure, feel him collapse on top of you only as a warm, comforting, weight.

He rolls off to the side, still inside you as you both lay on the bed, panting and touching, a light sheen of sweat over both of your bodies. A cool breeze blows through the still-open patio door, raising goosebumps wherever he doesn't touch you. His fingertips trail fire across you, but the tracks cool in the breeze. You lean forward, brushing his lips with yours, a kiss that would seem chaste were you not still intimately intertwined. He pulses inside you, slow... the feeling of one who is sated. His hips move a little, teasing you with the slightest of movements within you. You gasp and smile at him, then throw your leg over his hip and push him on his back, sitting astride him, not letting him slip out of you. With a smile, you ride him for a moment, letting the gentle motions send waves through you both. His hands are on your hips, but you keep him from controlling the motion; you're in charge of this part, and won't let him run things completely. You move his hands to your breasts; large and strong, with long, clever fingers, they begin to squeeze and tug at your nipples, engorged from the pleasures you've had so far. You speed yourself up as he moves one hand down to your hip, his thumb brushing against your clit, his other hand holding your left breast, pinching and tugging until your body gives a soft, relaxing, sigh... all the orgasm you have left at the moment. You let your body rest against his hands for a moment, then lay full flush atop him, letting your body come down from the high. Each little movement of his hands, or caress of his cock as it shrinks out of you, sends ripples of pleasure through you. At some point, you drift off to sleep, still pressed atop him.

You wake to broad hands on your back and buttocks, and lips nipping at your neck and ears. From the look of the shadow on the mountain, the sun is well on its way to down; you estimate that you've gotten a couple hours of nap, but are still fuzzy on how long your previous games lasted. "Up, now. We need to clean up before dinner." You feel his voice rumble through his chest, against your cheek, and sit up, languidly trailing a hand down his chest as you do so. He grins up at you, and you can feel him stirring behind you, his erection brushing your buttocks. Lifting yourself off of him is a little tricky, with legs that feel like spaghetti and the stickiness of dried fluids between you, but you manage to stand up and walk to the restroom. A quick sit, then you climb into the shower to clean off, the hot water running down your body. You hear the door open, the toilet splash, and the lid close, but no flush. He then slides around the curtain, that grin plastered across his face as he looks over your wet, naked body. You flush a bit, and not just from the heat of the water... it's the heat of his eyes as they roam across you from toe to brow, then locking again in your eyes. He steps forward, stoops a half-second to retrieve the soap, and wraps his arms around you. You feel the heat of the water pound your back as his hands massage the soap into your skin. Your nipples press into his skin as your breasts compress against him. His erection twitches against you; no longer tautly erect, it still struggles to attention, hungry despite its earlier satiation. You look up to find him gazing down, then exchange kisses in the heat and pulse of the shower, testing and teasing each other's tongues, tantalizing tastes as you twine together.

He steps slightly back, gripping the shower rail with one hand, the other on your bottom to steady himself as he lowers himself down to his knees. With a gentle command, he parts your thighs, your feet now braced against the side of the tub. He scrubs your legs and buttocks, the water that runs down your back taking away the suds as soon as he makes them. He places your hands on his shoulders and, one at a time, cleans and massages your feet. That finished, he looks up at you, again crooking that grin. Your hands are still on his shoulders, your back clean, water now coursing over your shoulders to run in streams across your chest. The grin decides you, and you pull him closer, his head burying in your thighs. You gasp, in spite of being ready for it, as his tongue snakes out and teases your clit. His hands clutch at your bottom as he throws himself into tasting you, smelling you, exploring you again and again, like a book that always provides new delights. It takes you time to rise to it, his earlier ministrations having been so thorough, but your breath comes quicker, your head lolls back, and your fingers twine in his hair, the other hand gripping tightly on the shower rail. Tongue and fingers and breath and teeth and water and fingers and heat and tongue and breath and moans of pleasure wind around your body until everything combines in a long, full-body shudder that has you grasping his head for balance, his arms holding you upright, lest you collapse.

You rest against him, almost sobbing, barely able to breathe, your legs unable to support you. Carefully, you feel him stand, turning you to lean against him, back to his belly, his erection now full and nestled against your cheeks. His caresses run down the front of your body, outlining breasts and nipples, stroking belly and ribs, ruffling your pubic hair before tickling your thighs. Your body shudders again as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you hard as you pant against him. You pull your hips away, reaching behind you to grasp him, thickly throbbing. You begin to stroke him, slowly, firmly, his mouth now on yours, his fingertips dancing across the skin of your belly, breasts, and thighs. You feel yourself draw strength from the cock in your hand, your legs growing steadier, your body thrumming like a tight-draw bow. You feel him breathing harder and harder, until a ragged voice tells you to bend forward. You smile, knowing that you've brought him to a point where he has almost the barest fringe of control. You release him, pushing your hips back against him before you slowly bend from the waist, your heat rubbing against him the whole way down. You grasp the soap dish handle in front of you, feeling his hands on your hips, his legs shift as he finds the angle...

He sinks his shaft into your passage in a single, passionate, lunge, his hips pushing hard against yours. He pulls back and slams forward again, trusting your arms to take up the force, keeping you from hitting the wall as he fills you again and again. The length, the hunger, the need of you both almost overwhelms you, and you can feel your knees giving way. His arm wraps around your waist, keeping you upright, and he slides out of you, turning you about to crash his mouth into yours, lifting you up and bracing you against the wall before plunging into you again. You look over his shoulder as he supports you against the wall, slamming into you again and again, his fingers gripping your thighs as he withdraws and plunges into your sex. Your orgasm crashes down around you and you grab onto him with all you have, fingernails digging into his back, heels into his buttocks, teeth into his shoulders hard enough to leave a salty, coppery taste in your mouth. His back arches as he makes a final, desperate thrust, spending himself so completely that you fear he'll fall, taking you with him.

Swaying unsteadily, he rests for a moment, pressed up against you. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulls back and out. You two shower together, then, gently testing and teasing, but nothing more; there's barely energy for that much. Afterwards, you towel each other off, a gentle massage with terrycloth, before dressing and, by mutual consent, going no farther than the hotel restaurant. A warm, contented glow suffuses your body, and the two of you are seldom out of contact the entire evening; a gentle touch, a stroke of the cheek, a hand on a hand. Dinner ends late, and you ride the elevator to his room, no change of clothes with you, but enjoying the thought of an evening simply laying together, touching and talking, until the both of you fall asleep.

And, you think with a bit of a mischievous grin, waking up next to each other, well-rested for tomorrow.