tagCelebrities & Fan FictionGeorgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 03

Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 03


Being kissed awake is good anytime. Begin kissed awake by Kiefer the next morning was exquisite. I was not jolted awake. I was simply suddenly aware of the warm breath near the top of my head. Slowly, his lips brushed my hair, ear, neck, shoulder, forearm, and then, even more slowly, traced the now tingling path back up to my cheek. This lazy traveling up and down of those lips against my skin should have had me shaking uncontrollably, but I found myself calm instead. Why not be calm? Enjoy this? I'm either dreaming or, if it's real, it'll probably never happen again.

I don't know how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks this heavenly assault continued, but my body's response was to flush with heat and go limp. Kiefer's body smelled of some maddening male musk--some divine, or diabolic, pheromone to drive me to distraction. My nostrils sucked up the precious scent. My eyes finally flickered open when the lips stopped at my cheek and pulled away. So close. So close. His face so near to mine. His breath was warm and smelled faintly of tobacco. Finally I thrilled to hear Kiefer's growl in my ear. It was bliss.

"Good morning," came the growl.

"Good morning, to you, " came my near breathless response. My body found life again. I squirmed. His face was near enough to my eyes that I could almost count the individual facial hairs comprising the captivating stubble. The stubble had lent itself to the sensations that had accompanied the voyage of his lips up and down my body only moments before.

Kiefer's upper body rested on his bent right forearm and he smiled down at me from this position, a half-mocking grin on his face. The hair was slightly mussed. The eyes sparkled with mischievousness. I marveled to see them so close to my own.

"God, I thought you'd neh-ver," he emphasized the word, "wake up!" His left hand went to my hair on the pillow, twisting a bit of it around his fingers. "I thought I was gonna hafta dial 9-1-1," he softly chuckled.

The husky whisper had my stomach in knots, my insides quaking. He could easily have been delivering the NASDAQ report and I'd have known no difference. One hand twisting my hair, the other extending from his bent elbow resting on my arm, I struggled to make clear to myself that I was really here. That he was really here.

The raspy voice continued in my ear.

"Sleep well," came his query.

Ummmm, I thought to myself. Heaven.

"Very well," I whispered. Pause. "Very, very well."

"Ahh," he whispered back. "Very well, eh?" He winked at me as he uttered the word "eh."

"Uh huh." I smiled up at the face lit with animation as I nodded my head up and down.

A tap at the door. My first thought was that somehow Shirley had divined Kiefer's presence and was here to haul him out and back to the big house, so to speak. Busted. Damn. Every fiber of my body tensed in anticipation.

Kiefer must have suspected what I was thinking as he read my body. He began to chuckle again, shaking his head.

"No, no. It's Del. He's bringing coffee and something . . . dunno what."

As he finished the explanation, Kiefer had already backed out of the bed, rounded the end of it, and crossed the room halfway. My eyes were glued to his buttocks, the smooth snow-white fabric hugging the form tightly. I leaned up on one elbow in order to get a better view. I envied that underwear.

I also missed that warm body. The air conditioning vent was pumping out cold air--its response to the humidity--a humidity high enough that I was frightened about what my hair might look like at this point. Any moisture in the air and the straight, polished look was gone within seconds. I sat up fully, reaching up and smoothing the palms of my hand over my hair in an attempt to tame it.

It suddenly occurred to me that indeed I had been sleeping well since I had no recollection of Kiefer calling anyone. I wondered how long he'd been awake as I watched him glide across the room. What had he been doing while awake? Watching me? Oh. Was that possible? Desirable?

As my eyes remained on him, Kiefer reached for the door's bolt and slid it free, opened the door, and ushered Del in with a "good morning." Del rolled in a cart laden with silver-domed dishes and Kiefer closed the door behind. He and Kiefer spoke softly for a moment, then I heard Kiefer clearly extend his thanks as he re-opened the door. I envied Del for hearing distinctly the words that Kiefer uttered to him. I was consumed with a jealousy over the voice. I wanted to swallow each and every captivatingly raspy word, chew them, digest them, assimilate them into my being. I wanted that voice near my ears again. Del briefly glanced my way before silently retreating from the room. Kiefer re-engaged the bolt on the door and turned, the cart before him.

Now emerged from the toasty bedcover from the waist up, the cold air was also enough to make my nipples stand up and salute. I would be less than honest, though, if I failed to admit that the cold air was only half the stimulus. The thin fabric of the t-shirt could not hide their condition. My gaze rested on Kiefer's face. I watched as he grasped the handle and raised his head to push the cart to the bed.

The movement of the cart abruptly ceased. Kiefer blinked and looked at me for a full two or three seconds before a sly grin appeared on his face and he asked a question.

"You cold?" The eyebrow went up.

"Well, yeah. How did . . .?" I stuttered.

Then I realized the erect nipples had told the story clearly. Kiefer swiftly maneuvered around the cart and jumped into the bed, facing me this time, lying on the side of the bed I'd been on all night.

"Wanna come over here and get warm?" he rumbled. The eyelids lowered halfway.

I didn't answer. I suddenly felt indescribably sweet. Well, that's not right. I didn't feel sweet--the moment felt sweet. Kiefer smiled at me, a lopsided smile, then his eyes widened and the brows went up again.

"You don't wanna be warm?" he asked softly, teasingly.

I knew I had to, should, speak. But I still couldn't find the words. I'd slept so well. I'd been awakened with sweet kisses. I didn't feel like talking. My response, finally, was to smile back, as engagingly as I could, as I scooted the short distance across the bed. As I moved towards him, Kiefer's arms managed to wrap around me, one under my neck and one over my waist. Each of us on our side, facing one another, I simply stared into his face, my hands finding the right places. My right hand went under his cheek that rested on the pillow, my left went to his chest and softly rubbed his skin.

Kiefer's smile widened.

"Should I rub your chest as well? That seems to be where you're the coldest." The grin was evil now.

Kiefer's personal smell radiated from his body--those pheromones again--calling me as the Sirens had tempted Odysseus. His scent filled me, making me lightheaded. But unlike Odysseus, I was unbound--my hands free to roam. I grabbed his chest hair and tugged in protest to his comment about my own chest.

"Ouch," he exclaimed softly, reaching the hand that had been resting on my back around to rub the spot where I'd pulled the curly chest hair. "That huh-urt!"

His lips pouted in mock-pain. I couldn't resist them. Resistance was futile. I inclined my head forward and up, making my lips reach his and softly brush against them. His response was to rub his nose against mine, making slow circles with the tip of his on the bridge of mine. His head came to rest with his forehead on mine. The contact between our foreheads struck a warmth deep within me.

When Kiefer's head nestled again into the pillow, his right hand went to the side of my head. The fingers rested lengthwise above my ear from my hairline back. The thumb made slow circles on my temple as if to soothe me. I didn't, however, know if I wanted to be soothed or the opposite. The fingers of my left hand languidly traced figure-eights on Kiefer's back. We were silent, enjoying each other's touch. Finally, Kiefer spoke as he pulled back and turned away, positioning himself on the edge of the bed.

"Let's see what Del's brought." A pause before he continued. "Coffee?" Kiefer asked as he turned his head back to look at me.

Again, I elevated my upper body by resting on my elbow and forearm.

"Umm. Yes. Black, please."

I watched as he poured coffee into two cups. Simply watching his fluid movements sent an unbidden electric current down my spine. He then swung his legs back up onto the bed and pulled the cart to the edge. Arranging pillow and body to lean against the padded headboard, he reached over to the cart, cradled one cup and saucer, and passed them to me carefully. I scrambled to a similar sitting position, careful not to move the bed unduly, and accepted the offering.

As I settled against the headboard, I stared straight ahead and slowly sipped the hot coffee. It was good and welcome. I could see Kiefer following suit via my peripheral vision. We silently sipped until the cups were emptied. I turned to lean over Kiefer and replace my cup and saucer on the tray. Moving to return to my position, Kiefer's left hand caught me around the waist as his right moved to replace his cup and saucer.

Kiefer's hand on my waist was more than a light touch. It was insistent--again the Sirens' call. I moved and lifted my left leg, placing it down on his right side, in order to straddle Kiefer's body as he pulled me to him. The heat spread feverishly from the places where our skin touched: my inner thighs on his outer, my hands now--palms down--on his chest and his hands on top of mine. I'd kept my weight on my knees, but now settled back on my behind, resting it somewhere around Kiefer's knees. I wriggled my bottom into a comfortable position, not to be provocative, but simply because I felt comfortable in doing so.

We looked at one another in silence. Considering the circumstances, I was quite at ease. I felt none of the anxiety, none of the angst, one sometimes feels when about to be intimate with someone for the first time. That's not to say there wasn't excitement--oh, there was--but it's safe to say that negative apprehension was nonexistent. Kiefer's eyes smiled at me. He looked so fresh, so engaging. And still, his scent filled, crowded, my olfactory system, obliterating even the smell of food I knew was wafting from the nearby cart. Kiefer's hands scooped up mine and brought them to his lips where he kissed the backs of them alternately, repeatedly, softly.

I leaned down nearer to his face, my hands pulled away from his and rested on his chest, my breathing more labored as I anticipated what might come next. I wanted to speak, but didn't know whether it was the right thing to do. I determined perhaps it was best to let my lips, literally, speak for me. I allowed them to lightly brush his forehead, his ears, his cheeks, his eyelids, and, finally, the tip of his nose. I continued to hold my face near his, our heated breath mingling in the small space separating our lips.

Kiefer's hands had come to rest on my waist as I'd kissed his face. They now moved lower, slowly, his hands cupping my buttocks, his fingers burrowing into the skin and pulling me more tightly to him. Surely the fabric of my panties had disintegrated, disappeared with his touch. I held my breath for what seemed moments, but was only a second or two. Then I pulled up, gauging the expression on Kiefer's face. I did not wish to destroy the magical spell I felt filled the room and hovered over the bed. I took a deep breath and whispered clearly but softly.

"We said we'd know when the time was right." I stopped, continued studying Kiefer's face for signs of direction. I saw emotions, but could not read them. I continued. "Is it now? The time?"

I stopped breathing. I was both afraid to hear and not to hear the response.

Kiefer did not smile. He did not frown. He simply blinked his eyes and nodded a yes. I'm unsure how long we were silent, how long we were still. Finally, the charged air palpable, Kiefer spoke. His voice was husky with desire, his breath warm and inviting.

"It's time," he nodded again. "At least . . . time for me." Kiefer's head tilted slightly as he looked at me questioningly. "You?" His inflection and tone rendered the one word more important than would seem possible.

I shook my head affirmatively. I wanted to move ahead, but didn't know whether to proceed slowly or to forge boldly forward. Perhaps I should just ask. Don't want this first time to set the wrong mood, the wrong precedent.

"Slow?" I asked tentatively. Kiefer looked questioningly at me, so I continued. "I mean, should we take this slow?" I paused again, struggling, in my near-uncontained excitement, to make my meaning clear. "Take a shower, a bath?" I paused again, staring into Kiefer's eyes.

What I saw there didn't communicate patience for a shower. He visibly swallowed and then said in a soft voice, a voice that did not match the hardness beneath me.

"Uh uh. Not now. Don't think I could last that long." His eyes scorched my face as he slowly blinked. I could feel the heat as he, now, struggled to communicate. He continued. "Quick now." Then he added, "Slow burn later."

It's difficult for me to explain what the words "slow burn" communicated to me--to my body, my brain. Or perhaps those words shot straight into my soul. Slow burn. Was that not what I was now feeling as he spoke those words? Could I burn anymore without igniting?

Without warning, Kiefer sat up and somehow I was lifted up, turned around, and placed onto my back. The move was seemingly instantaneous. I was there underneath him within the blinking of an eye. His right inner thigh rested over the top of mine. He exerted enough pressure to signal that he wanted me to know, to feel, his strength. But the pressure was not enough to hurt. His right hand clasped the left side of my neck, again, firmly, but not as to cause pain. What followed was a string of dizzying, hot kisses. Hard and insistent. Our hands flew from spot to spot. I found myself moving my touch from Kiefer's head to as low on his thighs as my arms would allow. All parts in between were fair game.

Moments after the kissing began, Kiefer rolled fully onto me, his body clamping down on mine, hot and hard. He was more muscular than I'd imagined. It was amazing how ponderous his light body felt on mine. It's not easy to put in plain words. It was not his weight that held me fast. It was his being. It pressed me down and into the bed's plush mattress. My hands went instinctively to Kiefer's buttocks and I began to knead them with deep intensity, a move immediately rewarded with his body thrusting into mine. This could have lasted forever--I wouldn't have minded--but all movement unceremoniously ceased.

Kiefer sat up on his knees. His hands reached slowly to the bottom edge of my t-shirt. His eyes locked on mine, again with neither smile nor frown, and he stared deeply as he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, pulled the garment up. The edge finally rested just above my breasts. Kiefer's eyes remained steadily fixed to my own. Quickly, his glance rested on my breasts. Then his eyes fastened onto mine again.

Before I knew what was happening, my palms still on Kiefer's buttocks, his hot mouth found my left breast. His left hand found my right one. His hand, his mouth, were lightning strikes burning my body. I was even more breathless than before. I'd not anticipated the jolt I felt with his touch. The searing. My palms moved up Kiefer's back to his neck and the back of his head. I held his mouth close to my breast, pressing his head more tightly to me in an attempt to get him to suckle me more intently. As if by telepathy, not only his mouth became more insistent but his fingers as well.

I discovered Kiefer's hands slipping under my shoulder blades. He pulled me up, into a sitting position, and continued the upward pull of my t-shirt until it came up and over my head and then it disappeared. Good. Nothing, please, I thought. Nothing between us.

Kiefer's eyes smoldered, never leaving my own as he pushed me back down onto the bed. Kiefer moved down, straddled my knees. His fingertips curled between the thin elastic at the top of my panties and my now overly-sensitive skin. As his fingers touched me, I imagined my skin rising to meet them, he so slowly, so maddeningly, lowered the fabric to near above my knees. His head bent, and his mouth, lips, scorched my skin as he planted kisses on my soft, pliant belly. Shifting his right leg back over my body and away, Kiefer's fingertips continued to roll the tuft of fabric down my legs. Down, down, down. Down my shins, down over the ankles, down, up, and out over the feet. This swatch of fabric, too, landed who knows where. Near the t-shirt. Not. It made no difference.

The most striking thing about the removal of my underwear was that we never broke eye contact, and, still connected via this visual bond, Kiefer's palms moved purposefully down my upper thighs, back up my outer thighs, and down again. I squirmed, shuddered almost, as Kiefer's hand rested between my parted thighs and he slowly thrust two fingers deep inside me, our eyes still engaged. It was intensely personal. The eyes, it seems, are truly windows to the soul. Few men have ever maintained the amount of eye contact with me during sex as did Kiefer, and none had matched the sheer intensity of his gaze.

My mind was in no shape to focus, to form any plan. I was only acutely aware that I wanted to make him feel as he was now making me feel. I was working on instinct, and my instinct was to get his underwear down. To bury my head between his thighs. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to burrow my head there, perhaps clamped between those powerful thighs at which I now glanced. But Kiefer's thumb had made its way upward and caressed my now-swollen and sensitive clit. I wanted to pull him on me, into me, and I wanted to taste him at the same time.

I grabbed Kiefer by the shoulders, too excited, too impatient to fully enjoy his hand between my thighs. His left hand had moved under my waist, raising me ever so slightly upward. His right knee moved inside my legs and he used it to push my left leg out, allowing him better access with his fingers and thumb. I could not hold back. I wanted to prolong the build up, prolong the frenzy, but the sensations created in me by his manipulation coupled with his frank and earnest stare had me over the edge before I knew it.

It was one of those orgasms that leaves its marks. Slowly, snail-like, my body rumbled, shuddered, shook as my inner muscles contracted, groping, searching, for what I knew was within reach. I was aware that tears had sprung to my eyes, but they were from the intensity of the moment, mine and Kiefer's eyes still on one another as he witnessed my utter vulnerability to his touch. My insides ached to be filled, sated with his stroke. My arms, during the orgasm flailing all around, now settled once again on Kiefer's shoulders. I pushed him over rather roughly in my haste to taste and feel him, not extending to him the same consideration and patience he'd shown me. I was too anxious. Too eager. I grasped the waistband of the underwear and pulled the white cotton fabric over and down the hard-on nestled within. I remain unaware of how the briefs were fully removed. Later in the morning, I found them on the floor near the foot of the bed.

I pushed Kiefer's legs apart, knees bent, not relinquishing my hold on his thighs. My head went between his legs, moving slowly side-to-side as I felt the warmth of his body, the hardness, smelled the smell. Then I lifted my head, my face only inches from the thoroughly masculine appendage I knew I would soon feel deep inside, and my eyes clamped once again on the clear blue-green ones peering down at mine. I curbed my desire to feel him in my mouth and began to softly lick Kiefer's inner thighs, switching from left to right. I was rewarded with both verbal and kinesthetic response. Kiefer's moans made my own body shiver, and his body ever so slightly pushed upward with each lap of my heated tongue.

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