Bitter...Sweet

It is early morning in my living room, sunlight streaming through the windows. She is almost naked, wearing a skirt, and nothing else. It begins as I am sitting on the floor with her bent over the arm of our sofa. My face between her legs, my arms holding her up. Keeping her still. As I'm tasting.

Her moans are soft at first, languid and lingering as the sensations begin to peak, then deep and appreciative when cresting. Not many words but those they are seem more like an internal monologue than for my benefit.

She stands on the tips of her toes and arches her back. I especially like the sheen of sweat, the panting, the shallow breaths and sounds that beg for never stopping, for more. There is the gentle sway of her hips. Sometimes a tease sometimes more of a toss to bring me deeper, harder. The moan like a trailing song then. As she savors.

I am naked sitting there. My body wet with her wet, dripping there, ready. She kisses the edge of my face, along my jawline, her hands on me searching. And finding, she is gentle, tentative but purposeful. Her eagerness to taste me there stilled only by the urge to taste other equally delicious places: a shoulderblade, a collarbone, the rigid peak of a chocolate nipple.

My moaning is perhaps different, even quieter, filled with a bit of shock, amazement at how good this is. When her lips finally reach me there, my body feels as though I have been pricked by a million pins, some barely, others a bit more. I am willing tension away, focusing on relaxation, stillness to enjoy it all, torturous and beautiful at once. When the heat of her breath is against my pulsing flesh, I melt into her, wanting deep.

Tasting she too moans. Deep in her throat, never slowing at her task but now even more ardent. In the sunlight she can see it all before her. And her lips and tongue and teeth explore with tantalizing precision. She sounds at times like a small child at the moment of discovery, all oooo and ahhhhs, but her hands, her ministering to my body is all woman.

I can feel the slow climb, beginning at my toes and spiraling up, flaring outward as it reaches between my legs, tumbling out as a burst of heat, my breath, the edges of my finger tips, a color perhaps red exploding behind my eyes, closed now, welcoming it.

In the aftermath the two of us, slick with sweat and each other, breathless and shaking, moaning words we cannot say, limbs tangled, heads on shoulders, hands on chests, full...

if only for a moment.

Ever have a daydream so excruciatingly sweet it left you silent?

-- Post From My iPhone