This veers a bit towards Romantic, so I struggled where to put it. Ultimately, there is some mild dirty talk so I went Erotic Coupling. Just know though this is a bit more sweet and lighter than my typical fare.
--The Author
*
He sits, shirtless, almost vibrating with anticipation on the chair in his room. He fiddles with his handcuffs a bit, letting a slight smile cross his lips. I am more than a little surprised he agreed to this, but then there have been more than a few moments I thought none of this could ever happen.
I stroll into the room, vamping it up for his visual appreciation. I feel his eyes on me, scanning me from head to toe, from my peekaboo toe heels up my bare legs over the skin tight emerald lace boy shorts and thin strapped tanktop ensemble I bought specifically for this moment. His eyes lock on mine and for the first time neither of us make an effort to hide our desire. His naked lust for me sends a pleasureable chill through my every cell.
I sit on his lap with an accidental noise I can only label a purr. My arm just touches his bare chest and I can barely suppress a shudder of undiluted arousal. "Happy Birthday," I whisper and smile, producing a piece of cake from behind my back.
He looks at me quizzically while I try to keep my features as unreadable as possible. I begin to feed him forkfuls of the cake until one piece falls off before it reaches his mouth, tumbling down his chest to the floor, leaving a dollop of frosting on his left nipple.
Casting the plate aside, I slide off his lap onto my knees. I let my tongue trail across his abs removing small crumbs and bits of frosting until I reach his nipple. I take it quickly into my mouth, spinning my tongue around it, removing the frosting. He gasps and pulls against his chains. In a hesitant murmur, he implores me, "Harder."
I honor the request, sucking with more vigor and, feeling him respond to that, begin to bite with increasing pressure. I lay my hand in his lap and feel his want rise. I delight the sensation of him growing thicker and rigid just from my tongue, mouth, and teeth on his nipple.
I release his nipple finally and rise as he whimpers a mix of appreciation and disappointment. I bend in front of him, sure to give him a free view down my shirt at my firm breasts, and release his cuffs. Before he can take advantage of his new freedom I shove him onto the bed and straddle him, playfully, gently, grinding down against him.
"What do you want?" I breathe in his ear, taking in his scent.
He simply replies, "You."
"Yes, but what do you want to do with me?"
I can feel him blush, hot and embarrassed, below me. He giggles as he tries to summon the words. I can almost feel the tension between his wish to verbalize what he wants and the psychological scars she left him with. I let him off the hook, confiding, "Well, I know what I want you to do...I want you to fuck me."
We both laugh, recalling the uncomfortable moment he heard those words said to his roommate by some random girl when they thought he was asleep his freshman year of college. I hope he gets the message...he can tell me what he wants, exactly what he wants, and sex can be fun, dirty...whatever. Not just the serious, staid endeavor he was forced to grow used to.
"Well then," he replies, voice big with happiness, "Even if it is my birthday, I suppose I can honor that request."
I kiss him deeply then, confirming my appreciation and desire. As I feel his hand begin to slide up the back of my shirt, I teasingly spring off him.
"But first," I proclaim, "We need to clean up."
I leave the room, stripping off my clothes and leaving him a trail to follow me to the shower. Being naked before him for the first time feels delicious. The wait to get here was so painful but being here, now, it feels completely worth it.
Moments after I slide under the warm spray, he pushes through the steam to join me. Wordlessly, we come together, naked body against naked body, the heat of us mingling with the heat of the water. I cannot feel enough of him against me, cannot touch enough of him with my hands. Our mouths gasp and seek out any bit of flesh to taste: lips, cheeks, ears, necks, shoulders before returning to kiss one another with abandon.
For the first time ever, I allow myself to touch the part of him I had long fantasized about the size, look, and feel of for so long. He did not disappoint.
He groaned out his thanks, "Oh god, Jen, your hand feels amazing."
"It's about to get better," I assure him and lower myself to my knees before him. I catch myself wondering if she ever did this for him, if she might be good or, even scarier, better than me. Catching his anticipatory gaze, however, drives all such thoughts out of my mind. She is long gone now, just like my anchor, and they no longer matter a whit. We want only each other and we are finally realizing that long held barely dared to be spoken dream.
I take him in my mouth with a happy hum and his rapidly increased breathing confirms my decision to leave the past in the past. His clean masculinity fills my senses and I let myself get lost in it. His cock, (mmm, how delicious a word), becomes like my plaything. I drag my nails up and down it lightly, I twirl my tongue over it from root to head, I take it as deep as I can in my mouth, against my throat, enjoying the sensation of my mouth almost being too full. He tenderly guides me towards heightening his pleasure with light touches through my red hair, cut Mia Farrow style, and on my face and whispered and moaned requests thick with deep gratitude and need.
As he nears ever closer to climax, I can hear his breathe hitch and become scattered. His voice rises in pitch and volume and he begins to warn me of what I am doing to him. I do not shy away. I want this. I need it, I realize. We both do. A blowjob appreciated without quibble by both parties.
"It's okay," I promise him, "Cum for me."
The look of almost-joy on his face nearly breaks my heart. His happiness becomes my own. His body tightens and coils and I can see him resisting his bodily impulses.
"Go ahead, Tom," I push him, "You can be rough."
He moans at my words, his body language betraying his increased lust. He places his hands more firmly on me and urges me to go faster and harder. I delight in him overcoming his guilt and fear at demanding what he wants.
"Oh god! Oh god!" he pants above me and thrusts forward quick and intense. His passion bursts out of him and down my throat, surprisingly sweet. I pull him out to regain my breath and stroke him continuously, guiding streams of translucent white onto my face and breasts where the jetstreams of water quickly wash it away down the drain. He reaches for the wall to steady himself, signaling to me he is spent.
When I returned to my feet, he immediately reaches for me and pulls me tight against him. He whispers an out of breath thank you and I am relieved to realize that he too is escaping our collective past. The kiss that follows is full of appreciation and lust in equal measures and given without hesitation. I gasp and melt into his arms. Time just dissipates around us and we give ourselves over to the eternal joy of making out. The water going ice cold proves to be the only thing to disrupt us.
