He grabs my wrist and releases himself, pinning both my arms at my side as he kisses down the side of my neck, over my breasts, taking his time, flicking his tongue lightly over both nipples. Lowering his head, he bites gently at the skin of my stomach, my hips. He releases my wrists, but looks at me to make sure I know, that no, I am not to move. His finger runs over my damp underwear, from the crack of my ass all the way up. He gently kisses me over the fabric of my panties. I sigh, a sigh of real pleasure, and unconsciously open up for him, just slightly. Carefully, he dips under the fabric and slides one finger into me. I am tight, but slick. I have been waiting for this. As he touches me, he watches my face. I bite my lip and tug on my nipples as he looks on, ever the performer. He speeds up, presses a second finger into me. My back arches. He keeps a steady pace, sliding deeper and deeper into me, curling his fingers, searching for my G-Spot. He knows he's close; his fingers are coated beneath underwear that is now almost embarrassingly wet. My heavy breathing has become short whimpers in time with his movements. Just when I feel myself approaching the edge, he slides my panties off and tosses them aside. Finally I can open myself fully to him, and he buries his face between my legs. His tongue makes long, thorough strokes, twirls around my clit, plunges in and out of me, as if trying to taste something he'll never be able to reach. I am making low, guttural sounds now, which he seems to take as a sign. He hones in on my clit, kissing, licking, sucking, and slides two fingers back inside me, finding my spot again and working in a rhythm that causes my whole body to shake. My toes slide down his back. I bite into the back of my hand to keep from making noises that would wake the whole house. Impossibly, he picks up his pace, and before I know it I am grabbing at his hair, scratching his scalp, murmuring his name over and over until the shaking of my body subsides.
In some cases, this tremendous release could knock me out; I would be happily asleep in minutes. But no, he has ignited me.
I sit up and take his face in my hands, and when I kiss him hungrily, I taste myself. I grab his fingers too, licking them clean, insatiable. We embrace, his hands rubbing my shoulders, down my back. I love this because I am still shaking slightly, still sensitive all over, and his soft touch is just what my body wants. I wrap both my arms around his neck, press my flesh against his. He kisses my face, his teeth tug gently on my earlobe. We look into each other's eyes for a full, pregnant moment. And then smiling, I push him back onto the bed.
I can't describe the face he makes when I slide down onto him. I moan soft and low at the sweet feeling of being deeply penetrated. I grind my hips slowly, acclimating to the way he stretches me, but soon we are moving in rhythm, his hands on my hips, my fingers tracing down his arms, up his chest. He scratches his nails down my back and I whimper, closing my eyes. He fits so perfectly that before I can help myself I am undulating over him with what is approaching a reckless abandon. I bend down to him, the ends of my hair grazing his skin. Our bodies are warm, becoming slicked with sweat, and when I suck on his neck it is deliciously salty. He kisses me, holds me tightly, my breasts firmly pressed against him. I nip at his earlobe, and he responds by taking my breasts in his hands, sucking and biting as I ride him faster. Our eyes and hands and mouths travel all over each others bodies, gasping, breathy. There is a ferocity now to our touch. Every kiss is deeper, every bite less playful; the look in his eyes is determined.
He pulls me off of him forcefully, flipping me onto my back. He leans close to my face again, brushes back my hair, kissing my cheek, down my neck, my collarbone, my shoulder. It tickles, but I don't laugh, just moan softly, eyes closed. I feel his hot breath in my ear. "No," he whispers. "Look at me."
My gaze meets his, curious, and with unmoving eyes he enters me again, one fluid stroke, and I cry out. Instinctively I pull my knees up, wrapping my legs around him, but when I toss my head back, his hand strokes my face, bringing my eyes back to him. He's strong, and every stroke is thorough, controlled. I contract around him involuntarily. We have found our tempo, enveloped in each other, our cheeks brushing as he pushes into me over and over again. I grasp at his hair, his ears, the beautiful crest of his hipbones, my own hips bucking wildly to meet his thrusts. My teeth tug on his bottom lip, and he makes a noise so full of arousal and longing that I get butterflies in my stomach. Our foreheads slip off each other, slicked in sweat, and I bury my face in his chest, our bodies melting into themselves, a perfect energy spreading from our interlaced fingertips. With heavy breaths, it feels as though his every exhalation fills my lungs, and mine his. We are lost in each other, caught in that one perfect moment in between the ticks of the second hand, infinite and precarious all at once. He has me.
He approaches his climax. I want to feel you, I say. I need to. I plead this over and over again as he takes my body roughly. My flesh is as insistent as my words, giving him all of me, and the warm, wet, powerful force that he fills me with turns my whispered desperation into a scream of release. I grab tightly to him, scratch my nails down his back, moaning his name. Everything falls away.
He stays inside me, the air silent except for our slowing breaths. The hurried, rough need of our bodies is gone. "Happy birthday," I whisper, and he kisses me on the forehead before sliding carefully off and curling himself against me, which is how we stay as we both fall asleep.
