Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue played against his glans firing darts of intense sensation through his body. He took a deep breath, God, she as so good. He was overtaken, undone, he was about to, he had to stop it. He placed his hand on her chin, she moved willingly with it, he gently moved her mouth off his cock. Their eyes locked, he pulled her close and kissed her. He kissed her deep, their tongues dancing, he felt her shiver and felt her hands explore him, dig into his thick muscles, hungrily searching for the next muscle that served as an edifice to his masculinity. He trained hard but not obsessively. He had no motivation to train, an artist didn't have motivation, he had inspiration. He took his inspiration from the source, Socrates once said, "No man has a right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable." Nathan took the pain and tedium of physical training as mental discipline and did not follow every fad that slithered down his phone's screen.
The kiss ended abruptly, the blood pumping so hard in his veins he could feel it in his ears began to rage, like someone had switched the NOS on somewhere in his body, animal lust coursed. Sarah stood back, smiling, admiring her work. Slowly, ever so slowly she began to undo her shirt, one button gave way, a torturous moment later the next did, and the next, and the next. The last three buttons were too far even for her, and she ripped her shirt open, scattering the last three across the room. Now she stood, imperious and topless, wordlessly daring him to break eye-contact.
Nathan leapt from the sofa, on his knees in front of her he looked up, his eyes locked on hers. He undid her belt buckle, the buttons on her jeans followed one by one. The jeans next he pulled down, not so fast, as slow as he could manage. He knew she could feel his breath on her naked skin, he knew she felt it.
Sarah grabbed a fistful of his hair, twisting it in her hand, gaining control of his head, she pressed him against her. He tasted her, his hands rode up the back of her thighs to her ass and held it tight, he sucked her clit voraciously, slowed down and lightly teased, then dove in even harder. He could feel her getting wetter. He could feel the shudders every time he circled over her clit. Her breathing was ragged now and her head was back, still holding on to his hair but lost in the sensation.
As she got closer and closer he gripped harder to steady her, the grip on his hair got tighter, her other hand rested in his and began to squeeze. She came with a shudder and long sigh. He paused for a moment, letting the moment sit, suspended. Suddenly he licked again, one quick lick, she shuddered and forced her hips back and her clit away from his mouth. She laughed, he laughed.
"Sensitive?" He said, and smiled.
