Then, something came in on the breeze. Something animal. Something primitive, but not something frightening, or aggressive, but something lusty, and heady, and heavy, and thick. Something rode in on the romance of those trees, and on the innocence of those moonbeams. Something came in, was smuggled in, between the folds of the sunlight reflected off the moon, and then they were one person, one animal passion, and they were certain of themselves, and what they were doing, and what they would do, and what they wanted. Something came in on that breeze and suddenly they couldn't just keep kissing.
He crept up to his knees, hunched over her, his breath thick and heavy in his chest, dripping with his desire, saturated with his want for her. His eyes sparkled in the moonbeam and in them shone whatever had come in on that breeze and what was in his eyes was reflected in hers and suddenly he had to have her. He had to please her. He had to give her body everything that he had. He had to show her to be the goddess that he had believed her to be for all those years. He had to give her what he had so desperately wanted for her since he had learned what it meant to please a woman. As a growl rose in his throat, something animal, something primitive, something that had come in on the romance of those trees, he knew what he wanted for her and he didn't care if anything more happened, because it was all about her.
He restrained that animal within, that pure, unchecked, unlocked natural lust and he peeled her shirt off, planting kisses on her sweet, pink lips, and her cheek, and her jawbone, and her neck, and her collar, then on her belly, on her ribs, on the swell of her breasts against the bra that contained them, and on her shoulders. Her fair skin shone in the moonlight and something else that had rode in on that breeze, the pixie dust on that moonbeam, embedded itself in her flesh and he was taken by her and he was hungry for her. He pecked at her, tasted of her, licked and nipped and languished kisses upon that fair skin; he tried his best to absorb that pixie dust and have it in him forever. As he labored over her, cherishing her, taking in all of her gently curving torso, the tiny swell at the top of her jeans that flowed over her navel, and the soft, soft skin of her belly, that led right up to her ribs and the beautiful curve of her breasts, up to her collarbone and that sweet, sweet crook, right where the neck met the collar, where the warmth of her entire body seemed to gather—as he took all of her in, she unsnapped her bra and gave to him those luscious breasts, those gentle curves, those dark, swollen areolas, those sites of all the marvel and passion and sensitivity that were the female form, and he descended upon them like the shadow over rolling hills, like the raincloud blown from the mountaintop to finally saturate the fertile ground of the fields below.
He brought his lips so near them, breathed his warm, heavy breath, that breath dripping with desire, across her supple flesh and he knew that the hair on his chin tickled her and he felt her shiver beneath him. He dragged his lips, his teeth, his tongue across and over and around those full, round mounds of nerve endings, endless expanses of synapses and connections meant just for pleasure, and he tasted of her and kissed at her and took her into his mouth, and she was his, and he was hers, and her pleasure would be his right now, right in this moment. 'My God,' was the chorus in his mind, 'My God how have I lived without this?' He savored those breasts, and he kissed and licked them until she squirmed and writhed beneath him, trickles of sweat running down her body—were those hers, or his from his brow, which was scrunched in concentration on her pleasure—glistening and sliding over her soft curves. He was in heaven. All that he could want in the world was beneath him, and he wanted it all, but he wanted her to be satisfied, to be fulfilled, to be pleased on the deepest of levels, and so he crept back up her body, a trail of gentle, wet kisses up the sweep of her neck, along that kind jaw, up to those precious pink lips, for which he had waited so long, so many years.
Their kisses this time were not gentle, were not exploring, so much as they were pleading, they were thick with the electricity in the air, they were moist with the desire between them, and the thing that had rode in on that breeze. Their kisses were starving, desperate attempts to seal all the space between them, to bring their consciousness together, to melt their minds as they would eventually melt their bodies.
This time, she pulled away from him. This time, he was left panting, flushed, warm, excited, raging furious that she had stopped their rapturous engagement, desperate to have those lips back. He stretched his neck toward her, and snatched a kiss or two more, even as she turned him over, gently, firmly, resolved in her intent, and pressed him onto the ground on his back. And this time, she traced kisses down his cheek, his neck, his collar; this time, she peeled off his shirt, and her eyes took him in, and she saw every part of his body, the body for which he labored so many hours and worked so hard, and in that moment he was never more proud than for how she looked upon his taut chest and lightly chiseled stomach, the tiny trail of hair that led down into his jeans. In that moment she took him in, and he was hers and none else, and he was given over entirely to her will.
Her will, her desire, was much as his had been—to give supreme pleasure, to leave him fulfilled, to leave him satisfied, to be his and to make him hers and to take her time giving him her best. She traced kisses along the body that he had always dreamed would be laid out before her like this; she slid her tongue over and around the lines of his abdomen, outlining the muscles there, setting through him lightning bolts of response, quivers, shakes, shivers, and involuntary twitches brought on by her ease, by her feather-light touch, by her moments of uncertainty about time and space and reality. Currents ran through is body as though he were being electrified, fried right to his core, but that the electricity did not harm him; rather, it invigorated him, excited him, aroused him. Her kisses, her fingernails, the very tip of her nose, her wet lips—they set his skin afire and lit his senses ablaze as she undid his buckle, as she inched his pants down his hips, over his thighs, those defined and cut thighs, and down off his feet. She tossed them away, her gaze lusty and heady and set in his memory for eternity; she tossed them away as though they were locks and bolts restraining her from what she really wanted, and she lowered those lips toward his crotch and she began ministrations that so engulfed him in feeling that his mind reeled and all thoughts ceased. 'My God,' the chorus clamored in the hollows of his mind, 'My God how have I lived without this?'
She was skilled, she was focused, and she was entirely invested in his pleasure. He was lost in the warmth of her lips around him, and in the tugging of her hand at the base of his shaft; he was rising out of his body, engaged in something divine, in something deeper than he could fathom, and he was brought back by gentle popping, as her mouth left his member, and he felt that something on the breeze, just before she dove back upon him hungrily, taking him, making him hers.
She worked up and down and around his cock, her tongue washing him, stroking him, teasing him to ever greater heights, promising him release then easing him back into the torturous rapture that only it could provide. It had never been this good. He had never known head this good. Even the Girlfriend didn't compare—goodness, how did he feel to be thinking that now, of all times? But the thought passed with the popping again, as he was released from the warmth of her sweet, sweet pink lips, and felt the desire on the breeze blown in by the romance of those trees, and then she had him again, his full attention, his body tense and also at ease and so completely hers.
Her masterful lips, dexterous tongue, and gentle, patient stroking were bringing his restraint to its very end; he could not contain himself much longer and, in a moment of clarity, wondered about their boundaries. Wondered how she would handle him spilling forth into her without warning, though surely she could feel his swelling beneath her lavish attentions and her stroking; he wondered how she might respond to him bursting forth now, now at the peak of this immense pleasure, at the head of this great service she did unto him, at this masterful command of his natural masculine response to such administrations. He choked out, through the lust that had sealed shut his throat, that he would come soon, that oh God yes keep going, wow, oh, he was coming—and he erupted within her.
And never did she stop, nor slow her ministrations. And only did she cast those gleaming eyes upward at him as she consumed him, as she took him into her mouth, her throat, and her belly, and as she caused him to spill forth again and again, for what seemed like hours, days, weeks, as his head spun, and his body raced to the clouds and to the mountains and crashed back to the ground and his eyes rolled and his jaw went slack and he was spent with the force of his orgasm. He panted and fought for breath, struggled to find coherent thought, to find power to move, and he slowly, so very slowly, slower even than the terrible circles the plane made as it descended, so slowly came back to reality. He became aware, gradually, of the moonbeam, illuminating the tiny dust particles in the air, as it passed through the roof of the tent. He began to see the walls around him, the flooring beneath him, to feel the rolls and swells and lumps of the ground just outside the floor of the tent. He could feel her fingernails dragging along his thigh, electric pulses still racing in his veins, but subdued now, pacified by the supreme release that she had caused.
In the passing moments—were they hours and minutes or just microseconds?—he started to remember the heights of ecstasy to which she had just taken him, and he knew what he wanted for her, and he knew that she had moved out of turn. He knew that he had to pay her in kind for the wondrous pleasure she had bestowed upon him, but that even more, even more now than when he had daydreamed of her wonderful face, even more than when he had kissed her that first time, even more than the dreams he had had of her laid open and welcoming to him, beckoning the pleasure that only he could bestow, even more he knew that he had to please her so deeply, so thoroughly, so completely, so honestly, so blissfully, and so skillfully, because he sensed that he would not be able to perform in other capacities for her after that incredible release. He had to be at his very best in the moments to come, and he had to be for her what she had just been to him, and he had to make her whole, and to make her his, and to be hers, and to be invested entirely and solely in her pleasure.
