Time Again

The lights in the hotel bathroom are harsh. I dip my eyes from the mirror to the pink and white bag on the counter. I haven't dressed with anyone else in mind for awhile.

And you're waiting for me.

I can still taste your kisses. I can feel the heat of your touch on my bare arms, my back where you eased down the zipper of my snug black dress.

This time, there is time. So here I am.

I slide the dress off my shoulders, down the curves of my hips and let it puddle on the floor at my feet. I reach back and unclasp my bra. My hands tremble just a bit as I pull the straps down. I inhale as the hotel-cooled air rushes across my bare breasts, further tantalizing me. I arch my back and steal a glance in the mirror.

The tissue paper rustles against the bag as I pull out the slip. It suits me, this lovely wisp of silk and lace. I feel exquisite the moment I slide it up over my hips, my breasts, shoulders. My nerves fade, leaving only anticipation. I open the bathroom door.

You're standing by the bed, still dressed. Mostly. Your shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open. Your belt, shoes, socks are piled by the chair.

I expect you to, well, jump me. It's been too long for us both. But you look at me, my body, my face. You capture my eyes. I walk to you. Your hands cradle my waist. I press my hips to yours, feel you hard against me.

I raise my head, left my lips to your jaw and plant a row of tiny kisses up to your ear. I linger there for a moment, just breathing, then tug the lobe between my teeth and bite down. You go boneless against me and we tumble onto the bed, laughing, kissing.

I want to feel your skin against mine. I pull your shirt off, run my hands over your chest, your shoulders. My lips find the hollow at the base of your throat, the hot skin above the waist of your pants. My fingers curl through your hair, trail across your stomach. My nails scrape lightly across your back. When I find a particularly sensitive spot, you growl low in your throat. The sound, your sound, sends tingles through my body. I shiver.

You let me touch you, tease you, explore you, but there is nothing passive in your permission.

Your hands are gentle, firm over the silk slip I'm wearing for you. You've made no attempt to take it off me, but I'm naked to your touch.

Suddenly languid beside you as we kiss, I stretch my arms out overhead, arch my back. Your eyes darken. You reach for my hands. You seem surprised, turned on when you realize you can hold my wrists together with just one hand. Your other hand slides down my ribcage, over the swell of my breast, the curve my waist, hip. The silk makes your touch even hotter.

I feel your fingers at the edge of the slip, curling under, grazing my thighs.

My legs part and you press against me, hard against me. You're still wearing your pants. It's too much. I want to feel you, more of you. I tug my arms and you slowly release my wrists, but press me harder against the bed with your hips. I arch back against you and we rock together for a moment, too charged to stop.

I reach my hands between us and push at your pants. You grin at my enthusiasm and lift your hips as I tug off your pants and boxers. Finally. Finally, you're naked for me. You are gorgeous, so completely male, and for this moment, so completely mine.

I tug you to the edge of the bed and kneel between your legs. I want to taste you. I must.

I start at your feet, slowly massaging each arch and work my way up your muscled calves. Touching you is making me wet.

I circle my fingers around your thighs, pressing kisses along the lines of your tattoo. Your hands tangle and tighten in my hair. I look up to find your gaze locked on me.

I feel my hair loosen as one hand trails around my cheek, to my lower lip, rests a finger there. I draw it between my lips, run my tongue around it, suck gently. You shiver. I pull off slowly and drop my head between your legs. God. You're beautiful.

I wrap my lips around you and you groan. I hum low in my throat in a kind of erotic reply. You taste amazing. I'm lost in feeling you hot in my mouth, pulsing. I lick and suck and stroke you, pulling you into my throat when I can. You clutch at my hair, hold my head, run your hands down my back.

Sometimes you briefly go very still.

I feel you in my mouth, with my hands, see your eyes close reflexively when the sensations overwhelm.

Your hips arch toward me and you hold my head gently. Your breath goes ragged. You get bigger, harder, hotter. You move in and out and then you stiffen and explode into my mouth. I swallow and swallow and lick you as you pulse again and again. When I feel your body relax, I slowly pull my mouth away.

I lay my cheek against your thigh and you stroke my hair, murmur my name.