Undoing

I'm surprised when he stops me at the door – hand on my shoulder, a trembling thumb rubbing the nape of my neck –

I turn around and the force of his kiss almost takes my breath away and for a moment, I'm still too caught up in my head, contemplating our height difference, worrying about his back bent irregularly, wondering about how I taste, and feel and

and

–

Then my thoughts fold and fall away, and I finally lose myself in him.

To be honest, I knew that was always a danger – losing myself. I sort of knew that he would always have that power over me. It was something that coiled in my belly as a warning the very first day I laid eyes on him:

He will be my undoing

.

In a haze of feeling, I mirror his hand, placing it on his neck and caressing the taut skin beneath the soft ponytail that hangs there. I think part of me is trying to make sure this isn't just a dream, trying to make sure my fingers don't just push through him like a ghost, the same fingers which always ached over how

untouchable

and

unreachable

he'd always seemed to me.

But then I smile against his mouth when I feel the warmth of his skin there, reiterating the reality of the situation, and he smiles too, and coos a bit, and my heart begins to race to a dizzying speed with my own giddiness.

"I've given up on holding back," he whispers his confession as he stops for breath, his words almost moans, hanging heavily between us before his lips come crashing against mine again.

I feel a bit ashamed for the rush of relief I feel at this, but then become quickly distracted by the soft flicker of his tongue against mine, sending quick surges of electricity right through me, causing the white-hot fire of arousal to pool between my legs with its emergent, needy throbbing.

(Beneath it all, I can feel the depth of our connection sparking between us, changing its shape and nature,

yes

, but I still revel in it as it undulates around and within us, drawing us

deeper

and

closer

together.)

We move slowly in concert, attempting to navigate through the living room to make our way backward to his couch. It is slightly awkward, of course, and the two of us nearly trip and stumble along the way, but soon we arrive and he's falling backward onto the cushions and I am right there with him, straddling his lap, our passionate kiss resumed.

To be honest, part of me doesn't know what to do, worried that if I misstep in some arcane way, that the moment between will end just as quickly as it started, fading back into the realm of fantasy. So, I ease back and let him take the lead, and try my best to simply focus instead on the journey he's pulling me through.

It feels nice, actually, giving myself over to him,

to this

, and I find myself almost purring as his hands run up and down the length of my back and his hips lift to press his growing arousal against me.

I've never been good at giving up control, truth be told, but even though it feels dangerous right now, it just also

feels so right

.

He flips me to his side to lie on his couch beside him and the warmth of his body stretches over mine, his breath heating my neck as he moves his kisses there.

"I want you," he whispers, pressing the words against the hot flesh beneath his kisses.

I can feel that he's almost trembling and I wonder for a brief moment if he's as nervous about the situation as I am.

"I'm all yours," I reply with a laugh, cringing at how trite it sounds, but finding that better –

sexier

-- words seem too far beyond my grasp.

He pushes my shirt up and quickly pulls it off me, and for a moment I feel a bit cold with the rush of air on my skin, until he is there again, kissing me, kissing my skin in a hot, lingering trail around my breasts and slowly down my belly.

My skirt is discarded as quickly as my shirt was, despite the slight bit of obstruction of tangled limbs, and soon his heated breath is burning against the moistened crotch of my panties and his warm hands are delicately spreading my legs apart.

He eases down to his knees on the floor and leans down to nip and kiss lightly on my inner thighs. He'd always warned me he was a tease, so I hold my breath a bit, wondering how long he's going to drag things out between us.

It's difficult at first, of course, my desire for him, so long denied, pushing me toward wanting everything

now

, wanting everything to move

faster and harder

, just letting ourselves get consumed in passion. Still, I know, deep down, along with being a tease, he seems to also be a patient man, so my reprieve will not be so easily earned.

The curl of his tongue against the silk of my panties draws my attention back and I do my best to resist shoving my fingers into his hair to hold his mouth there. My clit, hard and bent beneath the fabric, begs for his touch, begs to be pleasured by him.

It feels like ages before he finally hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties to tug them down my legs, ages of kissing and nipping around my thighs and belly, teasing and teasing me with the occasional, fleeting touch between my legs before moving back on to the other surrounding curves and angles of flesh and bone.

The gooseflesh has spread quickly upon my skin and I can barely keep my legs from shaking by this point. It's partially from the cold of the room, of course, but as easy as it is to pretend that is the only reason, I know that my aching arousal for him is also contributing to that state –

And I'm sure he knows it too.

Any cold that I feel, though, is quickly quelled by the sweet heat of his tongue swiping against me again, this time between my legs, this time

finally

with no fabric between. His nose pushes against me, as he quickly buries his face there, hungry and moaning against intimate flesh, possibly wanting to keep holding back himself, to keep drawing out the teasing, but seeming to lose himself to his own desire instead.

It's then that I'm completely lost to the sensation of it all, lost to the little experimental licks and sucking he uses to toy with me until he finally has me so unwound that soon I'm coming against him, calling out –

moans, grunts, words, his name, I don't even know

– and losing myself to the shock of pleasure rolling through me again and again in exquisite pulses against his greedy lips.

There is no reprieve in this satisfaction, though, no rest to the tension that has left an ache in my trembling limbs, because he keeps at it, keeps pleasuring me through my orgasm, just like he warned me he liked to do that one night, outside that quiet café months before.

I almost want to push his head away, push it away as much as I want to draw him closer. It is almost too-too much. I am breathless,

reeling

, lost in the sensation until I gasp again, my body arching, as more waves of climax crash into me –

again and again and again

–

And finally he slows his kisses, moving his mouth to settle on my thigh to pepper it with a light press of his lips. I feel the grin against my skin before I see it and while it might seem a bit incongruous, seeing such a self-satisfied smirk hanging on his oft-self-deprecating demeanor, I embrace it, because, really, he

deserves

it, deserves to revel and feel the proud elation of what he's done to me.

"You're an evil man," I coo, still coming to amidst my haze of bliss, as he shifts to move atop me again, settling over me.

"I'm not done yet."

As we kiss again, we work to divest him of his own clothes, adding them to the growing pile on the floor. He retrieves the condom stashed in his wallet and as he leans back on his knees, I can't resist watching as he slowly unrolls the latex down his shaft. It's the first time I'm able to fully look on him, nude and hard before me. As cliché as it feels, my heart nearly skips a beat at his beauty and I find I only want him even more intensely.

I wrap my leg around him, drawing him down, and he smiles as he moves closer to me with the momentum, settling just above me with elbows on either side of me and his long legs between mine.

I can already feel his hardness lightly brushing up against me, brushing against the wet, heated flesh between my legs, and I can hardly bear waiting for him any longer. Still, I breathe in deeply, calming myself, instead focusing on him when he leans down to kiss me and then again when he finally shifts a little to

ever-so-slowly

guide himself inside me.

We both groan at the penetration and pause to revel in how good it feels. He's pressed as deeply as he can go now, his hips pressed tightly against the undersides of thighs, and he caresses my legs, helping to move them to settle in a comfortable position at his sides. He then gives another smile, looking down at me with what almost looks like wonder, and then begins to move slowly against me, drawing himself almost all the way out and then all the way back in.

What begins as slow experimental thrusts, soon gives way to harder and faster ones. I think the two of us had wanted to stay at the more languid pace, but desires began to pulse and beg to be satiated and we fell prey to its call.

He's holding me to him now, pulling me against him as he moves against me quickly. I delight in the sounds his making, deep primal sounds from deep within him, sounds I wish to mentally record for darkened nights when I'm alone with my own pleasure. He feels unbelievably good inside me, shifting this way and that as he discovers which angles draw out my own loudest moans and groans.

I definitely feel lost in it all, lost in the sensations of flesh slapping against flesh, the pleasure mounting between us both, rising and billowing out around us. I love the way he's trembling, surrendering to his own pleasure. And I delight in the pitch of his moans as they get deeper and more clipped as his rutting becomes more and more erratic until finally he's pressing himself as tightly to me as he can, practically howling as the spasms of his climax hit him.

Soon his breathing settles, his arched back relaxing as his body weight shifts to being half on me and half at my side. I'm not sure either of us knows what to say, or maybe that's just my own imagining, so I wait for him to speak, still a bit worried about the Spectre of Reality showing its head again and ruining it all.

He finally breaks the silence. "That...that was..."

"Yes, it was," I finish for him, hoping the dangling adjective was as positive as his tone sounds.

He then shifts up on his elbow, using his free hand to caress my cheek. "There's one problem, though."

I furrow my brow, the pit of worry growing in my gut, trying my best to read his schooled expression.

And failing.

Here it comes

, I think, bracing myself for the

This-Was-A-Mistake

speech I'd heard from him in far too many bad dreams.

"Problem?" I practically squeak out, my body readying itself to bolt out of there in a second's notice.

He leans down to nuzzle my nose, rubbing his against mine, and then leans back, a smile spreading on his face. It's both tender and a bit sly and his eyes twinkle a bit. "You didn't come."

"Yeah, well, I never really do. Not during sex, anyway. Ever. But I did at the beginning and that was nice. I mean, really, really nice, and – "

He stops my anxious rambling with a kiss. And then, as the kiss finishes, he moves his lips down the column of my neck, down over my breasts, along my belly, until he's shifted back to the floor to settle between my legs.

I gasp as he licks me lightly there, his tongue tickling the hardened nub of my clitoris. "Maybe I just want to make you come again," he whispers, more against my flesh than anything, the heated breath from each word making me even more aroused.

And then he presses his mouth against me in earnest, pushing his tongue deep inside me as he works to swollen folds there. It's almost too much after everything, but I lay my head back and let myself enjoy it and soon lose all sense of time (again).

I can't remember how many times he finally leads me to climax that night, but as I snuggled beside his sleeping body later, now moved to his bed, I knew it didn't really matter in the end. All that mattered was that it had finally happened.