They had been sex partners long before they were lovers. Almost as long as they had been business partners, although not quite. It wasn't as though he didn't know what turned her on.
In this case, remembering and studying and memorizing more what made her sigh. Their usual pace was to tease each other until they begged, games of dominance and rougher play than this, but after the past few days rough play didn't seem to be what either of them needed. Slow and tender, taking his time as he touched her to say what they said so rarely in every gesture, every kiss over skin, every inch of skin revealed.
It was not a game, not a power play, not rough, and not dominant or submissive this time. It was a time of equality of giving and receiving. Of working together into being together slow, elaborate and yet unintentionally so. Of, in a way, balance. Skin on skin. Lips on skin. Lips on lips. Eyes into eyes. Sighs and moans and gasps overlapping one another.
Slow and tender, and so loving... for a while, the fact that possibly this time of touches, kisses, given and returned, sensed and provided, caresses, would lead to something else? Seemed irrelevant as it possibly never had been, before.
For the first time in days, purpose didn't matter to her. It didn't seem to her that they were doing this to get to something else; just a time of mutual appreciation that she knew she needed and he deserved. It made her mind swim with the joy, the pleasure of it. Weightless. Free
( ... )
Touching her helped. It connected her to him, to the present, to this life that she had and not the one that she might now be conjuring up for herself, a life that contained only a few moments of horror and little else. He was fairly sure that would have been what he'd do, anyway.
Touching also helped him reassure himself that she was here, home safe, in his arms. Her body against his, the warmth of her flesh, every little sound she made as he touched her and the sound of his own moans and whimpers as she touched in return. Being touched by her. God, he loved her.
And he'd almost lost her. And for a moment that made his touches more harsh and clutching, with that thought.
Almost wasn't did. Wasn't, had lost. She was here, and he loved her, and as he took his time fitting them together and after he paused just a moment to look at her and watch her and marvel at how well they fit together in all ways. And then, moving again, kissing her softly, tenderly. Grateful for her presence in his life.
The change of intensity, followed by that pause, made her focus. Called her away from the weightlessness and into the awareness of him. Of them. Her eyes were probably clearer than they'd been in days, nothing of the world outside them two remembered or planned for. Simply his, as her answering kiss would try to tell him. Soft and tender it started, and then the taste of him, the feel of him, the smell of him buzzed her senses until her returning kiss became a little more hungry, a little more inviting.
Her arms drew her closer to him, letting their bodies feel what his eyes, what his mind had acknowledged. Fitting together. She was as close that a simple motion of the hips, of either of them, would move things to another level. But for now, she stayed with the kissing, letting her fingers see him, her palms see him.
Letting her heart thank him.
She trailed her hand along the side of his body, down his waist, hip, along his thigh as far as she could reach, then back up again, without breaking the kiss.
Comments 13
In this case, remembering and studying and memorizing more what made her sigh. Their usual pace was to tease each other until they begged, games of dominance and rougher play than this, but after the past few days rough play didn't seem to be what either of them needed. Slow and tender, taking his time as he touched her to say what they said so rarely in every gesture, every kiss over skin, every inch of skin revealed.
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Slow and tender, and so loving... for a while, the fact that possibly this time of touches, kisses, given and returned, sensed and provided, caresses, would lead to something else? Seemed irrelevant as it possibly never had been, before.
For the first time in days, purpose didn't matter to her. It didn't seem to her that they were doing this to get to something else; just a time of mutual appreciation that she knew she needed and he deserved. It made her mind swim with the joy, the pleasure of it. Weightless. Free ( ... )
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Touching also helped him reassure himself that she was here, home safe, in his arms. Her body against his, the warmth of her flesh, every little sound she made as he touched her and the sound of his own moans and whimpers as she touched in return. Being touched by her. God, he loved her.
And he'd almost lost her. And for a moment that made his touches more harsh and clutching, with that thought.
Almost wasn't did. Wasn't, had lost. She was here, and he loved her, and as he took his time fitting them together and after he paused just a moment to look at her and watch her and marvel at how well they fit together in all ways. And then, moving again, kissing her softly, tenderly. Grateful for her presence in his life.
Reply
Her arms drew her closer to him, letting their bodies feel what his eyes, what his mind had acknowledged. Fitting together. She was as close that a simple motion of the hips, of either of them, would move things to another level. But for now, she stayed with the kissing, letting her fingers see him, her palms see him.
Letting her heart thank him.
She trailed her hand along the side of his body, down his waist, hip, along his thigh as far as she could reach, then back up again, without breaking the kiss.
I don't want this to end ( ... )
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