First Long Term in a Long Time

She waited. Face down, ass up. "The position" as she jokingly called it. They'd been together for a while now, and had developed their own shorthand, vocabulary, a catalogue of JamCat references.

She couldn't remember feeling as sexually compatible with anyone before. Maybe it was because he knew what he was doing, maybe it was because he was unnervingly sexy, maybe it was because she was older and better understood what she liked, maybe it was because of her biological clock. Whatever it was he made her heart ache, her stomach flutter, and she hoped for a future together. In fact, it was hard for her to imagine a future without him now.

He was due home from work any minute. She'd been off that day, and had had plenty of time to prepare for his arrival. Her hair, long and dark, was clean and shiny, tied back so it wouldn't interrupt proceedings. She'd moisturised all over, and was soft, lightly sticky, and smelled girly, feminine. Her pussy was waxed bare and perfectly smooth. Her face was made up, but not too much. She knew he liked her to look natural, so she emphasised only her eyes: a sweep of mascara and a smudge of eyeliner somehow made her eyes look bigger. She knew they sparkled when she was with him. Even her mum, not one for sentimentality, had said that her daughter lit up when she was around him.

Her outfit was new. She still liked to dress up for him, surprise him, make an occasion of their time together. She loved his eyes on her, looking at her like she was good enough to eat. This time she wore black stockings attached to a suspender belt, a black thong so small it could easily be pushed to the side for his mouth, fingers, dick, and the piece de resistance, a black "peek-a-boo" bra which would give easy access to her sensitive breasts and nipples. He'd mentioned liking that type of bra a few times and she was pleased she was able to fulfil his fantasy.

She tingled in anticipation, waiting for the signs he was near, alert to any noise that could indicate his imminent arrival: a car door slam, a voice travelling up to the window if he bumped into a neighbour, the bang of the downstairs door, closing his footsteps on the stairwell, the turn of the key in the lock, the swish of the door as it opened into the apartment, his movements in the hallway as he was seconds away from seeing, smelling, touching her. She'd been practicing the look she would give him over her shoulder when he walked into the room, when he saw her presenting herself to him.

Every second she was waiting felt like an exquisite eternity. She could feel herself moistening, her nipples stiffening, the hairs on her arms standing on end as she thought about what was to come.

There it was. The clunk of the main door. "Please let it be you," she thought desperately, wondering whether she'd have time to dash to the window, check if his car was parked out front, and scramble back on to the bed before he could walk in. She decided against it.

As she strained to tell if the steps on the landing were his, she thought about how she'd got here. For a long time, she'd resisted long term, meaningful connection. She'd been hurt badly before and it had made her wary and furiously independent. She didn't want to need or want anybody; she'd take her pleasure, a ghost of intimacy, and that would be all, enough. The thought of love, of being completed, of letting herself be vulnerable with someone again made her feel a bit sick. And yet, somehow, he'd inched his way under her skin, and wrapped himself around her heart like a hug. She had no idea what he saw in someone like her, monumental screw up that she was; she was just glad that he saw something worth staying for for however long it lasted.

She'd been captivated by him since those early messages on a hook up app of all things, and was thrilled and scared in equal measure that he had been even more attractive than she'd expected when they'd met for the first time. So much so that she'd been especially shy and tongue-tied, almost feverishly warm, blushing furiously, a long stretch from the sexy, confident, cool person she was online. Her heart leapt when he confirmed he'd like to see her again.

Then, their first time. Theirs was only supposed to be a casual thing, but nonetheless he'd taken her out. An elegant bar, where he sat down next to rather than opposite her, knowing this would make her more comfortable. Although she was quiet and awkward, he still took her back to his. His flat was clean, tidy, and she sensed she was in the presence of a grown up, a man. Somebody that would be able to take care of her. She hadn't realised how tired of boys she was. He'd checked she was OK, that she'd wanted to be there. Noone had ever done that before and she liked it. She couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather be, but she knew her quietness could be unsettling. She kissed him. He tasted of coffee and malt and masculinity; he tasted incredible (she later learned this was always how he tasted, even when he'd just woken up in the morning). She asked to use the shower so she could be fresh and clean before they got down to it. She was already way too excited and this would also buy her some time to calm down.

She hadn't expected him to join her. She'd watched him undress for the first time through the steamy glass. As he climbed into the shower she got her first live glimpse of his erection. Although he'd maintained he was about average, she realised that wasn't the case and was a little nervous about how all that would fit inside her. As he touched her for the first time, he was confident with her body. There was no hesitation; he patiently and considerately responded to her noises, her movements. When she felt brave enough, she wrapped her fingers around his dick. Her thumb didn't touch her finger tip. She shivered.

She'd lost herself in her reminiscing and was brutally jolted back to the present as she heard his keys jangling. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she thought, as her face suddenly forgot what it was supposed to be doing. Her pulse quickened. How had she been ready two minutes ago, and now was not even vaguely ready?!

She heard his cheery "hello?" as he opened the door. His voice was enough to make her nervous. His accent was effortlessly sexy; she could listen to him for hours. "Hey, I'm in the bedroom," she responded, her voice not as confident or warm as she'd wanted it to sound.

She felt his shadow fall over her as he stood in the doorway, and she turned her head, and smiled. He returned her smile hungrily, and walked towards her. "Wow, baby. Did you get dressed up for me?"

She nodded her assent as he leaned over to kiss her mouth. He sat on the edge of the bed and slid his hand over the S of her back, from her neck down to the curve of her ass. It felt like the warmth from a fire over her skin. She couldn't pick a favourite physical attribute, but she adored his hands. They were manly without being harsh, maintained without being feminine. His were hands that worked hard, got dirty and yet could caress with such tenderness. She loved how he held her hand, showing the world she was his when they were out. It felt like love at home when his hand would envelop hers as they curled up in bed at night. She knew her old self would have cringed at that, but she couldn't help herself.

He started to undress. This wait was even more torturous after she'd had a morsel of his touch. She watched from the corner of her eye, both desperate to hasten the process and knowing she should stay exactly where she was, eager, ready, accessible. Finally, he was down to his underwear, and damn, did he look good. Tall and slim, toned and strong, his eyes a burning blue, just a little grey at his temples, exactly the right amount of chest hair, his skin lightly tanned and his treasure trail navigating its way down his body: he was perfect. She'd touched him so many times that she knew exactly how his stomach would feel under her hands, his skin soft, his tummy muscles rippling if she ran her hands over them, how they'd tense as he pushed into her. It never ceased to amaze and excite her. While she was lost in her reverie he'd moved behind her, and to her surprise she felt not his hands but his mouth gently press against her pussy. He breathed her in, her arousal evident. She whimpered. He pulled back and planted kisses up each thigh, grazing her lips with his breath.

"Are you wet for me already, baby?"

She could hear the gentle tease in his voice as he leaned back and spread her. She was always soaked when he was around, often literally dripping, and he knew it. He pushed her flimsy panties to the side exactly as she'd hoped he would, and ran his finger up her slit, coating it in her wetness before reaching around to push his finger into her mouth. "You look delicious and I know you'll taste delicious too," he said, before bringing his mouth once more to her cunt. Though initially dubious, she'd come around to him eating her out. Now an eager convert, she fantasised regularly about him doing just this: his tongue exploring her most intimate area, dragging it tirelessly and firmly up and down that half an inch which made her feel dizzy, giddy. He expertly worked her, sucking, licking and kissing as she moaned breathlessly. He was a generous lover, and she was lucky.

"Please," she begged, as always impatient to feel his hardness inside her. "I'm not done tasting you yet, baby," he replied. 'Baby', another thing she'd have hated a year ago, but now turned her on enormously. She'd never let anyone call her that before, and yet on his lips it didn't sound patronising. It sounded like safety. It sounded like home. He pushed his tongue inside her, cleaning up every bit of her honey. She bucked and pushed against him, trying to get as much of him into her as she could. As he ran his tongue up towards her ass, she felt his finger slide easily into her moistness. She cried out and pushed back. She was so ready for him. He fucked her with his finger which somehow always reached the right spot inside her, alternating between that and circling her clit. He always made her wait for two. She loved it the wait and hated it. "Can I have another one?" she asked tentatively, a note of pleading in her voice. He answered by pushing a second finger into her snugness. She groaned loudly as he pumped them in and out. "Fuck me, Jamie. Please. I need you inside me." He could tell from her tone she meant it and he removed his fingers and took his mouth away with a little reluctance.

She rolled on to her back as he took off his underwear. It wasn't an imaginative position, and she worried he'd grow bored of it but she loved to watch his expressions as he fucked her, loved to feel his biceps tense, and most of all loved to kiss him, taste her arousal on his lips.

He lined himself up, and pushed into her, gentle and slow thrusts at first. "That's it. Open up for me," he whispered encouragingly. It seemed no matter how much sex they had and how wet she was, she was nearly always tight to enter. She breathed, tried to relax. It was difficult for her as every muscle had been tense all day with the anticipation of this very moment. "Good girl," he moaned as he finally pushed all the way inside her. She half sighed, half giggled, relieved and contented. It was indescribable, that overwhelming feeling of satisfaction that she was being filled by her favourite person in the world, like she was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. He paused a moment, letting her adjust to his girth. "You're so beautiful," he said as he cradled her face and kissed her. He began to ease himself slowly in and out of her. She broke the kiss and lifted her head to watch, amazed still that all of his beautiful cock could fit inside her; that they fit each other so perfectly. He did one of his signature moves, a kind of circular motion with his dick, stretching her gently, making more room. She lay back as he lowered his head and with an "I love this", he took a nipple into his mouth. She held herself in place for him as he swirled his tongue around her stiff peak. It was like that sensation had a direct line to her G-spot. He returned to the back and forth motion. The head of his cock was pushing repeatedly against her most sensitive spot, bringing her closer to the edge. She could hear the waves crashing and would soon feel them wash over her. He could tell she was near; she was quiet, tense, concentrating. "Fuck, don't stop. Just like that". She put her arms around him and pulled his chest to hers. She buried her face in his neck and breathed him in as his fluid motions brought her to orgasm.

It was so powerful she couldn't see for a few seconds and she clung to him. He paused while she came down. Eventually, when she felt she could see again, she loosened her grip around him, beamed and pulled his head towards her. She kissed him hard. His tongue darted into her mouth, knowing this was permission to begin moving again. He was faster this time, and she was still pulsing around him. She knew it wouldn't be long until he exploded into her. His rhythm became more urgent. "Fuck, baby. I'm going to cum."

"Good," she purred, "give me it all". His pace slowed and she felt him throb and flood her insides. It was his turn to whimper as he near-collapsed on top of her.

While his breathing stabilised, she ran her fingers slowly up and down his back, occasionally running her fingernails gently over his neck and into his hair. After a few tremors, she felt him start to relax and he breathed a big sigh of satisfaction. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her. "Was that OK, baby?"

"It was more than OK," she grinned, "I love you."

"I love you too," he said as he rested his head back on to her collarbone. The cuddling was almost better than the sex. Inwardly she laughed wryly at her old self who would only begrudgingly stay for cuddles. Now she could hardly bear him pulling out of her, taking his weight from her. In these precious moments she felt warm and safe and whole. She never wanted these few blissful minutes to end. She didn't know if he knew that she sometimes cried when he'd pull away.

She knew they'd dress and head out into the warm evening that stretched before them. She hoped she'd get a second load out of him before they went to sleep that night. And, if she was really lucky, a third before he got up for work in the morning.