From Me To You 4

This is my third contribution to:

The 750 Word Project 2024

My heart racing. My chest heaving. The physical perfect. The best ever. But better still, being bathed in his love. His arms surrounding me, cradling my head to his chest. His hips between my thighs. Their languorous, but purposeful, rhythm pushing me tenderly higher. Tenderly, but relentlessly. Until my tiny body was so overbrimming with intertwined sensations and emotions that it gave up. Gave up to shuddering, pulsing, eye-closing thunder, booming through me.

Now calming. Still held. Held so close. The rhythm slowed to soothing. Feeling his heart beat. Eyes open. Breathing deep. Smiling. Joyous smiling. And his kiss. So sweet. So electric. Honey and chili blended to gourmet perfection.

And in his eyes a question. Always a question. I can read it so easily. "What would you like, my darling?" No need for actual words. And I know. I know what I want. How I want to show him that I'm his. Now and always.

A palm on his chest. His double weight, his greater strength, both yield to my slight pressure. And we have swapped. Still linked. Still in me. I initiate a kiss. Soft and gentle. Then my passion returning. Surging, mixing with my love.

Then, palms on chest again. Levering. And I'm upright. A grind and an exhalation. It's tempting, so tempting. But I want something even more. A slow, sticky withdrawal as I ease myself up. It takes time. There is a lot to withdraw.

Shifting. Him onto elbows. Me between his limbs. He glistens. He glistens with my juices. An obelisk. One I intend to worship in a primal ritual. My dragging walls have furled him. That extra skin is so precious. I giggle as his brow furrows while I firmly unfurl. His pink throbbing dome now free. Then enfolding him in skin again. Light moans and his body shifting as I use loose flesh again and again to tease. But he understands what is to come. He craves it as much as me. And I cannot wait.

I say the words. The words I have avoided for so long. Until he unlocked them. Until he made me whole. He says he knows. So sweet to indulge my other hobbies.

Skin pulled back hard, I envelop. I enfold him in my love and my mouth. Looking up, he knows, he knows what I feel. This. This even more than those hard to say words.

But slower. He's already near the precipice. Let's live on the edge a while. Languid lollipop licks. Tongue tip tracing circles. Tasting myself. Tasting him. Tasting our togetherness. A squeeze creates a short-lived liquid jewel. An inverted image shimmers briefly in its transparency. A darting tongue and it is no more. A foretaste of things to cum.

Now more. Buccal mucosa caressing engorged flesh. Sliding. Gliding. Tongue a smooth groove. Guiding him deeper. Eyes now closed. Concentrating. Focused on sensing each twitch, responding to them.

Then breathe. And manual mode again. Faster than before. His face clenching. Too much. Not yet. Squeezing down low. Letting him pant. He glances at me, eyes wide. He's lost. I'll keep him like that a little longer. Soft kisses on hardness as the wave rolls by without cresting. Now to build the next and bigger wave.

Shifting position. More now. Long, slow, strokes. A new depth plunged with each oscillation. Hand keeping the angle right. Eyes on him again. The final lap. He knows. He's grateful. Tension courses through his body.

A hand now on me. Not to force. No need for that. Another point of contact. Showing me I'm cherished. I'm doing the same. Now sounds from him. Synchronized with each downward thrust. Small sounds. Sighs. Short inhalations. Now moans. Familiar signals.

Vibrations transmitted to me. Morse code warning of a tipping point irrevocably passed. It's now. And I want it to be perfect. His body shifting. Fists clenched as tight as eyes. Rolling. Thrashing. Trying to control the uncontrollable. I feel it. I feel his soaring emotions. His surging sensations.

Now twitching. Now pulsing. Moans become groans become a roar of release. I share. We are one. His fire heats my body too. As his nectar bathes my insides in warmth. A salty, metallic flood that fills my senses as well as my throat.

I'm still. Lips gripped. Cheeks squeezed. A slight vacuum draining him as I calmly breathe through my nose. The earthquake eventually abates. Aftershocks still gift me tiny spurts. Echoes of before. My palette savors his final

amuse bouches

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