Heat Of The Day 2

It's been a hot day, the air heavy with the promise of a storm, but it's grown a little cooler as the afternoon wears on. The cotton blinds are drawn, shutting out some of the glare of the sun. Somewhere outside and downstairs comes the sound of kids playing ball. After my shower, I'm feeling pleasantly lazy; not like doing much of anything, not even getting dressed.

I'm sitting in a chair with a cold drink in my hand, half listening to the music on the stereo, half reading a magazine but not with any real concentration on either one.

I hear you come in but I don't look up until I feel your knee nudge against mine. Then I glance up. I see you standing above me, fresh from the shower. Your wet hair is wrapped in a towel and you're smiling.

You loosen the belt of your silk robe and let it fall open. You take the magazine away. Keeping your eyes on mine, you move closer, straddling my legs. Now I can see the shadows of fine veins under the skin of your belly. Your pubic hair is still damp. Your navel is level with my mouth. I dart my tongue into it playfully.

You move forward and put your hands on my shoulders, sliding your body down mine. Your hand checks to see if I'm aroused and then, in one fluid movement, you come to rest in my lap and I am fully sheathed.

There's a contemplative pause. I flex inside you a little to let you know I am there. You give me a friendly squeeze in return. But we're content at the moment, there is no particular hurry.

Your skin is still pleasantly cool from the shower. I begin to explore you leisurely with my hands: your back, your hips, your thighs. I trace with my fingers and fingernails long swirling patterns on you, and then retrace them. I breathe in your smell.

I pull the towel from your head and tangle my fingers in your wet hair, up to the nape of your neck. I move my mouth to taste your nipples, teasing them with my lips. I can hear you humming along to the music. You move your weight fractionally and press down, then lean back a little. It's a slow, subtle movement. We could spend hours this way. That doesn't matter because none of this serious anyhow.

The phone rings. After the fifth or sixth ring, you smile ruefully, kiss me, and move to pick it up. It's a girlfriend and, from the tone of your voice, I know this will not be a short conversation. You sprawl out on the bed, the handset clamped to your ear.

I have a vision of you at sixteen, kicking your heels and soaking up the school gossip. Giggling and picking at the candlewick bedspread

I pick up my drink again and sip it thoughtfully while I watch. I reach the melting ice cubes at the bottom of the glass and get an idea. I get up and cross towards you.

You start a little at the first touch of my ice chilled tongue on your back. Then turn and grin at me mischievously over your shoulder.

I smile back. I move my mouth over your shoulder blades, curving and flicking down the mountain range of your spine, rolling the ice cubes with my tongue. You shiver but you continue to chat resolutely.

I move lower. I reach the base of your spine and start to make circles there, sweeping down and around your buttocks. I use my fingertips in concentric delicate shapes, up the insides of your thighs, keeping my touch butterfly light. I take my time but I get teasingly closer to the more intimate and sensitive part of you. Soon my fingers are artfully brushing you there for fleeting seconds as they pass.

You're still talking, still giving nothing away, but I notice that you shift and your legs part a little. Casually, almost idly, I continue to kiss and lick you, my mouth moving lower and lower and inwards until my tongue finds your perineum. Here I pause a while, gently moving back and forth. Then slide upwards and begin tracing circles around the tight secretive muscles there, probing their defences.

You shudder and, after a moment, roll over. Your lips are parted and your face is flushed now but you're still listening to the tinny voice from the headset, still making the right noises when required

That's okay though. I slip down until I'm lying comfortably with your thighs on my shoulders. From here I have a Gulliver's view of your body, the plain of your belly stretched out above me; your voice in the distance. It suits me fine.

I know what this is about. It's a dance. You have to tune in, you have to pay attention with every nerve ending until you find the perfect responsiveness, the rhythm. I begin. I move my mouth over your soft, full outer lips with their fine hair. They open under my touch. Unhurriedly I continue to give them my attention, making you wait, deliberately drawing it out. I make little raids, darting and nibbling at you until I finally capture your delicate slippery nub.

Your hand is in my hair. My mouth is full of your juices. You are dissolving beneath me into a warm salty pool, a silky swamp I could willingly drown in.

And I still have one more trick up my sleeve.

I slip my hand beneath you and slide my thumb and forefinger until they meet on each side of the fleshy wall inside you. My finger strokes your g spot, my thumb surges inwards and my lips and tongue keep up their movement at the same time. It's a threefold assault, one that's worked in the past. You might cry "no fair" but I don't hear you complaining

I don't realise, or care, that I've won until I feel the first seismic shudder building up in you. You grip me hard as you come and the tremor shakes you all the way down. We wash up in its aftermath, both of us gasping.

I know what I want now. I pull you to the edge of the bed and spread you wide. I look down. Your body is sheened with sweat, your arms flung out and abandoned. I go slowly, or as slowly as I can, only a little way at first; feeling you lap over me like velvet, withdrawing again, teasing, like a child with an anemone.

But the effort is too much. In a second, I give in.

You grunt as the first hard thrust impales you and grab at me reflexively. Your nails dig in, hurting, but I'm glad. At this moment, I'd be glad if they drew blood. I want it. I pull you up towards me. There is a roaring in my ears, a fierce primitive exaltation. I could devour you. I want to split you in half.

Soon, much too soon, I feel my orgasm coming. It wrenches itself from somewhere deep and empties me out in a single tidal wave. I collapse onto you and let you cradle my head against your breasts.

A while later, reality returns to the room. And it's time to take another shower.