I Love You 47

"Well, since it is your birthday, do you want a blowjob?" I say, trying to pass off the question as a casual, flirtatious joke, when in reality I wanted to taste him in the worst fucking way.

I try to nonchalantly look up at him, flicking my hair out of my eyes.

My head is in his lap, and he's spent the past half hour, at least, playing with my hair. Half of me has been watching a movie, The Evil Within 2, while my other half was falling into a world of pure happiness, contentedness, and pleasure. Well, maybe not pure... not 100%... that familiar gnawing ache deep down inside, a space somewhere in the center of your pelvic bone, prevented my satisfaction from being complete. I had to stop myself from writhing in his lap due to the intensity of my sexual desire.

When my eyes adjusted to the change in lighting I could see him trying to contain himself, too. His muscles were tense, and he was holding back a mischievous smile.

"Welllll..." he begins, drawing out the word, wiggling his body slightly in thought, clearly choosing his next words carefully. "What guy in his right mind would say no?" He laughs a little. I feel myself smiling like the Clown Prince Of Crime himself. "I'm not going to say no, but I'm not going to make you, either."

Make me? Ha! Silly man. I want to lick him, feel him, taste him... I want to show him how I feel without using any words.

My smile widens and I can see his eyes flick to mine in the darkness. I love his eyes. On the surface, it doesn't seem like there is much special about them. They're brown, with average length eyelashes, and usually bloodshot. His eyes give away his ethnicity. Any Italian that I've ever correctly guessed was Italian had similar eyes. But once you get to know him, you can pick up on a huge range of emotions by simply observing his face... unfortunately, a number of them are largely indecipherable.

When exhibiting his intelligence, his muscles relax, his eyes unthreatening, playful, happy.

Without changing the muscles in his face, his eyes can harden and become shiny, an expression that is typically reserved for scolding. When his appearance in composed in this way he doesn't necessarily look threatening, rather it's a mix of determination and disappointment. I once received this disheartening gaze after taking a photo of us in a somewhat compromising position. I was met with a lecture about why possessing such things is unwise. It was damn effective. I felt like a puppy that had peed on the floor, and immediately deleted the photo.

If he lowers his chin and looks up from under his eyelashes, he resembles an angry, plotting man. His bright, shiny eyes add an air of mischief, as if he were imagining something incredibly dirty or hatching up some juvenile scheme. When I see this face I'm always left wondering what he was thinking and what the look meant... but I will never know.

And then there's the look he was giving me now. Open. Relaxed. Eyes soft, with only the slightest devilish gleam, guarded by formalities but betrayed by his smile. As always, my heart fluttered.

"Hmmmm..." is all I say as I rest my head back in his lap. Of course I'm not going to just dive right into it. I have to play with him. He prefers it that way, too.

After a few minutes, I turn my head and kiss his stomach. I can feel his muscles tense up underneath his shirt. Just that one kiss and I rest my head again. After a few more minutes of the movie, I do it once more, this time his reaction isn't as strong... which means he's prepared for it... which means I have to amp it up a little. I kiss again and again, placing each kiss in a different location. I feel his muscles tense through the fabric, drawing an excited giggle from me. He chuckles in response.

Oh my God I love him.

I try to rest my head again, leaving space between the barrage of kisses, but I find myself struggling, and before I planned on it, I'm pulling his shirt up to expose his belly. I press my lips against his warm, tan skin, and I can feel his muscles jump merrily underneath. Pink. This is pink. Comfortable. Warm. A soft flower pink. Not repulsive, but pretty, unassuming, innocent in appearance. I breath in his clean scent and kiss again, then again. I have to stop myself from licking and biting him. It's too soon for that, I must work him up a little first. But this is a start. I place a few slow kisses in varying locations while his fingers grab handfuls of hair.

Oh God

. I gently bite his tummy as that feeling of complete submission washes over me and I can feel myself tense up. In this moment, I would do absolutely anything for this man. I'm sure he can sense my excitement, and he releases his grip to continue running his fingers through my hair.

I know that if I keep kissing now, I'll end up moving too fast, so I try to lay my head down again, letting him just play with my hair. However, I find it hard to restrain myself and within thirty seconds I'm pressing my lips against his skin again. I hook one finger in the waist of his pajama pants and pull it down to kiss untouched skin. Slowly I work my way down as far as I can with his pants on, kissing slowly, letting my warm breath wash over him. Once again, he grabs fistfuls of hair. I grin and look up at him, and he's smiling too.

"It's been a while!" He points out, making excuses for how easily I'm drawing reactions. His hands leave my hair and he pushes himself up, readjusting to a more comfortable position. When he's done, his hands don't go back to my hair, but rather his right rests on the arm of the couch and his left drapes over my side.

That's it, go time.

I move my hand up the side of his thigh to the waist of his pants, only to find that during his readjustment, he had pulled the waist down below his butt so that they could easily slide off.

Once again a huge smile spreads across my face and I look up at him. He catches my eye, then looks away, overly emphasizing his pretense that he hadn't noticed my discovery. I giggle and he smiles.

My attention quickly turns back to the matter at hand. Slowly, I pull his pants down, kissing along the way.

I find myself not wanting to hold back. I pull his pants down far enough to expose him and I quickly move in, kissing the base of his fully erect penis. I can hear him moan. Now I'm hungry. I place another kiss halfway up the shaft, finishing the kiss off with a gentle lick. Without giving him much time to recover, I wrap my lips around the head of his penis and lick up his precum. He shutters and moans while simultaneously fireworks go off behind my eyelids, too fast to make out colors. He tastes so fucking good and my brain is going into overdrive in attempts to understand and categorize what I'm tasting and feeling in this moment. So warm. So sweet. If I thought I was hungry before, I'm ravenous now. I moan and move my mouth up and down his shaft. He gasps and moans with me. I swirl my tongue around the head and he grabs my hair. I plunge him deep inside my mouth, feeling him hit the back of my throat, and he scratches my back. I create a suction and focus purely on the sensitive areas around the head, and my actions are greeted with astonishment.

"How are you doing that?" He gasps. I just smile and chuckle a little without taking him out of my mouth. I lose myself in the moment, the actions I'm doing and the reactions I get from him. His panting is punctuated with moans and words of praise. "Oh my God" and "you're amazing"... he made sure to tell me that he wasn't just saying that because it's been a while, but that he actually meant it. I was licking, sucking, kissing, biting, scratching, moaning, and just generally trying to communicate to him how much he means to me without using words. Sometimes I deepthroat him, other times I take it soft and gentle, teasing him, playing, taking my time and feeling him. He's much more vocal than I remember, moaning loudly and panting. At one point he even gasps out "Oh my God, I'm making noises I've never made before! I don't growl, what is this?!"

I pause, and he pants.

"You really are amazing," he says, catching his breath. "You women always want to get it over with as fast as possible, but you're taking your time and teasing, and I can feel the difference."

Good. That means I am somewhat successful in wordlessly confessing my love.

We watch a little more of the movie before I once again begin losing myself in his closeness, his warmth, his smell... I begin kissing him again.

"You had me so close so many times, you know," he says, and I look up at him. "I'm stopping myself. Every time I go like this," he uses both of his arms to press the right side of my face into his belly, and I can feel his core muscles tensing rhythmically, similar to an orgasm, "I'm pretending that I'm cumming, and it feels so good!" He tenses up and presses my face into him harder. I let out a whimper of desire... I love the force, I love the pressure, I love his strength, his dominating attitude. You see, I'm a submissive, but this love does not identify himself as the dominant type. He doesn't like bondage. Choking. Slapping. He pulls hair, that's about it. However, I've found that he actually is dominant without using physical foreplay to display his power and superiority. He's a mental Master. He always has to win. He always has to have intellectual advantage. I love him.

At this point we decide to move from the couch to the bed (which happens to be a futon mattress on the floor just in front of the couch), and I pull his pants off completely. He decides to reach over me for his lighter as I'm moving down to the floor, trapping me on my knees. While continuing his pretense and reaching for cigarettes, he turns me so that I'm bent over the cushions of the couch.Pressing his hips against my ass, he holds me there. I gasp and my entire body feels hot as I, internally, beg to be fucked. Externally, I moan, unable to focus my brain enough to string even a simple sentence together and tell him how much I love this particular situation. After a few pelvic thrusts and some teasing on his part, and moans and gasps and "Oh my God's" on mine, he lets me go. We settle down next to each other to cuddle and I begin to gently tickle his arm.

"Try to give me goosepimples," he says. The demand made me want to giggle because of the childishness of it, but the tone of voice stopped me. The darkness made reading his facial expression difficult, but I imagined it matched his voice. He sounded sad, as if he were remembering something... but at the same time relaxed and eager. Only he could be a range of so many emotions while remaining so collected. I sat up a little more and focused on the gentleness of my fingertips skating over the surface of his arm. I focused on the patterns, or more specifically, the lack of. I began to judge myself for the pressure and the movement, and my harsh judgements made my hands unsteady, further disrupting the flow of my work.

"C'mon, you're a female, you can do it," instantly, I'm curious as to why he said that, and slightly offended that, apparently, I wasn't living up to my feminine potential. "You can't focus on a pattern. It's like when I'm playing with your hair, do you think I follow a pattern? No, I just go with what feels right."

Wanting to prove that I am a good female, I focus even more on trying to feel him... and after two seconds of attempting to do so, I realize that I'm working in the wrong direction. I shouldn't have to

try

to feel him. I just need to get lost in the moment.

"I'm trying too hard," I say, and slump back down onto the bed. I once again cuddle up properly next to him, a position that not only is comfortable but is also advantageous for caressing him.

"That's what I've been saying," he says, as I begin to allow myself to become lost in his presence. "It's just gotta be something you feel, and you can feel it. When you make me jump or make noise, you know you've hit a spot. Once you find the spots, it's easy," he says, and suddenly he turns towards me. Facing each other on our sides, foreheads pressed together, shins intertwined, I feel the soft palm of his hand press against the side of my face.

This is perfect.

My entire being melted contentedly at the closeness of his body, his welcoming, clean scent. I can barely see him through the darkness, and the only thing I hear is his voice all around me, deep and rumbling, sincere, tender... all of it is perfect.

"For example," his hand moves to my hair. "You like it behind the ear."

At first I'm confused as to what he's talking about, but then I feel his fingers move to the region behind my ear where they become entangled in a small amount of hair before he gently, firmly pulls my hair, letting it slide through his fingers.

I gasp at the intensity of the moment, the mental and physical bond that I feel we're sharing. In one second, I am surprised by his perceptiveness, flattered by his attention, turned on, and awed at the amount of interest he has in me and the way I react to him.

The atmosphere in my mind explodes into a dark cloudy rainbow of hazy light, all of the colors shining at once. Almost like colorful laser lights strobing through a dry ice fog.

He lets my hair fall, feather light, from his hand. Then, somewhere out of my fog I could hear him say "And the base of your neck."

Before I could prepare myself, his fingers grip a fistful of hair and once again firmly pull, letting my hair slip between his fingers.

My mind and body both explode. I'm already horny, but now it feels like lightning is tickling my toes. My body reacts, my back arching, pressing myself towards him. A constant string of

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

pours through my mind. For a moment I am lost completely in the feelings... it's as if I no longer have a body but only a mind, which is much more sensitive. And it is as if that ultra sensitive mind is electrified, stretched, and freed all at once. Nothing matters except this, right here, this moment, this intensity, this intimacy. It feels as if he and I are one.

The last strands of my hair fall through his fingers and I think I lay there, panting, still just simply enjoying his closeness. My urge to kiss him is almost overpowering. I refrain. I'm too clumsy to gracefully make the move, and I don't want to risk ruining this moment.

I'm startled back into reality, back into my body. Now that I have a physical form again, I feel compelled to express my pure joy, so I throw myself at him in a hug. Nothing could be better. I'm laying in bed next to a man whom I would do absolutely anything for. What could be more perfect? He is my Joker, and I am his Harley. Updated, of course, to include all of the charm, wit, and insanity while excluding the physical and mental abuse.

After a minute or two, I decide to go down on him again, and I'm thirsty.

Once again, I take it slow, though not nearly as drawn out as before. And once again, I get him to edge. But he claims victory this night. Like I said before. He must win. And he did.

In the very beginning, he knew I wanted to taste him, without me saying a word. In denying me just that, but providing me with so many other things, he melted my heart even more, capturing it all for himself... and he won.