Sirting the Night

If asked for the most simplistic explanation of that evening with Leta, I would have pointed to the skirt. Her black skirt. Her short, form-fitting, black skirt. The skirt she wore to formal occasions that were more social than formal, like the author's reading we had attended at our west branch bookstore earlier in the evening. The sexuality she expresses in that skirt simply cannot be ignored, especially by me. I am baited by the curve of her, by the way she moves within those curves. Catching glimpses of her across the store or brushing behind her close enough to feel her warmth, I cannot help but want to pounce upon her like a jungle cat.

"I want you," I breathed in her ear during one of those close passes. It caused her the silliest distracted grin while discussing the canapés with a reviewer from the local newspaper.

But it was more than the skirt, of course. Home, as we went about the rituals of closing our day, I was reminded of whom she is deeper within the skirt. Her care and compassion as a mother. Her loyalty and camaraderie as a sister. Her duty and her kind rebellion as a daughter. All these things and more that she brings together as companion. She makes me proud to know her and to be with her. In doing so, it instills in me a need to protect her, to provide for her, to fight and struggle with this world for what it is to help make what it could be with her. In that too I covet her. In that too I hunger for her.

Being a man it is difficult for me to express such things in truly meaningful ways. Simply saying it seems woefully inadequate and sometimes uncomfortable for reasons I have never understood. Gifts I do well, but again I am not sure if chocolate and trinkets tell her exactly how much she means to me.

My body knows ways, however.

In kisses. In caresses. In more.

I stood behind her in the kitchen as she put away tea mugs. I put my arm lightly around her waist.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi." I kissed the back of her neck.

"It went well this evening."

"Very." Fingers in aimless circles, I felt the silkiness of her blouse and skirt.

"I think Thompson may finally have a seller with this book."

"Yes." Her warmth radiated out into me, drawing me closer.

"I wasn't sure when he said he wanted to try a different story structure, but it seems to have worked for him."

"Yes." I kissed the back of her neck again.

"That's pleasantly distracting."

"Good, then I have accomplished a goal."

"A goal?"

"Yes, and it's not my only goal."

"There are others?"

"This, for one." I turned her toward me and kissed her full on the lips. As I hugged her, I felt the press of her breasts and legs against me.

Breathing a little more heavily, she smiled. "I am so glad you're an ambitious man."

"Good."

As I kissed her again, my right hand slid up her silky blouse to cup her breast. I squeezed her breast as I slid my tongue inside her mouth. She gasped as our tongues flicked at each other. I felt her nipple rise against the gauzy fabric of her bra and blouse. My thumb worked circles around it as my other fingers kneaded the soft warm flesh.

My senses tingled as I kissed and touched her. Everything became brighter about us, more electric. I felt the heat of her. I smelled the scent of her soap and shampoo. I saw the flush of her, the fire in her eyes. I heard the subtle changes of her breathing as she too became more aroused. I lost track of thought. Feeling. Feeling was all I understood.

Touching her.

Kissing her.

My fingers worked feverishly at the buttons of her blouse. I pulled the silky material out of her skirt waistband. Her delicate bra was like a blush against her skin. Her dark nipples poked proudly from it. I unsnapped the front closure and cupped her bare breast. She gasped inside my mouth as we kissed. My fingers found her nipple. I traced circles around the aureole. I pinched and pulled at the lovely nub.

Her hands stroked my hair and face. She kissed my lips and throat. She pulled me closer. I pinned her against our kitchen counter.

I leant over her to take her nipple in my mouth. I drew it deeply between my lips and flicked it with my tongue. I nipped it gently with my teeth.

Her head dropped back and she groaned in pleasure.

Her hands worked along my back, clutching in the material of my shirt. I pulled back and let her unbutton it. She pulled it off my shoulders. Her fingers found my chest hair. She toyed there a moment before hugging me. Her nipples brushed through my chest. The warmth of her breasts spread against me. She lifted a leg and wrapped it against me. I held her there, pinned to the counter. She mewled in my ear.

Want.

Need.

Desire.

I led her to the table and held her in front of me. She leaned over, her elbows resting against the tabletop.

My hands slid down her sides, over the luscious curve of her bottom, and found the hem of her skirt. I rolled the skirt up her thighs, over her bottom, baring her there before me. She wiggled her hips playfully and hungrily.

I indulged in the sight of her. The pretty pear shape of her bottom. The strong curves of her thighs. The blush of her slit, high between her legs. I loved her being exposed before me. Vulnerable and precious. Wanton and luscious.

I wanted her with every primal fiber of my being. Wanted her. Wanted to have her. Wanted to possess her.

I had been hard since before moving across the room. My cock now demanded her. I undid my trousers and stepped as carefully from them as I could in hungry anticipation. I slid out of my boxers and kicked them across the room.

I stood there close to her, my cock preceding me. I knelt behind her, touching on the inside of her ankle. I slowly slid my hand up her inner leg to her inner thighs. Her skin was hot and slick with perspiration and herself. I could smell the musk of her arousal thick in the air.

Her pussy glistened in front of me. Deeply pink with arousal. Tender with need.

I brushed my finger along the slit, opening her from bottom to clit.

A shiver coursed through her body as she groaned.

I stood behind her and guided my cock along her slit where my finger had been. The tip of me parted her slit. Her hips pressed back against me. She wanted me inside her. She wanted my cock inside her pussy.

I pressed into her slowly, feeling her open around me. Pressing deeper. Deeper. Deeper until her bottom met the front of my thighs. I held myself there, feeling the warm wetness surrounding me. It was like melting into her.

I stroked in and out of her slowly, fucking her firmly, desperately trying to control the screams within begging me to flail her with my cock. It was power and precision. Control. My hands guided her back toward me as my hips moved toward her.

My pace increased. My hips swiveled slightly, literally screwing in to her.

More.

Faster.

Hands clutching her hips.

Leaning over her, pinning her to the table.

Her grinding back against me.

Our mutual grunts.

The scent of us.

I felt the tension of orgasm grow within her. Her breathing became more ragged. She grunted as she pressed her hips back against me. I held onto her with one arm as I reached around for her breast. My fingers found her hard nipple. I pinched. She groaned. I fucked her as I fingered her nipple.

"I'm gonna cum," she panted.

"Cum for me."

She cried out. Her body shivered. Her pussy clutched at my cock deep within her. She cried out again and again. I fucked her as she came.

For a man, orgasm is not simply pleasure, but is also the projection of one's self. In ways, cumming is an act of domination. It's a man planting himself inside of a woman. It's him becoming a part of her. In the act, we do not have a chance to think of this. Thinking is impossible. In the act, we are only animals. But we feel this.

I felt that. I wanted to cum inside Leta because I wanted her as mine.

Face twisted in the agony that is also ecstasy, I groaned as I came.

After breathless moments, I pulled out of her and held her to me. Her eyes were wide and soft with contentedness and simple fatigue. I kissed her and pulled her toward the back stairs that led up to our bedroom. She turned off the kitchen light and put her arms around me. Up we went, together.