This Morning Waking You

This morning, I lingered in bed a while, wishing you were beside me. The day is overcast, filtering the light like a washed-out photograph, or a dream itself, and I thought of how you would seem like a soft, imagined scene in some movie when I woke and saw you there, your hair across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of your shoulders with each breath. The sheet would have slipped in the night, tangling around your waist, and even the slight shadows cast by the hollow of your neck, by your nipples, by one arm as, without waking, you stretched it above your head languorously. I might bend close – close enough that your breath would warm my cheek – but I would not dare, for many minutes, to caress your soft skin, your delicious, inviting curves, in any way save with my eyes.

But how my eyes would touch you, though – gazing with such exquisite longing at your slightly-parted lips, at your cheeks, pink with the flush of sleep, at the ridge of your collarbone like the edge of some perfect beach, and the slope downward to the rising waves of your breasts – and the curve of your belly, half-surfaced from beneath the sheets and so desirable. I would watch, holding that moment as long as possible, but I would also feel the stirrings of a need that could only be held back for so long, a need rising from the depths inside me as surely as its outward evidence pushed eagerly against the sheet covering

my

body from the waist down.

There would be so many delicious ways to wake you, it would be difficult to decide. My lips would hover over your mouth, your earlobe, the curve of your shoulder; my hand would be millimetres from cupping one breast, the side of my index finger so close to your nipple that it would begin to stiffen just from the change in the air; I would roll to my side ready to slip one leg over yours, beneath the sheets. But then, just before taking any of these next steps, I would notice how far your legs had spread apart, how easy it would be to lift the sheet quietly and kneel between; and there would be no other choice to make.

The waking world would begin to call to you, a slow, indefinite surfacing from your dreams into that half-life where fantasy and reality intertwine, from the moment the sheet slid aside. The cool air would raise goosebumps along your thighs, and your eyes would flutter to almost opening, then settle again, over and over like a butterfly newly emerged into the light. Normally, you would reach out with your legs, blindly seeking the edge of the bedclothes to slip back beneath – but there would be another sensation distracting you pleasurably, the delicate satisfaction of a need that only became more certain the closer you came to the waking world.

Would that be the first sense you were sure of, my darling, before your eyes focused and you could hear the soft gasp of my breath in between diving to the depths of your growing wetness? Or perhaps in the confusion of coming to life, it would appear to you as some deep, violet glow, as the taste of salt on your lips, as things slowly sorted themselves out. Perhaps your body would already be reacting, hips rolling, hands covering your breasts, before you fully realized my tongue, tracing each delicate fold of you, dipping into your nectar as surely and deftly as any feeding hummingbird, riding the throb of your increasing need – and my hands on you, fingertips stroking from halfway to the sensitive depths of your inner thighs, and as you lifted your hips, sliding further back, cupping your bottom in both palms, teasing at the cleft as you began to writhe and offer yourself more fully to me?

Slowly, all would become clear, and your hands would slide down, caressing your breasts, stroking your own turgid nipples and moaning as you thrust forward to take more of my wriggling tongue into your cunt, shivers of pleasure wracking your body with each thrust, each slick caress – and is that one wet fingertip at your ass, teasingly twisting its way barely in and out the puckered opening? In concert with it, my tongue would withdraw to allow two fingers to fill you in front as well, sinking slowly but surely, caressing you in circles, curling up to find each spot that made you cry out, that made you thrust forward against their hardness, begging for more of my touch. And given their freedom, my lips would move up, settling around the hood of your clit and sucking at it, the tip of my tongue working its way against the delicate treasure hidden beneath, teasing and undulating against it, buzzing until you bent your head back and cried out my name, calling me to you, warning me that it would not be much longer before you would lose all control and the heat would rise within you inexorably toward conclusion?

Hearing that cry, I would grin against you, my free hand sliding down to surround the already-aching shaft of my cock, stroking it into full readiness in perfect time with the thrust of my trembling fingers into you, one last time, opening you further than ever. Then, with a low groan in the back of my throat, I would climb up your body in a flash, the smooth head of my hardness gliding, slick with its own wetness, up along your thigh. Before it reached its ultimate goal, my mouth would be against yours, kissing you hungrily, my tongue introducing itself between your lips as a harbinger of what was so soon to come, my eyes burning into yours, claiming you again as my own.

My hands would find your wrists, holding you down against the mattress, and there I would be, so close, so ready, swelling even before the tip pressed gently inward and you opened up so willingly ... filling you inch by perfectly-fitting inch, you lifting your hips and taking me in deeper, and deeper, until our bodies are pressed so close together you could not fit a sheet of paper between us, and we are completely, utterly, fully one. For that moment, everything would halt, even the air would fall still, our pulses the only thing indicating that time still marched on, blood still pumping from our hearts down to where our beings were so totally joined. With each beat, my cock would twitch inside you.

Then, in a rush, like tipping over the edge of a waterfall, we would thrust together madly, a tangle of limbs, moaning and gasping and rocking together, hard and fast. Sweat would sheen our skin; the scent of our arousal would fill the room, thick and pungent. We would ride each other's bodies, clutching tightly as if there were no other stable point available; as if the earth itself were quaking and all we could do is go along with the movement of the continents.

Later, I would reflect on how beautiful you had been in this moment, my lover; how the passion had shone in your eyes, how you had moved with the grace of clouds arcing across the morning sky, how my heart had almost burst with adoration when your lips shaped my name. But lost inside everything, every thought given to our race for the ultimate pleasure, both giving and receiving, all I knew was that you were mine, and that I was yours, both owner and owned in that sweet, stolen, sinful act of lust and desire and yes, love; we could not give our bodies this fully if we were not touching each other that completely, as well – but yes, so lost, so suffused with your taste across my tongue, your skin fully pressed to mine, the keen of your voice in my ear as we moved closer and closer ...

You'd hook your legs around me, pulling my hips tighter against you with each thrust, feeling me swell with the slick, delicious friction of your grip, and your arms would close behind my back, nails digging into each shoulderblade, our kisses more savage, hungry for the completion of this thing. And it would come rushing through us like a freight train, like the roar of a jet taking off just overhead, it would press us harder into the bed, every muscle tensed in two bodies, every inch of each of us consumed by unending fire –

– it would hit you first, burying you in joy like an avalanche, so pure you would laugh and cry and scream all at once, your body shuddering beneath me, your cunt in spasms around me, and that would pull me in as well, bending my head to the sky and howling, a flood pouring from both of us at once, every gate burst open and riding through burst after burst of pleasure, until finally we lay together, quivering, still locked in an embrace, bodies heaving, holding urgently to a moment neither of us would ever, in several lifetimes, dare to forget.