Tired. No, deeper than tired. It's been one hell of a long season, but it's all in and God can do the rest. And judging by the lightning to the south, He's getting ready to do just that. Sure hope so. We need the rain.
It'll be good sleeping at least. Tub and supper already done, I should be under the covers before 2:30. That'll seem early compared to the last few. Oh well. It'll all seem worth it when we haul it to town in a few months.
I'm just putting away the last of the dishes when a flash catches my eye. Storm must be getting closer.
I turn off the lights and walk to the patio door to watch the lightning, just for a moment. Then it's straight to sleep. There's just something about an oncoming storm that I can't stop watching. I'm so engrossed in the light show that I don't even hear the click of the door. Don't hear her footsteps either. Not across the entryway, not up the steps. In fact, I don't hear her at all. It's like I sense her. I know she's here; I can feel it.
Her perfume reaches me before she does. Just a hint, a reminder of when my lips would brush her neck. The reminder alone is enough to stir me. But it's when I feel her fingertips on mine that I know I'm not dreaming or hoping or imagining. She's finally here.
Her fingertips brush mine. Barely, then she laces her hands in mine. How can her hands feel so small and soft compared to mine? She always said my hands were both tough and tender - like me. She liked that, she said. No, she loved that.
I don't move a muscle. Just wait to see what she has planned. She steps closer to me, her fingers tightening their grip as her lips brush across my shoulder blade. Her breath is warm on my bare skin, but I still get a chill through every cell in my body.
With her cheek resting between my shoulder blades, she slowly traces her fingers up my arms until they're on my shoulders. My breath quickens and it's more than a stir I feel now. I'm getting hard. Fast.
Fingertips continue to trace down my chest, toying with my nipples. The sensation makes me gasp. A good gasp. A very good gasp. I can feel her smile against my back. She hasn't uttered a word, not a sound, but I hear her loud and clear.
Her lips pick back up on my back, my shoulders as her fingers start moving again. Tracing, teasing, dropping. When they reach the waistband of my boxers, I automatically lean my head back, pushing into her. I haven't actually laid eyes on her yet, but I can guarantee that piece of fabric I feel is a dress - and nothing else. And judging by the hardness of her nipples, I'm not the only one looking forward to this.
Her fingertips are still running the rim of the band, not dipping in, just teasing. I finally move, not much, just reach my hands back to her hips. Pulling her closer. Prompting her. She gets it. She chuckles softly as her fingers stop teasing, grab the elastic and pull it down. I barely have time to register what she's doing before her hand is on me, around me, stroking me.
Sweet Jesus, I have waited for this. God. Her hands. Those fingers. With just her fingertips, she lightly strokes me. It's barely a touch but its effect is electric. I arch back into her, and she pushes into me. Using the precum I leaked as lube, she's done with the light touches and she's pumping me in earnest now.
As her hand strokes me, her other climbs back up my chest, back to my nipple. She's kissing harder of my back and I swear I feel a nip of teeth. Fuck - that's been forever. And I know what I means, she wants this. Bad.
In one swift motion, I grab her hands and turn around. It's dark, but the approaching storm lights up the kitchen. It's not much, but the flash in her eyes is just as hot as the flash of the lightning. For a moment, we stand there, me holding her hands, her staring, unsure. Am I mad? Am I annoyed? Am I going to turn her away? I see every one of those questions in her stare.
