Devoutly to Be Wished

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Will. Yes. All of it. Yes." And by the time she had finished speaking the words, he had knelt forward, parted her thighs, and driven his tongue into her, so that she ended with a yes that was a bright cry, as she arched back and opened to his hungry mouth.

******

Bijou was in the middle of a sentence. "...so basically, what's being said here is that going back to school at this point would be a big financial step, but..." when she paused. A small star had exploded very softly in the back of her head.

Really? she thought. Yes? Oh good, o god, o good. It hurt, all of a sudden, hurt deep in her belly to think that it was happening right now, and she wasn't there to witness it, to drink it. But it was correct. It was the sort of pain that was right, and understandable. And soon enough, or not soon enough, but soon, she would be there too.

Oh yes. Very soon.

"Sorry, I got distracted," she said. "What I'm saying is, the bravest possibility here is for you to commit to this long-term plan, but..."

Her mind wandered as she did her best to convince young Adam that his desire to go back to school was a good one. Will would want to go down on Sara, first thing if he could. He loved that, almost more than anything else. Perhaps he was there right now, his tongue flickering, his fingers...

***

In fact, he was. At that moment, his fingers had slid down, slowly, drawing a line from her little pearl, where they had been lingering. He had been gently spreading her lips open, drawing her completely apart, to reveal everything, both for his own education and to make her vulnerable. He watched her squirm under his gaze, amazed at how much it drove her higher that he was being so straightforward.

But that hadn't been the case a little while ago, when she had first said the word Yes to him. Even as he'd said what she had asked him to say, told her he'd do whatever he liked with her, he knew he was in a bind, and his mind was racing.

He knew what she had asked him: that he be the one in charge, to 'get a little toppy,' as Bijou would say, but it just was not in him to move to a place in which he wasn't motivated by what a lover liked, what she wanted. That service both pleased him and defined him; it was, truly, what he actually wanted. There was an idiotic thought loop in his head now: but what does she want? She wants me to do what I want. But what I want to do is whatever she likes. But what she likes is doing what someone else wants.

But there were at least one or two things he knew he wanted already, that is, if she wanted them. He wanted to taste her, to press his mouth against that spectacular little pussy for hours, days, the rest of his life.

And he wanted to make her come. Over and over, hard and good. He wanted to see that, to hear it, to memorize her at every level, from the tiny shocks and cries he was already hearing to the most sweeping and abandoned climax. He wanted that, all of it.

He couldn't just be peremptory, because it didn't fit with the intense affection, the adoration and connection he felt for this... this angel. But he could talk. Oh yes, and he could simply tell the truth, and repeat what she clearly wanted to hear him say. And she seemed to want him. More than that; she responded to everything he did with a clear, plaintive hunger, as if he had her at his fingertips already.

Meanwhile, though, his body had completely ignored the fact that he was still trying to decide what to do. He noticed that he was back to kissing her, his mouth urgent and deep and hers matching him, and that his hands were roaming outrageously around her body, to which she responded with the hottest series of little whimpers and giggles he had ever heard.

He pulled his mouth away, reluctantly, and looked at her. Her head was thrown back, her eyes gleaming as she gazed, almost drugged, at his face. She breathed quickly, her lips parted. She looked like many things, suddenly. A woman on the edge of orgasm. A woman about to commit murder. A woman so in love she wants to actually, physically drive the force of her overflowing heart into the heart of her lover, to penetrate him as he penetrates her. She had the most boundless, the most fiery eyes he'd ever seen.

"Lover, I just don't know where to start. I know I want to keep doing this. God. Forever." He ran his hands up to her breasts, beginning to be a bit frustrated by the way her arms met and blocked his view and his touch. He moved his mouth to the side of her neck, kissing her down to where the kimono draped across her shoulder. It was beautiful, but he wanted to shove it aside.

Almost as an aside, he added, "As much as I like. As long as I want." And because he couldn't help it, he added, "As long as you want."

"Yes," she said, again. "Yes. Yes." Every time she said it, it was an entirely different word. A tentative consent. A plea. A whine. A low, sweet moan. And so she had conditioned him, as he then began to touch her everywhere, to learn the inches of her skin, and hear at every turn her agreement, the urging of her voice as she balanced her desires against his.

"And this," he said, drawing back again and running his hands along her silk-bound arms, "is so beautiful, so amazingly hot, that part of me just wants to see it forever." He traced the shapes she made, the slices of her skin that showed between the kimono and her arms, the edge of red on white, the pressed flesh of her breasts against the black silk. "But then, I find I also really want to take it off. It's rather... limiting. Lovely, though. If frustrating in the extreme."

"Yes," she said again, this time with that sassy gleam in her eye. And she opened her hands, allowing the two ends to fall. He didn't have to unwrap it for her; it was wound loosely enough that as soon as the end fell free she could shift her forearms back and forth and it widened and fell, uncoiling all the way up to her wrists.

She couldn't help it; she was a little stiff from having her arms brought slightly forward in that position for even this long, and without thinking about what a stunning picture it would be, she kept the silk between her hands and raised her arms over her head, stretching her back. The kimono fell further open and she arched, letting her head roll back, stretching her whole spine.

Will nearly fainted. She had the most spectacular breasts he'd ever seen, and the calendar-girl pose she was accidentally in made them even more perfect. When she finished stretching, she looked at him, and her eyes twinkled.

"Yeah, they're usually a big hit," she said, and Will turned bright red, realizing that he had been unabashedly staring at those gorgeous breasts, most likely with his mouth hanging open. He closed his mouth. Jesus, I'm a complete pig, he thought, but over that, much louder, was another set of thoughts, like a litany. I have to fuck her. I have to. I adore her, there is no question, and I want her to have everything she's ever dreamed of, but I have to fuck her soon, I have to taste her, I have to be let loose to travel all over that incredible body, I have to touch her, all over. I'll go insane if I don't.

"God, I'm sorry," he said, not just for staring at her tits but for the fierce and completely feral thoughts he was having, which he was somehow convinced she could hear. Or at least read on his face.

"I'm not sure for what," said Sara, looking vastly amused. "So, exactly how many times are you going to make me say yes before you believe me?"

He laughed, and suddenly he found his stride. "You know how insecure I am. I need to hear you say it over and over. Reassure me." He reached forward and drew her kimono open, undoing the sash and pushing it off her shoulders.

"Yes," she said with immense mock patience, and he chuckled again. Her whole body entranced him, and she now sat naked in front of him, her face shifting between self-consciousness and pleasure. His mind, actually helpful for a change, said 'talk to her, quick' and he said, "God, you're beautiful. You are extraordinary."

Sara thought wryly of her various little imperfections, the ones only she really saw, and then looked at his eyes and realized he was telling the absolute truth. She was exactly, precisely, what he wanted at this moment. "Yes," she grinned, knowing it was true.

He chuckled again. And got up, a little stiffly. He realized that he'd been on his knees for a while, and furthermore, he was still half-clothed. She watched him stand, her eyes narrow and amused, and as he stepped back, suddenly self-conscious about simply taking his pants off, she looked directly at him, at his crotch, and then his face, and said, earnestly, "Yes." It had agenda, that yes. His eyes flickered down to his own body, where the outline of his rather painfully hard cock was terribly obvious against his slacks. Then his eyes moved back to hers. She had a look that he would later learn to recognize, one so complex it took a while to read. There was smart-assed challenge in it, and deep affection, and intense intelligence. The look was, "I'm trying very hard to tell you what I want, so you can take me there. Figure it out, Captain Oblivion."

Will had practiced for years the various expressions on Cary Grant's face in North by Northwest. He couldn't help it; he had watched the movie dozens of times; he had it virtually memorized. And what he hoped he looked like at this moment was Cary Grant, during the dinner scene on the train, as Eva Marie Saint begins to make it clear that she intends to seduce him.

What was the line? "Now let me think... yes, I know exactly what you mean."

Her face was at the level of his cock. She slid her eyes down, forthrightly, and back up, still with that mocking gaze. And at that moment, he truly did feel a bit like Cary Grant; he'd figured her out. He kept her gaze, but tilted his head a bit and grinned.

"No," he said. "Oh no. You'd have me over the edge in a minute and a half, and I have ideas that would be sabotaged if that were to happen. Your mouth," and here, for just a moment, he thought of Bijou's mouth as well. And his mind naturally moved, for just a moment, to the possibility of two mouths... o jesus. Not there. Do not go there.

He looked at Sara's mouth to focus himself. That didn't help at all. It was curled into a sardonic little grin, and absolutely irresistible. And her eyes were mesmerizing. He cleared his throat, gruffly.

"...your mouth is undoubtedly one of the sweetest places on earth, but no, oh no. Not yet." Her look was both feral and angelic. "In fact, I think I'll just leave these on for this next part."

"Yes?" It was a question this time, surprise and amusement, and perhaps a bit of genuine frustration at being thwarted.

"Yes," he said firmly, and moved toward the bed. He sat down next to her and put his arms around her, and he moved her further up on the bed, as he laid down and drew her with him. They lay side by side, and he sat up onto one elbow and looked down at her. He couldn't resist running his hands down her body, tracing curves like juicy mountain roads, round and tight. She writhed and gasped under his hand, and he sent a fingertip down into her cleft, tracing hesitantly in to learn her buttons. She writhed and cried out as he pressed in, a little harder, laying his finger along the division, beginning to find his way in. Had she come? God, the way she arched and pressed toward his hand, she seemed so close, so instantly.

"This," he said. "What I want is this. I want to taste you and learn you and figure you out and I want to make you come."

The yes she said then was with her hands, pressing his head down to her opening thighs, drawing his hand to cup and stroke her breast. And when the tip of his tongue touched down, she arched and opened and said yes in that very particular way.

And now, as he explored and teased, spreading her legs decisively apart and dipping his tongue in experimental little forays, learning every nuance of her response, she said yes, among the cries of gulls and the growls of cats. He had her on the edge, and kept her there, because he wanted to know everything. Even though he knew it was driving her insane, and actually part of him was amused by that, he couldn't let her come until he learned a bit more about her. And so, at that moment when Bijou raised her head in the coffee shop, hearing a distant bell, he was sliding two fingers deeply into Sara, watching her whole body shake with maddened hunger, and knowing that he had to let her come soon.

***

Bijou looked at the clock in the coffeeshop and thought to herself, Sara has been on the edge of orgasm since, well, about two hours ago now. I hope he lets her come.

She didn't think about the fact that somehow she could tell that he hadn't, yet.

She went back to Adam's reading, and crossed her fingers.

***

"Oh no, not yet," he said, taking his mouth off her but continuing to move his fingers in and out of her startlingly hot pussy, slowly, agonizingly. That really seemed to make her insane. The heat on his hand was almost uncomfortable. "I really don't want you to come quite yet. I want to keep doing this for as long as I like, and you'd make me stop, I think."

He had a good voice, though he didn't think so. It was gentle, tenor, and very smooth. He had always wished it to be somewhat deeper, or more conventionally sexy. Whatever he personally thought of it, it certainly seemed to have the perfect effect on her. And the more he spoke, the more he was able to simply tell his body's simplest truths as he allowed himself to indulge, bit by bit, his immense hunger for her.

He'd kept salting the phrase in, as he took his time learning every tiny inch of her fascinating pussy, and every response he could evoke. As long as I like, as much as I like. And in saying this, this mantra, he'd begun to think of the ways he'd always wanted to indulge himself, with Sara, with women. I want to eat a woman's pussy for as long as I like. I want to taste it for me, just for me, offered to me for as long as I like. I want to know I can make her come, whenever I want, and not let her until I'm truly satisfied. I want to hear her moan, make her crazy, taste and taste and taste for as long as I like, as long as it takes to learn exactly how to make her come, whenever, however I like. I admit, that's something I've always wanted.

And when, occasionally, he had paused and said these things aloud, she'd moaned and said the only word she had said the entire time.

Yes. Yes yes yes. Talking to her, just that even, seemed to send her completely over the edge. He was at war – if only he could speak and still bury his face in her, use his tongue for both. But when it seemed each time that she was getting close, he'd lift his head and talk to her, and she'd respond by yowling and ramming herself onto his hand. Yes.

But there came a point when her tone changed. His tongue, making steady circles on her clit while his fingers moved mercilessly inside her, was taking her brutally close to the edge over and over. And suddenly he knew that she had shifted into desperation, even before the new, plaintive word came from her straining throat.

"Please. Pleeeeease," she keened.

He'd have liked to be clever, to keep her going just a bit more, but those syllables, and the tone behind them, sent him over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer, any more than she could at this moment.

It was his turn to say the word. He raised his head, for just a moment, and as she writhed in frustration he slid his hand up her body to the valley between her breasts, pressing her heart.

"Yes," he said to her, and bent down once more to drink her as she came. His mouth dove in and his tongue found her little berry and began to strike, and his fingers slid now deep, quick and steady. His whole body said yes along with him, and he heard her say yes as well, over and over.

Yes, as he stroked her steadily now, became a rising pitch, a hum of brighter sound and the pleading whine of oh yeah oh yeah oh oh yeah. It became a high moan, and then she inhaled deeply and her body froze, silent and still, arched up like a bow, and as she went over the edge she held his head steady between her insistent hands and her thighs clamped down on him. She came with a lilting cry that encompassed her, seemed to come from everywhere, like the light wild howl of a wolf. And when he knew she had truly reached the other side of it, he couldn't wait any longer, and he sat back long enough to strip himself of his pants and lift her up to his cock.

As the tip of his whole body met the heart of hers, he stopped. This, this moment, should not be hurried. This should stop time, be the end of the world, at this first inch or two of electric meeting, and Sara, though her body still shook with climax, felt it too, and breathed, and opened her eyes. Not her body, at that moment, not the extraordinary sensation of that bare tip of him moving in, being drawn by her hungry little cunt, not the perfect breasts, the waist that he stroked with his hands. None of that. Her eyes, that was what hypnotized him, what seduced him most at that moment, when everything in them was suddenly joined, hands, sex and skin. Her wild, divine eyes, filled with storms and oceans, deep and beautiful and absolutely real.

Everything was completely still. Breathless, the world paused and centered itself on that single small area, the joined flesh and thunderous gaze of the lovers.

***

Bijou, raising her head from her notebook, realized that a tear was trickling slowly down her cheek.

She smiled, sighed, and bent back to her writing.

***

Moving, not moving. The war and peace of that first few moments rolled through Sara in bright waves. Caught, impaled, sweetened by that smooth flesh that penetrated her, and hung on the love and madness in Will's expression, her body shook and rocked against him. She broke, finally, and threw her head back, losing herself in the singular sensation of his cock inside her, how it heated her like lava. Her mind focused deep into that space, and she felt as if all her senses were there, wrapped around him. She could taste him, see him there, hear him. And it was so, so fucking sweet.

She reached toward him almost blindly, her hands tracing and grasping at his bare chest. They found and grasped his own hands, which held her hips up to meet his, and she pressed his grip down tighter onto her. He felt the request and responded, holding her harder and driving deep, so that her legs rocked up to his waist, and she cried out, yes, oh yeah. He spread his knees apart and settled forward into her, and she arched her spine to bring him further in.

Nothing but this, nothing but that slick joy of cock in cunt, moving. He moved, now, because she made him move, because she writhed against him, bathing in her unbound pleasure for that simple sensation. Yes, move. You are filling my whole body, my whole mind, and I can taste you. Like a hard butterscotch, I can feel you all sweet and strong, all the way into my throat. I can taste you, hold your candy in my mouth. This is all there is, you, moving, you love, you. God, you.

She may have said some of this aloud. She didn't know. But he heard just the same, and believed. In that first moment, if he had moved at all he'd have gone straight over the edge. But her extraordinary face had caught him, and within moments he became so locked on her expressions, on her responses, that his cock and his own excitement were a faint echo. He felt her writhe against him, felt her grind and rock, begging him to move, shoving hungrily against his hips.

Perhaps it was the immense height he'd had to leap, in that massive instant shift from being close to instant orgasm to being completely focused on her face, but Will found that he was back down to a level of arousal he could ride. He began to truly move, sculpting his rhythm around her desperate little coos and cries. Her eyes were closed now, and as he rocked slowly into her, she stretched her arms above her head, abandoned, as if she were in freefall. She hummed and keened, her face beatific, her pleasure completely obvious.