Learning to Whistle

The floor was quite comfortable, despite having their clothes scattered around it. He could have lain there, with her wrapped around him, for hours. As the heat from the fireplace dwindled, however, he decided he had to revive the dying fire.

He eased out from under her, kissing her temple to make up for abandoning pillow duty. The arm he reclaimed supported him as he levered himself to his feet. Her eyes opened to follow him, her skin cooling as she rolled onto her side. She watched him shift aside the fireplace screen and add another split log to the fire that still remained. As he bent and lifted, the glow of that fire outlined the hair on his arms and thighs, as well as the hair on him that she still found somewhat improbable. Job done, he replaced the screen carefully, dusted his hands against each other, and turned to step toward the room's nearest door.

"Where are you going?" she heard herself say, more sharply than she'd intended. She was surprised he wasn't coming right back to her.

"Just to the next room," he replied, using the low, confident tones one uses to reassure the drowsy.

"Well, don't go far," she said, stretching lazily. She felt his eyes on her, the warmth of the fire; a glow of her own from their evening's exertions. Her eyes drooped closed again, as she smiled at her own silliness. Of course he was coming back.

"I won't go far. After all, you have my pants." He gestured vaguely toward the corner where they'd been tossed earlier in the evening.

A sleepy giggle from her. "True."

"And if you need me for anything, all you'll have to do is whistle."

Her eyes opened, found his. "What if I can't whistle?"

He stopped in mid-stride, and pivoted on the ball of his foot to face her. His brow furrowed, his head cocked itself to the side. "You can't whistle?"

He'd happened to make his stand between the fireplace and her, and his body was shadowing her heat. She rolled to her knees and sat up, resting herself on her ankles, to get her bare skin back into the radiance of the reviving fire. "Do I have to whistle?"

His eyes traveled the curves the fire highlighted, from where her knees met the rug to where the reflections glinted in her eyes. Momentarily flustered by the sight of her, he stumbled for something appropriate to say.

"Well, I mean, whistling's easy, you just put your lips together and blow. There was a movie and everything."

She sat looking over him, on silent haunches. The grin she had been growing twisted somewhat, and she blew soundlessly between her lips.

His sigh was contradicted by the smile he didn't quite suppress. "Really."

Her eyes widened, almost innocently. She shrugged, repeating and exaggerating the movement of her mouth, the dramatic inhale and exhale, enjoying how he watched her as she did.

"Okay, look, I'll teach you, it's easy." A couple of quick strides brought him back - standing in front of her, wishing he'd stopped to find his pants. She sat straighter, her hands moving to rest atop her thighs, mock innocence shifting to genuine attentiveness. She felt her shoulders squaring themselves to him as their eyes met.

His index finger traced her lower lip, and then her upper. A thumb nudged one corner of her mouth, reshaping her pout where it rested. Two fingers beneath her chin tipped her head back slightly, and her eyes closed as she drew in a breath.

"Try again."

Her mouth pursed as she straightened her spine, her shoulders wavered as she blew. The sound was hollow, but almost melodic - clearly, she was taking her lesson well.

His fingers tipped her chin a little farther, his thumb brushed a circle around her lips. His feet shuffled closer, and then he said -

"Again."

Her eyes slitted open, found his, and then traveled down along him. Looking past his hand, she saw him growing harder, and knew that he was absorbed in teaching her. The tip of her tongue touched his thumb, and chased it away from her mouth.

This time, when she blew, no sound was heard - but her breath ruffled his hair, the hair on his body that she found so improbable. He hadn't consciously realized he'd moved in that close, his body had done that on its own.

Fingers still under her chin, he moved still closer, positioning both her and himself. His cock was throbbing as he brushed its shaft against her cheek, but his voice was steady.

"Again."

He moved slowly, so the length of him slid along her cheek, meeting the corner of her mouth as she pursed her lips. Warm air flowed over his firming erection, and she turned her head slightly to rub against him. The fire crackled as the semi-seasoned log he'd added began to catch. Sudden flares lit them as they moved together, and her lips surrounded his head.

His hand came to rest with his palm cupping her cheekbone, the other one light upon her shoulder. His toes curled into the rug as his cock slid farther between her lips, onto her eager tongue.

"Wood smoke," she thought to herself, tasting his skin, feeling him swell. "He tastes like wood smoke. And... like us." She shifted position like a sprinter getting set for the gun, finding an angle she felt would suit them both.

"Just like that," he growled, drawing a slow deep breath. His body was still, but tensing. His hands on her guided her, moved her, urged her to take more of him as the firelight flickered. Slowly, drawn by the sensations she was giving, his body began to move.

Her hands found his thighs as she shifted her jaw, closing her lips around his shaft. She felt those long muscles of his legs shift as he began to rock back and forth. All her senses focused her in on the moment, allowed her to adjust and accept him deeper and deeper. The scent of the flowers he'd brought, the taste of her own juices, the shadows dancing on the walls - all contributed to the muffled noises of her excitement.

He couldn't stop saying it: "just like that, just like that". He discovered that she could make a wicked pleasure out of long strokes into and out of her throat, and that it was perfectly natural to wind his fingers in her hair. His words began to dissolve into growls.

She discovered she could steer him somewhat with the pressure of her hands on his thighs, and use her mouth to vary the tones of the shocking, sloppy sounds they made. She learned that she could make him perfectly hard along her tongue, and tease the taste of him out with every stroke. She slowed him down, sped him up, attempted to choose the moment. She was aware of how tightly he clutched her hair, how brutally he was fucking her throat - but his reactions to every move of her lips and tongue made her shiver with the power of what she was doing.

In the fireplace, the smoldering log made a teakettle hiss followed by a resonating "pop", as the fire consumed it thoroughly. It was almost enough to cover how he grunted when he burst inside her, how she squealed as she tried to contain his sudden flood.

Eventually, his fingers unclenched, and he staggered a bit as his cock slid from between her lips. They murmured and smiled at each other as they shifted, and his finger moved across her chin to scoop up what she'd missed. She caught his wrist so that she could clean him, and smiled around his finger as she leisurely pulled her mouth along it. For a few moments, they simply basked together: feeling the warmth, listening to the fire crackle across the room.

With a final caress of her cheek, he spoke. "I really will be right back."

"Okay," she responded, laying back down as he walked again to that nearest door.

Just as he reached it, he stopped in his tracks. He had heard a low wolf whistle from behind him. When he turned, she was giggling as she curled herself on the floor.

"Did you really think I didn't know how?"

He tried to hold back his smile; his hands curled at his sides as he took a step toward her. Just as he'd promised, he came back to her, back to the woman that whistled.