Lover's Moment

Just as she sat down for her comfortable evening of soft jazz and cool wine, she heard the soft yet insistent rapping on her door. Like the proverbial Raven, it was infuriating that her evening be interrupted, yet this was not completely unexpected. He always came like this, knocking at the time she most expected it, yet least hoped for it. Yet her heart leapt at the sound, for who the could resist the sound of passion when it comes to your door?

She placed her wine on the table, kept the music playing, adjusted her nightshirt, and as always, answered the door as soon as she was ready. She enjoyed the semblance of control, even though it was his time of choosing. He entered, expected and familiar, smiling all the while.

She took in his full height, his build, his scent as he moved past her, close but never touching. The time was not yet right for contact between them. All in due time, she thought to herself. When I'm ready for it.

There were no pleasantries; no words wasted between them. They were lovers, and had lover's business to attend to. She took his coat, then his hand and led him to her bedroom.

With the click of the door, she turned to face him and already found his shirt lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. His bare chest expanding and contracting, she found her own chest rising and falling with anticipation. That he had such effortless control over her disturbed her at first, but she had become used to it dealing with it.

Her strategy hinged on the fact that he could only resist her for so long. It was what kept bringing him back and what kept her offering herself to him. He would break his calm complexion and then he would be hers, as he had been so many times before.

As they stood facing each other silently, she slipped her nightgown off one shoulder, then the other, her gaze never leaving his. As it dropped to the floor next to his shirt, his eyes followed it down, drinking in every moment of her naked form he could get. She relished the time she allowed him, and he never, ever complained.

In the slow moment she needed to approach him, his belt and pants were undone, dropping as quickly as physics would allow, and by the time she touched his hand to lead him to the bed, they were both already enjoying what the other had to offer.

She relished his touch, and he hers. The age-old contest was to see who would retain their sanity by the end of their time together. He looked at her, her eyes melting into his, and she felt herself already losing herself to him. It wasn't so bad, she mused as her last coherent thought for their night together. --- As you lie back, your eyes closing to the moment, my fingers run lightly over your nipples . Feeling them... caressing them... loving them. I hear you moan softly each time I touch them as you try to retain some function, but you're already lost. Your control is gone as you give in to your pleasures. Slowly, I work my way down to that belly I love to kiss so much. Rubbing against you with my length, you feel it stiffen against you, your hands already rising above your head in anticipation of what's to come.

Turning around, so I can taste your dampness as you take me in your mouth, we enjoy the moment of mutual oralness. Licking you, flicking you, wetting you more with me, your legs clamp around my head as you tingle with my tongue inside you. I can feel your lips wrapped around me as you take my full length into you, salivating, hungering, devouring. We both want more, but control must be maintained.

As you fill my mouth with your juices, I take a turn, shifting and raising you up to your full, supple, gorgeous height. Approaching me with purpose, You wrap those sensuous legs around me and sink onto my stiffness, filling you the way only your man is meant to.

Inch by anticipated inch, you fill up with me, arching your back as I caress your full breasts, taking those luscious orbs in my mouth one by one, meeting them with my tongue's sensitivities as I fill you to the top. You pause your lower movement, savoring the moment of insertion since it can only be truly enjoyed once each time we meet.

That's when you begin to move; slowly at first, building the pace we'll hold for our time together. Gazing into your eyes between the darting of our tongues, you know this isn't just lust, but passion. And such a thing should be savored, like a last meal.

You grasp onto me, and I allow you to control my every move over your body: my tongue, my hips, my cock, all at your command; as it should be at times like this. Control is a game if give and take: you may not take unless you first give.

Your curvascious legs wrap tighter around me, your heels digging into the cheeks of my ass, hoping every thrust and push will bring me deeper into your cleft and closer to your soul, yours to own. But you're wrong. Your control is an illusion, just smoke and mirrors used to hide my greater purpose: your absolute enjoyment of the moment.

Our bodies and tongues now entwined, you devour me, hoping that one more kiss will be enough, that the next one will sate you. But you know it will never, because your weakness is now clear: you're an addict; and I'm the monkey on your back, in your mind, and in your mouth.

Not slipping, not skipping a beat, we roll. You hope that me on top will bring me closer to finishing, the contact will be unbearable. You don't realize it, but deep in the throes of your own passion, but I've already released once inside you, lubricating our continued love that much more. But you know my hardness hasn't subsided, driving you closer to me and me inside you, towards your ownership of the moment.

Our hips grind together, making the wet noises of two flesh making one in ecstasy. Two people have never been closer, nor will ever be again. As we move together, our eyes locked, our breath in sync, we know that this isn't just chance; not just a random love affair. We were destined to find each other, to satisfy even our most carnal desires. You've admitted as much to yourself, and to me, a long time ago, but the truth is that you could not let go, not now, even if you wanted to.

Relishing your exposed neck, so long and so slender, I bite down gently. I leave no mark, but your fantasies nearly come true as the pounding of our hips matches the pounding of our hearts. The blood races in your ears and in my vein, as we edge closer to that one moment you crave so much. You let out a sigh that betrays your inner desires; that you want me to own you, body and soul. You, who prides herself in her control, cannot hide so much from one who knows every curve, every bend, every crevice of your being more than you know them yourself.

The tension racing inside you; the electricity courses through each and every synapse as you approach your climax. You want to savor it; don't want it to pass, but all control is lost. The floodgates are open and you have no choice but to ride the waves. You scream; half frustration, half release; half wild abandon at what you've gotten into yet again. You simultaneously love and hate every moment of your ecstasy, the conflict intensifying each and every wave of pleasure that wracks your body.

With that scream, the first of many, you've started to realize that you can no longer control your impulses any more than you can control the tongue caressing yours, the hands on your back, or the juices flowing between us. Nature takes it's course, as it was meant to, and even with millions of years of evolution behind us, we have no way of stopping the primacy of the act, as if nature would ever endow us with that kind of power.

We roll again, and you attempt to assert control over an experience you can no longer own. Your lids flutter open, you look me deep in the eyes, and before you can say anything, you feel the pulsing if the hardness inside you, filling you, and it's all you can think of. It consumes your senses and you feel helpless; a slave to it.

In one last dash to reestablish control, you flex the one weapon you have left, the only thing you have left -- your sex. It's the one weapon I have no defense for; because all defenses were dropped a long time ago, when we chose the path of our union. Just as the rocks cannot defend against the rising ride, I cannot defend myself against the one thing I must have. Your demeanor takes a serious tone, and for a brief moment, I am truly afraid of what is to come.

The flexing of your walls drops me into a writhing pleasure frenzy and you watch, empowered again, reenabling your control, as I moan helpless on the bed, a victim of your endgame. You knew this was coming, as did I, and there was nothing I could have done to stop it even had I wanted to.

But the battle isn't over. I lash out blindly, bucking up into you, using your rhythm to meet you, match you, sync with you. You relinquish some of your newfound control for the greater good, and we make a treaty of sorts, one written not on parchment or with ink, but on flesh with sweat and tears. We each lose ourselves to save the other.

Together, we roll sideways, entwining in each others limbs, each matching the ferocity and passion of the other equally. In a war, the strongest survive. If the two are balanced either both must die or they survive together. --- Neither side can win, and both have since stopped trying. Settling for a balance, the lovers embrace, filling each other with whatever they have to muster.

She envelops him, pouring all her energy into coating him with kisses, sweat, and musk. He counters by tasting her every pore, caressing every curve, and filling her with himself.

Finally, they collapse together. He still throbs inside her. She still encases him, pulsing, holding the moment as long as their bodies will allow.

They look into each others eyes, deep and satisfied. Each safe within the other's embrace, yet sorrowful that such a moment is but a fleeting thing; a blink of an eye, a snap of the fingers.

No words are needed; none exchanged. He kisses her; not a wifely kiss or a post-coital kiss, but a lover's kiss, full of passion and as much meaning as the past hours together.

He leaves as he must, as is expected, and she returns to her bed alone, comforted by the fact that such a thing may not be meant to last. But, reflecting on their time together, she'll do what she can to make it last for as long as it can.

After all, he's her man, and she's his woman. Such things are created neither easily nor by chance, but through love, whatever form it may take. Such things must be fought for, and losing is never an option.

Fin.