Prep Time

Here's something most men I've been with don't know about me: prep-time is half the fun.

When I shut the bedroom door behind me, with nothing but a towel on, water beads still hanging on to my skin like a field of pearls, every bit of me smelling of magnolia or coconut or milk and honey.

I look in the mirror and I know I look amazing, faults and all. When the towel comes off, I savor the shape of my breasts, run my hands down my waist all the way to the small of my back and I cup myself, raking my nails across the flesh, hoping he'll pick up on it. That he'll move down across my body, following some silent prompt, his teeth nibbling at the soft flesh of my thighs, move upward again, kissing his way up between my legs and then he'll...linger there, teasing the folds.

That he'll toy with me even as I beg and move up over my body, kiss my navel and breasts, bury his face between them, taking in my scent. I'll feel him, getting aroused against me, rubbing against the lips, his girth against my clit and there will be pangs all across my body, as he teases going in. I'll be too busy to even notice how he runs his teeth across my nipples, lapping at them with his tongue.

Shuddering all over, I'll feel him inside me and the pleasure will shoot through me like I just got hit by lightning and I'll buck against him, even as he hold me down...

My fingers trace across my clit and I stop myself. I'm already wet and gently riding the wave of a miniature orgasm, but I hold it. He loves it when I shudder. In my mind, I rewind the scene, as I look for my thong. It's a tiny, lacy thing that slips up the smooth flesh of my legs and slips between my legs and brings out my butt. I tug once, for good measure, feeling it bite into me, imagining it's his strong grip that makes me perk up my back even as I bring down my head between his legs...

Ugh, there it goes. Little pang of pleasure, right there. Lost it for a second. I rewind again, trying my damnedest to not think of the way he's going to taste, how he'll feel in my mouth, his hands slipping across the fabric to tease me, his hard slap across the flesh. He knows how to mix the bitter with the sweet, when to tug at my hair, how to wrap his hands around my neck and apply pressure just as he feels I'm about to explode. His fingers let go of me and he's beck on the armchair, waiting for me, half-naked and wanting as I put on my bra. It's a half-cup, leaving out just enough to tease him, my nipples already hard for him, waiting for his touch. I'm standing across the room from him, playfully winking and ask:

"How do I look?"

And he's just...beaming with joy, flushed with pleasure. He makes sure not to show it, of course. Just motions me over and his hands shoot up, grabbing my breasts, kneading the flesh, teasing my nipples and tugging them softly. He leads me down to him and kisses me deeply, sucking on my lower lip, savoring how my knees are trembling, aching to get on my knees. Most of the time he won't notice but when he does, I can see he's pleased with himself. I'm running my hands over him, teasing him over the fabric of his pants, sighing as I feel him getting hard and aching to release in my hand and I stop, rewind, back to the bedroom, back toward looking at the mirror, my back turned to it.

I'm wearing heels. Nothing practical, anything I'd be wearing on a night out. But they make a sharp, clicking noise across the floor as I walk toward him and they make my butt stand out and he watches me move like a charmed snake. He loves the way I look as I'm making my way over to him. That's when he takes his hands off the buckle of his pants and watches me come to him, already aching to have him.

I'm balancing on the tips of my heels, turning to look at myself, then back to the bed, thinking of us over the sheets, his body pressed against mine, pinning me down, savoring my release again and again. When I'm spent, that's when he picks me up by the waist and turns me around, makes me ride him. He drives himself up deeper than before and I'm impaled in him, feel him under me. Even gasping for breath, I ride him deeply, grinding into him. He matches my motions with his own, holds me down against him as I explode against him, again and again.

For the last time, I turn to look at myself in the bedroom mirror as I linger on the doorway, knowing how it's all going to play out.

And I can't wait.