I am sure the reason was silly. In fact I remember thinking a week later that I don't even recall what we fought for. But now, in this moment, the reason seems good enough for me to slam the door in your face and lock myself in our bedroom. I can hear you knocking on the door and calling for me to hear you out, but I am way too angry. I want to have nothing to do with you in this moment; what you did is making not talking to you indefinitely seem quite justifiable.
I don't know how long it's been. A few hours from the looks of it outside; the sky has gone from bright blue to dark purple with just the hints of the dark night seeping in. I sigh. I am not angry anymore; just plain disappointed. And you can see that when I finally open the door and almost collide with you in front of the room. You're apologetic. I can see that on your face. But I can't forgive you so easily. I start to make my way past you to go into the kitchen, but you grab hold of my wrist as I pass you by. I turn, exasperated again, determined to give you a piece of my mind, but the look on your face stops me. You're truly remorseful, that much is plain as day. I feel my irritation subside a bit, just a bit. You loosen your grip and face me properly. It seems like you're going to explain yourself and your actions but instead you envelope me in a strong embrace. It surprises me to say the least, and then I feel your breath on my ear as you whisper for me to forgive you. I can hear the hitch in your voice as you say this, and this makes the last remnants of my anger melt away. I hug you back, comforting and accepting, and you sense that as you finally relax in my arms. I start to say 'It's okay' back to you, but I stop. My mind has come up with a new way for you to earn my forgiveness.
So instead I whisper back to you, "Do you want me to really and truly forgive you and forget what you did?"
You reply with a yes almost immediately. I smile. My plan is unfolding perfectly. I say nothing and lead you into our bedroom. Somehow you understand my intentions, or maybe you don't; either way you don't question me. Perhaps you sense that doing so will only be counterproductive for you.
I sit on the bed and pat the space beside me. You sit too, obeying every action. I trace my index finger down the side of your face and onto your neck, flicking your nipple slightly as I finally come to rest on your crotch. You twitch subtly; you're starting to get a bit hard. I lock eyes with you as I swing one leg over your lap and straddle you. It's as if you're paralysed, or maybe you don't want to do anything without my permission, but you don't move a muscle. I sidle closer to you, the distance between our lips closing, but I don't kiss you. Instead I start a slow grind on your crotch.
You're hard now, your erection straining through the simple cotton shorts you wear at home. I keep grinding, my pace agonisingly and torturously slow. I can see how badly you want me to quicken myself, to spice things up. I can see it on your face, in the desire in your eyes, in your breathing which is now shallow and ragged. I keep up my torment for quite a while, until it is me who can't bear it anymore. Your shorts are now sporting a small wet spot; I don't know if that's the proof of your arousal or mine. Either way, I quicken my pace on you. My humping is hard and urgent, my hands entwined in your hair, just as yours are now slowly playing with my breasts. I look into your eyes as I pull my tshirt over my head and close the distance between our faces. Your eyes darken in desire seeing my naked form and you lean in expecting the kiss I've been denying you for so long, but I don't grant you the pleasure.
I can see you're frustrated; that spurs me on even more. I am grinding faster now, my clit is so hard and sensitive, my panties are thoroughly soaked. I moan slightly as I grab hold of your head and guide your mouth to my tits. You need no instructions on what to do as your mouth latches on to my left nipple just as your fingers start to flick and squeeze my right. This added stimulus is causing your erection to swell even more; and you moan with my nipple in your mouth. I am holding on to your shoulders for dear life now, my fingers clutching you to keep me up upright as I hump crazily on you.
Finally I come to my senses when I realise how close we are to our orgasms. With admirable self control, I stop humping you and finally look at you properly. Your face is flushed, contorted with pleasure and desire, your your hands have clutched fistfuls of the bedsheet in an effort to not come too early. I have never been so turned on in my life. Slowly, almost too slowly, I disentangle myself from you and get down from your lap. The front of your shorts is now completely soaked; I can see your erection pulsing and twitching under the fabric. I almost want to jump on you and take you inside me right then and there, but I can't forgive you and give you your release so easily. You seem to understand the same, since you make no move towards me or even towards touching yourself.
I stand in front of you. Running my hands from my chest over my breasts and down to my waist, I slowly hook my fingers under the waistband of my panties. Tantalisingly, I peel them off from me, leaving me completely nude in front of you. I have not broken eye contact with you even for a moment. And I still don't as I part my legs and I run my index finger through my labia and slightly push it inside me. Your hips buck upwards of their own accord seeing me like this, giving away how much you want me in this moment. Slowly, I pull out my finger coated in my juices from inside me, slightly flicking my clit as I do so. My body shivers from this unexpected contact, but I don't let you see how much I want you too.
I come closer to you, my wet finger teasing you. Your eyes are stuck to it, as if it's some elixir you need to have. I stop in front of you, close enough for you to be able to smell the scent of my arousal coming from my finger as well as my wet core. I run my finger through my wet labia once again, before tracing it slightly along your lips. Your breath catches, and you almost open your mouth to take my finger in and taste me as if that is the one thing sustaining you. I don't oblige you so easily. I wave my finger under your nose, just out of the reach of your lips, almost cruel in my teasing. You groan in desire and frustration, and almost moan out a 'please', in an effort to make me stop torturing you. I look down; there is a fresh wet spot on the front of your shorts. I have no doubts about how aroused you are. Finally I decide to reward you for your suffering. I allow you to take my wet finger into your mouth, and you suck on it almost gratefully. Your hands automatically make their way towards my breasts and I let you. You have earned this.
Not wanting to give you too much too soon, I pull away from you. Your face is no longer frustrated, instead I see more desire in anticipation of what is to come. I come closer and push you onto the bed. With you flat on your back, I climb on as well. Straddling you once more, I drop a trail of feathery kisses from your navel down to your waist as I pull down your shorts and dispose of it. Your erection springs up, hard and twitching, ready for some action. Ignoring it, I focus on your thighs. With my fingernails scratching slightly on your left thigh, I blow out a soft breath of air onto your right inner thigh. Your hand instantly clutches my hair as you let out a long slow moan. I know what you want. But I am not going to give it to you.
