It's late afternoon, and I'm sitting on a couch that's backed up to a picture window. There's a storm outside. Lightning and thunder crash here and there, and the rain is lashing against the glass. There's only one soft light on, across the room, and I can see outside clearly, so I turn around partway to watch the storm. I'm comfortable, sitting with my legs tucked under me, leaning against the back of the couch, looking out.
It's cozy and warm in the house, so I'm not bundled up. I'm wearing black yoga pants and a black long sleeved pullover shirt, and nothing else. My dark hair is down, reaching halfway down my back. I'm wearing my glasses and sipping a hot mug of orange tea when you enter the room.
You stop and watch me a moment. My face is in profile, enthralled at the chaos outside. My simple clothes are clinging to my curves. My full lips brush the rim of the teacup. I don't even have music playing. I'm listening to the symphony of the storm, watching the flashes as they light up the world, inside and out.
You're dressed comfortably as well, in worn jeans, a soft untucked polo, and bare feet. You cross the room quietly, and get on the couch behind me, close enough to touch. Instinctively I shift toward you, increasing our contact. You're warm and solid against my back as you slip your arms around me, hands wandering gently. You pull my hair aside and kiss the side of my neck, murmuring, "hey there," against my skin. "Hey handsome," I reply softly. Your hands continue to roam, sliding over my back, my arms, my belly, up my ribs, and over my breasts. My nipples contract immediately at your touch, like they always do, and you pause to roll them between your fingers before moving on. I moan quietly and set down my cup and my glasses.
I start to turn toward you, but you stop me. "No," you say firmly, "not yet." Your hands are now exploring the curve of my ass and my hips, down my thighs, and around to slip between them. You brush your fingertips lightly over my pussy through the fabric, and I let out a little whimper, the sensation gone almost before I registered it.
Outside there's a huge flash, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the house. You choose that moment to slip your hands under the hem of my shirt. Your hands are cool, and my skin is so very hot, I gasp a little from the shock. You just keep going; my back. My belly. My ribs. When you reach my breasts again you find them swollen and sensitive, my nipples hard enough to cut glass. This time you linger, lavishing attention with your talented hands.
This time when I turn toward you, you allow it. I swing my leg over you and straddle your hips, sliding my hands under your shirt, up your torso, my fingers exploring the chest hair that I love, until I pull your shirt off over your head. I bend and take a nipple lightly between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue, before I move up and give some attention to those collarbones I'm so drawn to.
