My feet press softly into the thickly piled carpet as I tread to the front door. The familiar strong rap again the wooden surface drew my attention. I shouldn't be surprised, but as usual, I was slightly startled from the quiet place I often drift to when alone. Breathing in sharply I grasp the door handle, my lips spreading unconsciously into a wide smile. He stands there, wearing a matching grin, his hands shoved awkwardly into his back pockets, as a child would upon entering a space of fragile antiquities. Most of his features are obscured by the brilliant albeit oppressive late afternoon sun, but behind him I see the pale ethereal ring of the rising full moon. I suppress a wave of panic.
Stepping aside, I permit him entry. My movements are gawky and hurried as I close and latch the door to my home. The darkness of the room swallows us, granting refuge from the astonishing heat. Before I can turn to face him, his scent engulfs me. I'm certainly not the first woman to have taken a notice of the fragrance that is nothing but his sheer masculine essence. It wraps around me, slipping over my skin, sifting into my pores. My heart beats faster as his scent enter my bloodstream, nourishing every fiber of my being with him. The primal part of me tells me I know this scent, as if recalling a distant memory.
The hardest part about these encounters is trying to look at his eyes the first time. This certainly isn't the first time, but each introduction feels as if millions of butterflies are seeking freedom from my belly. I feel him watching me. Peering first over my shoulder I slowly turn to him. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. From beneath my lashes I catch my first glimpse of blue-gray shimmering in the darkened room. It's a shade of blue I have only once seen before. A chill races across my exposed shoulders, recalling the glint of silver moonlight glancing off of a wolf's pelt, rivulets of cerulean blue weaving between the dense fur, as it bounded after a rabbit through a winter's night. I see the same hunger in his eyes now; wild eyes contrasting sharply with his otherwise gentle and kind face.
I'm momentarily paralyzed, but I manage to open my mouth to speak. There are no words I can muster, and as I feel myself pulled deeper into his eyes. I know I am panting. I see him watching my own eyes, pale green, and wonder what they must look like cast in the heavy shadows. I feel green; every never in my body feels new and electrified. Without warning I feel a shudder course along the insides of my thighs, the wave traveling towards my hips, along my spine and enflaming my cheeks and ears as it leaves my body. for the moment I feel as if I am floating, unable to gain purchase to anything tangible. The roaring in my ears is wholly deafening. The hunger begins to gnaw at me. The glint of his teeth, revealed by his widened smile, grounds me.
Laughing heartily he pulls me towards the kitchen, quipping about needing wine. The harsh glare of fluorescent lighting slows my heart and I can hear once more. Fishing two glasses from their home in the drying rack, places them upright on the counter and reaches behind himself, yanking the refrigerator door open in a single movement. I scurry to my favorite perch on the kitchen counter, so when he turns back to fill the glasses he is forced to maneuver between my knees. The rough denim of his jeans lightly scratches the sensitive skin along my inner thighs. He chuckles again this time, and I can feel the warmth of him growing. He moves in closer, his arms brush against mine as he retrieves the glass from behind me. In the process he unflinchingly grazes my clothed sex with his own. He lingers only long enough to trace the outer contour of my ear with a stiff tongue. Then suddenly his back is turned to me as he busies himself with the wine.
I watch nearly mesmerized as the deep red liquid tumbles elegantly into the glasses, slipping along the walls like an otherworldly tide. My hair stands on end as I watch the delicate movement of his hands as he tends to each glass, thinking of the sticky, hot flood rising at the apex of my thighs. I wonder if he feels me studying him, as I have often felt his penetrating gaze drift over me. He turns to me, offering a glass of the dark libation. He whispers an amusing toast, but it is quickly forgotten as I fixate on the precise movements of his lips. The wine is thick and heady in my mouth; a startling contrast to the smooth blandness of the glass. It smells of wet wood, rich fruit and a distinct muskiness that I often associate with him. The wine's warmth slides down my throat, adding fuel to the fire that is already burning in my belly. A crimson stain spreads across his cheeks. We share an ephemeral exchange of glances over the horizon of wine glasses, as if two beasts meeting for the first time. I try to ignore that I see his pulse quicken along the graceful line of his ventricle artery, so I drop my eyes to the remaining liquid in my glass.
With his thigh he spreads my knees further apart, until he is able to fully settled against my heat. The hem of my flimsy skirt rides high over my thighs, exposing the lacy edge of my panties. Empty glasses are carelessly discarded into the sink, and only a moment later his fingers are weaving tightly through my hair, his hands grasping my head. His lips are soft but demanding against mine. I seek to devour him with my passion. I respond to the ferocity of the kiss by moaning unabashedly into his open mouth. Grasping the waist of his pants with both hands, I pull our hips closer together. Instinctively, he bucks against me, the full weight and fire of his cock now grinding again my nearly exposed delicate flesh.
His hands leave my hair, and without ceremony, yank away the fabric covering my breasts. My furiously blushing nipples contract against the exposure; the glint of stainless steel nearly perverse in the artificial lighting. He thumbs the pierced numbs, groaning hotly at the contact with the self-inflicted violation. I wrap my legs around his hips, desperately rubbing myself against the hardness I needed. He breaks the kiss, crassly rubbing his stubble against the side of my neck. I buck against him, moaning at the rough contact. Abandoning my breast, one of his hands slips under my skirt, fingering the edge of my black lace panties. He moans as his fingers graze the soaking wet fabric concealing my hungry sex. Carefully pulling the fabric away, he seeks more contact. A slight flush rises on my chest as I hear the telltale sound of my juices leaking from the security of the garment. The scent of my arousal is now mingling with his: the ultra feminine colliding with the absolute masculine.
Tenderly he caresses the outer lips of my wanton desire, allowing it to bloom around his fingers. Evidence of my need flows freely, coating his finger and spilling across my bare flesh. Momentarily all I can hear is our heavy breathing, but all tangible sound disappears as his fingers slipp into my heat. Waves of hot blood pound in my ears and the fire in my belly engulfs my heart. Every inch my being turns into kindling. Instinctively I reach between us, grasping his clothed cock, but find the contact insufficient. He finds the right spot, and I tear my lips away, crying out in pleasure unabashedly. In response, he grinds against my hand.
Before I can attend to his belt buckle, he pulls away and I whimper at his absence. Before I can lodge a complaint, I am tossed over his shoulder, my panties still askew. The short trip to my bedroom seems endless. Upon entering the unlit room, I can see from my inverted position the sun sinking low into the horizon. The moon vivid against the violet and vermillion dusk, and I easy push aside the warning pleading me to turn back. A deep amber glow fills the spaces of the room not occupied by black shadows. I am discarded onto the bed and I smile widely at the obscene bulge struggling against the front of his jeans.
Without hesitation, I grasp the waist of his jeans, aggressively attacking the offending belt buckle that seems to only exist to cause me frustration. Yanking the clasp away from the leather band, I find pleasure in overcoming my first obstacle. He reaches to caress one of my still wickedly exposed nipples, but I bat his hand away, returning to my task. The button and zipper fly are easily undone, and the garment slips low on his hips. I push it down further, but only enough to satisfy my immediate desire. I pull him closer, urging him onto the bed next to me. I nearly lose my grasp of the denim as the mattress shifts under his much larger form, but I remain undeterred. Rolling over, I straddle his hips, my fingers seeking the last button separating me from what I knew to be the source of immeasurable pleasure. My fingertips feel scorched as they caress the burning flesh of his cock. The velvet-soft skin betrays the turgid, puling structure beneath.
