They're sitting there, on the couch, watching TV, just like always.
Or at least, he's watching TV.
She's watching him.
Wondering, what would it be like, to be with him?
To feel him?
To taste him…
He shifts, feeling her gaze on him, and she looks back at the tv screen, but her thoughts remain on him.
Her breasts feel swollen, they want to touch him too.
To feel his chest against them, the smoothness, the roughness. To feel the firm grasp of his hands closing around them, and the torturous bliss of his mouth, so warm, so strong, the pressure as he sucks, the cool tingle when he switches to the other one, the velvety smoothness of his tongue.
She wants to feel her tongue, on him…
He glances at her, and sits up straighter. "Bones? Are you ok? You look flushed."
She draws in a shaky breath, feeling her nipples tightening against the lace of her bra, feeling the answering tingle between her legs. She presses them together firmly, and turns to him with a tiny smile.
"I'm fine." She lies, but her eyes betray her.
They take in the lines of his face, the strength of his jaw, the slope of his neck, the expanse of chest beneath, and lastly, the crotch of his jeans.
Lord, she wants to taste him, hear him moan.
Her tongue flicks out and licks suddenly dry lips, and he feels like a load of bricks just dropped on him.
Because he knows when she's lying.
And he's an expert at reading body language.
And her body is speaking loud and clear.
She wants him.
Her eyes turn back to the TV, because she has forced them to, and she refuses to accept that she has been made.
And why not?
He's ignored all her signals before.
But tonight… His eyes linger on her flushed cheeks, and he wonders how aroused she has become..
They lower, her breath is coming faster than normal, her breasts are straining against the thin confines of her tank top, and the outline of lace that he can see beneath it..
Her hands are pressed into her thighs, which are also pressed together, firmly.
Keeping in control.
He wonders if she's desperate to touch herself.
Does she want him that badly?
Has she lain there nights, naked, arching and moaning under the power of her own fingers, thinking of him?
He swallows and leans back into the couch.
His jeans have grown tight, and he wonders if she would notice if he adjusted himself, to make his position more comfortable.
His own breathing is faster, would be able to stop touching himself, if he let himself do that?
Scenes from the previous night, where he'd gripped himself out of desperation and came apart at the seams, imagining her underneath him, only to have to take the matter into his own hands, again, later, in the shower, and all because of a lower pitch in her voice than normal, when she'd phoned to ask him a question.
To ask if they were on for supper tonight.
A groan rumbles in his chest, and her head swivels to see him.
Their eyes meet, and drop.
She notices his condition.
He notices her legs have parted, ever so slightly.
Her breasts tingle and she moves toward him, until she is straddling him.
She is pressed against him, and it feels so good that she moans before pressing her full lips to his, feeling the faint scrap of the stubble on his chin, the answering pressure from his mouth, and the touch of tongue on hers, hot, and firm, and tasting slightly of the beer that is sitting half consumed on the coffee table.
His hands slid up her thighs, around her hips, onto her ass, pulling her against him as he lifts his hips into her.
They both gasp, and take a breath, their foreheads and noses touching.
He pulls her against him again, and her eyes close, she feels so close, and yet she knows she needs more.. She needs to feel him touch her..
Her fingers clench in his shirt, and she drags it up over his head, loving the way his muscles ripple as he helps, loving the way his skin tightens in the colder caress of the air.
Her lips graze his jaw, her teeth nipping at his chin, his neck, then his collarbones, and her tongue leaves wet streaks in the hollow of his neck.
His head is thrown back against the couch, but his eyes are open, he doesn't want to miss a single expression on her face.
Her eyes glitter at him, dilated so much they almost appear to be as black as his, her cheeks are now a deeper shade of red.
"You taste so good." She moans against his bare skin.
Her hands find his lap, and press against him, he feels so blessedly hard, that her hands move instantly to the buttons on his jeans.
She must touch him. Now.
His lifts towards her, helping her, he should be trying to slow things down, but every breath she takes brings her breasts closer to his lips, and to pull off his pants she'll have to raise up just that little bit more, and then he'll be able to suck her into his mouth…
She does exactly as he has predicted, rising to tug his now opened pants down over his hips, and suddenly, his mouth is on her, sucking through the shirt, delving his tongue under the edge of it, nearly grazing her nipple, and she pauses, because it feels so good, and she wants more.
His hands grab at her shirt and he pulls it off, only removing his mouth for the briefest second, before returning to wallow in her cleavage, burying his face in her, breathing her, delicately biting at her skin.
Her bra is the next to go, he expertly removes it and lets it fall to the floor before cupping her in both hands and drawing her towards him, suckling her harder, egged on by the unconscious moans of delight and the whisper of his name from her lips.
Her hand slides down her flat belly, and she rubs against herself, biting her lower lip because she's past the point of being shy, she wants this, and she'll do anything to get it, to get off.
He shifts, and her hand brushes against the firmness of his erection, still covered by the silk of his boxers, and she remembers what she wanted to do, and her hands grasp the elastic waistband and pull, freeing him.
His cock stands tall, and thick, and deliciously warm to the touch, and she couldn't stop her hand from sliding over the head and gripping his shaft if she tried.
At the first touch, he moans into her chest, and his hips thrust against her palm, his hands once again finding her ass, one sliding around to the juncture of her legs, cupping her, his thumb pressed against her through her jeans, and she grinds against him.
He can feel the heat of her radiating through the thick fabric, and he rips open her jeans and pushes them down her hips, pushing her off him just long enough to tug her pants to the floor before pulling her back onto his lap, and sliding a single finger deep inside her.
Her groan echoes in the room, and he can't believe this is finally happening.
His cell phone rings, it's work, he can tell from the tune of mission impossible.
He ignores it, his tongue buried in her mouth, his finger sliding in and out of her warmth, her own fingers wrapped around his cock, and working it.
There is so much that he wants to do with her, to her, and yet he can feel the pressure mounting at the base of his spine, and can tell from the way she is bucking against him, that release isn't going to wait that long. This might be their first time, but it has been five years in the making, and he can vividly remember thrusting into her from his dream, and can already tell, that this…. This is going to be so much better..
He pulls away from the kiss and her warmth and places his hands on her hips, guiding them so she is pressed up against his stomach, directly above his pulsating hardness.
"I need you." His eyes ask her permission, and in response she slides down, onto him, taking in as much as she can, before rising up and trying again, until he is fully enveloped in her, his hands holding her hips down, his mouth sucking on her collarbone.
He's trying to remember to not leave a mark, she won't like that, when she begins to ride him properly, and with every rise her breasts rise within reach of his hungry mouth, and with every drop her clit is grinding against his pubic bone, causing her to whimper in need.
He wraps his arms around her back and slides them off the couch to the floor, now he's on top, and he's thrusting, indulging himself in the wetness that was created just for him, just like she must have been, because they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, in a way he has never experienced before, and truth be told, neither has she.
Her legs wrap around his waist, urging him on, making sure that he can never completely withdraw.
"Touch me." She moans, her hands in his hair, on his shoulders, her nails digging into him, and he picks up the pace, sensing her nearing her climax.
He slips a hand between them to rub on her clitoris, in circles, small and fast, and she arches beneath him, her head tossing, she's so close….
And then she digs her nails into his back and screams, his name bursting from those lips, reddened from his kisses, and her walls clamp around him like a vice, milking him, and loses it completely, coming deep within her, shuddering in her arms.
They lay together on the floor, her head thrown back on the carpet, his resting on her shoulder, both of them panting.
It has never been like this before.
"That was…" She tries to whisper, but his mouth covers hers, with a kiss that says everything he is afraid to say.
"Yes." She finishes, when his lips leave hers for air.
The smell of their lovemaking surrounds them, and it's making him feel intoxicated.
It's too soon, and already he wants her again.
Her eyes say that she feels the same, and he stands up on wobbly legs and helps her up, then guides her to the bedroom........
Should I continue? Or leave it there?