*Clink* goes the ceramic of our mugs as we toast to caffeine and corporeal pleasures. Our eyes appear almost intoxicated, drunk still from sleep and from the sensual indulgence spreading between our fused bodies.
It’s early morning, midsummer, the air unseasonably cool as it sweeps in from the open window of our bedroom, lightly fanning the waves of hair framing my face. The rain smacks heavily and relentlessly on the cedar boards of an elevated back porch that extends beyond the large aperture panes. *”Our house feels like a treehouse this time of year.”*, I comment while smiling, looking out at the expanse of the enclosing forest around us. The cup brought to my lips is steaming and I barely sip from its edge before continuing to hold it between my palms in close proximity to my bare chest, fingers laced together around its warmth.
You’re propped up on pillows stacked high against the headboard, calves and feet still covered by sheets, your hair slept on and messy the way I like, boyish, and careless. You also sample the hot liquid, turning up the mug gently, careful not to scald the lips that you know will soon be closed around the whole of my mound, tongue diligently working toward its milky reward.
But for now, for now I’m mounting you.
Your cock swollen and fully buried inside the tight, drippy mess surrounding it as we enjoy our coffee ritual. The forefinger and thumb of your right hand find my left nipple, pinching and twisting the pink skin between until it’s erect, rendering a moan from within me. My slender torso rolls against your pelvis, clenching and evoking the rock hard organ trapped inside, and you in turn groan for me, begging me with your eyes, exploiting me with them also; silently asking me to completely and utterly drain you.
Sweat beads on your forehead at the hairline, your blood temperature gradually increasing the closer you feel to erupting as I rhythmically grind. You’ve never looked more relaxed—eyes half-lidded, mouth slack, still holding your drink so attentively as to not spill it onto your exposed stomach.
I can feel it coming, the culmination of my efforts and your bulging sex swelling the rough patch inside me in preparation for expulsion. My thighs begin to quiver and my cheeks flush, the faster, shorter paces caroming off of your hips generating the greatest results as the climax rises. My eyes tighten, head falling back slackly as my body convulses in orgasmic release around you, fluids depleting by the cupful down your shaft and spilling out over your thighs until our silent grinding turns to sloppy squelching, still controlled in the midst of the piping hot espressos in our hands.
The only sound now filling the darkened room is the pattering of rain and the cooing of me coming against you. I lean forward, mouth heated and panting, my breath carrying the trace scent of roasted beans and marijuana. *“Would you like another cup?”*
You cover the expanse of my neck stretched before you in kisses until your lips are brushing along my ear, your breath equally hot, tone full of appetite.
*“Not until we’re even.”*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vsxcyr/a_picture_of_you_me_coffee_mf