He is instantly hard when i touch him. I am instantly wet when I’m around him. I felt his cock jump in my hands as he produced a delicious spurt of precum. Watching him put his fingers in his mouth after he sunk them inside me was surreal and so very hot: he sucked my wetness off and closed his eyes, telling me how good i taste. I kissed him again– it doesn’t get old, and the myriad ways he’s caressed my mouth with his lips and tongue are as desirable as his hands kneading my ass and on my sex. His warmth is intoxicating, i am drunk on his scent, swooning in the crook of his neck and drowning in pleasures i haven’t even fully realized. I ask him what it sounds like when he comes and his answer thrills me: loud. So loud the neighbors hear him. He waits and teases himself so that he comes hard to the thought of my release and the way it might smell, taste, and feel. I tell him i say his name every time and he kisses me again, pausing to rasp my name in a drawn out exhale. He says it too. Always. I wonder if he thinks about the first time i shoved my ass into his crotch, how his rough hands flipped my leggings down, just under the cheeks, and how he stared at the disappearing line of my thong. Did he know he whispered the need to rip it away? Did he see his hands grasping my waist as if to control his entry? I think about the ridged head of his cock that i caressed after unzipping his fly, about my mouth moving over his shaft, thwarted by the thin material of his boxer briefs, the heady scent, and the picture of him ejaculating onto his chest the next morning…a picture he almost (but didn’t) send to me. He tells me he had a vivid dream but won’t tell me what it was…”I’m keeping that one for myself,” but he tells me the fantasy of fucking me in his kitchen, and that he’d go down on me until i come in his mouth with his two fingers inside me, drawing them out and and slowly putting himself inside me as i shake. He says I don’t know how badly he wants to be inside me, but i can’t even walk after his mouth works hot kisses over mine and he sucks and pinches my nipples with delightful firm pressure. Drunk or sober i want him. “It’s worse when we’re sober, it’s too real,” he says. I know this is the truth as i watch us maneuver not to touch or look at each other in public, fearing our eagerness will show. When we’re alone he tells me I’m a magnet. My hands ARE eager–i run them over the muscles of his back and shoulders, through the vanilla- bourbon of his beard, and along the frustrating waistband of his pants. I am in a reverie when I’m around him. I want to luxuriate in the perfect fit of our bodies and i want to feel more than his hands and mouth placed perfectly on my skin, i want to feel the eager length of him inside me and i want to come for him and let him taste my desire, my lust, my respect and admiration for him, and that thing i cannot say.
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This was great