You lay curled up behind me, warm breath fluttering past my cheek with each snore. Your arm grazes my hip and from time to time you move your legs against mine. It is the cuddle I crave, and it fills a need inside. Yet, it leaves me empty.
I watch the TV that blares a random show; something dramatic, depicting characters that I don’t know, and don’t care about. Your breathing is rhythmic and the snores even. The rise and fall of your chest against my bare back soothes and inflames me. I move to roll on my back beside you and you wordlessly pull me close. We lie together; you sleeping, me watching the nameless show on the TV.
Your breath brushes my nipple with each exhalation. It is a gentle tickle. I turn my head and press my lips to your forehead. Inside the blankets, it is toasty cozy warm. My leg dangles outside in the cool, conditioned air. I stare at the show seeing, but not really watching. Rather I am feeling the way your breath is like little fingers against my skin. Grazing across, it makes me wish for more. I shouldn't be so needy; I know you are tired, exhausted really. Your work has left you drained.
I trail my fingers across your skin, drawing them slowly, wishing that you would wake up, and knowing you should not. My fingers run along the arm draped across me, up to your shoulder, then down along the muscles that are now loose and relaxed in your sleep. A small sigh escapes your lips. I continue to slide my fingers across you, down your arm, along your hand that rests on me, then on to my hip. The light touch pairs with your breath to inflame me. I draw the fingers up towards the nipples that are now standing hard against the cool air that fills the room, pushing the covers to my waist.
You murmur in your sleep and turn from me to your back. Now we lay side by side, warm skin touching. Your restless legs are spread, and the one farthest flung from me propped up. I slide my fingers up along my soft belly. I ache for you to look over at me, with your eyes open and watching, and to claim me. But it was a long, tiring day, and tomorrow promises more of the same, so I lay quiet and still.
My fingers have found my breasts now. I run the tips along them, feeling the heaviness as they hang away from my chest. I lift one and hold it, squeezing gently while I run my fingers across it. The skin rises in goose bumps. The nipple is hard and begs for my fingers to touch it too, so I oblige.
I run my fingers in circles, then draw one along the end. I can see how proud it stands in the silhouette caused by the glow from the unattended TV. I grasp the protrusion and squeeze it a little, rolling it between my fingers, giving it a slight pinch, then releasing it. Your breath stirs across my sensitive skin as you sleep and I want more. I grasp it again, firmly this time. I drag my nails along it and I want to shiver. But I know I cannot, for you are asleep right beside me, and you need your rest.
I pinch it cruelly, lifting it by the nipple. A small whimper escapes my lips. I want so much for you to wake up and replace my fingers with your teeth, but that would be selfish. So I squeeze them myself, fiercely, angrily.
It feels so good, the other nipple is brushing against my arm, and the heavy fullness of my breast grazes your skin. It is hemmed in on all sides and it aches for more, more then a brush, more then a breath. Frustrated, almost as if it had a mind of its own the nipple is reaching farther towards more contact.
I place my hand over it, palm against the nipple, fingers embedded in my breast. I squeeze tight; grasping, pinching myself. Sinking into the soft, yielding flesh. Loosening my grip, red marks remain where my fingers were.
I lie back, and try to watch the nameless show. The desire to wake you is tremendous, but I dare not give in. If I wake you, you will not get the sleep you need to be able to go to work in the morning. My skin throbs and I mercilessly remain still. I refuse to give in to the temptation to reach over and stroke you. Your naked skin against mine drives me, but still I remain, hands at sides.
On my back, I stare at the unwatched show, still not knowing anything about the plot. Scenes of slutty, raunchy sex are running through my mind like a dirty porno. I see myself crying out in ecstasy as you fuck me. You fill my holes, stretching them tight as you use me. I can feel a tickle as a drop of my juice starts its slow slide along my thigh, and I think of your cum dripping from my face.
My fingers steal across my belly, creeping back toward my aching nipples. They are standing hard and proud in the cool air. My fingers are warm on them and I slowly rub them in circles, first one side, then the other. Whimpers die in my throat as I lay still. My arm catches one breast in the crock of my elbow and the hand stimulates the other nipple. I allow my fingers to slowly steal down along my belly. The light touch teases on the way, feathery little strokes that build my urges.
I still lie tucked against you, side by side. My breasts hang outward and your chest rubs my nipple with each breath. My fingers are stroking the edges now, large lips that are silky smooth, freshly shaven in the hopes that you would see and touch. I want to quiver as I stroke slowly and softly.
Fiercely, I turn my eyes to the TV, telling myself to stop, to watch the show. But, the show I watch is the one going on in my head. I imagine straddling you; licking, stroking, waking you with my tongue. I know it cannot happen. If I wake you, you will either be grumpy with me, or you will be unable to go to sleep again. Still, I see it and stroke myself a little insistently, my fingers starting to demand, rather then ask.
I feel the slippery surface as I slide my fingers deeper inside. My thoughts following, I see you pressing me over so my knees are on either side of your face. I can almost feel your tongue as it takes over for my fingers, stroking me, driving the need. I see our sixty nine as my face is still between your legs, my tongue and lips working to make you need me as much as I want you.
I move my leg, crossing your outstretched one with my own. I am spread open to my fingers now. I answer my body’s call by rubbing at the swollen bud that is now demanding its own attention. The TV is my only observer as I use myself to accomplish that which I want you to do. I flick, snapping fingertips across the clit that stands up, then rhythmically rub it gently.
My other hand is still tweaking my nipple, digging in with biting nails as I busily rub myself faster. Still, you sleep on, chest rising and falling in undisturbed slumber. I hold my body still as my breathing changes, going from smooth and synonymous with yours to ragged and catching.
My muscles are tight as I strive to remain still despite the onslaught of visuals and feelings that I am stirring. My mind sees you licking, sucking me as I do the same to you. I speed up the tempo and the intensity of my fingers as I see you with my juice on your face. I want to turn and lick it off. My fingers pinch insistently at my nipple as I imagine your teeth grazing them, biting, nipping.
I hold myself rock still, as my fingers drive on. I ache to thrust into myself. My mind's show sees you behind me, my ass poking up at you. Chest down to the sheet, I sense you touching, then sliding into soaking wet folds.
I want that penetration, but I cannot while entangled with you, and so I press harder with my fingers against my aching needy clit. I see your fingers grasping the flesh of my hips as you move against me, answering my demands.
My legs ache from the tightness as I strive to remain still. My breath catches and snags, chest rising in uneven spurts. I press harder and rub the slick button, all my muscles clenching. I am so close to the orgasm I crave. My toes are clenched as are my cheeks trying with all my might to remain still, to leave you undisturbed. The TV watches it's dirty show that is nowhere near as dirty as the one in my mind.
My muscles are tight, painful with the strain, and I wish to thrash. Fiercely, I hold myself as still as possible. No longer do I wish to wake you. I can't bear to have you see my secret shame; I cannot merely sleep beside you, that I need, I crave more. I cannot be content with the simple companionship.
I drive my fingers on, needing, desiring. Aching, as I chase the release I must have. Sweet tension coursing electric through me.
Then I crown the wave. I am relentless as I hold myself still. A single small cry, so small it could be a sigh, escapes my lips. I silently ride the small crest that I have released. The dampening somehow impairs the perfectness of the moment. I cannot follow the rise and fall of the tide as it runs through me. Holding myself totally still, it robs the swell of the energy that threatened to consume me. I want to rise to my knees, drive my fingers deep inside me. I long to fill the void, to change the small wave to the start of a series, the kind that will leave me shaky and weak.
The small peak does none of that. It leaves me needy and still wanting. But somehow it is enough. It might not have been a quake to the core but the tremors that did run through me are enough to allow me to relax in your embrace.
I sigh and look again at the watching TV. You snore on undisturbed in your sleep. Tomorrow, I tell myself, tomorrow will be different.
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