She was warm and supple in my arms; the smell of her filled me with desire. We continued kissing. Her tongue entered my mouth gently, tentatively. I cupped her left breast, felt the stiffness of her nipple.
She unbuttoned her blouse and opened it, surrendering her breasts to me. They were beautiful, round and full and firm, the nipples small and pink and hard. I kissed one gently, then the other.
She murmured, “Ohh.”
My heart hammered my ribs and it was difficult to control my breathing.
“Can we go to bed?” she said, her voice fragile, almost childlike.
“Do you want . . . ”
I scooped her up in my arms and carried her across the living room to the bedroom. I laid her on my bed, which hadn’t been made, of course, and flipped the top sheet and the blanket off to the far side. She was wriggling out of her jeans as I took off my shoes and my clothes.
She dropped her thong on the floor and stretched out on her back. I sat on the edge of the bed next to her and admired her in the glow from the living room. I felt the heat from her on my thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
She smiled then, and reached for me. I leaned in and we kissed, long and lovingly. I sat up and stroked her shoulders lightly with my fingertips. Her skin was soft and hot. She shivered as I dragged my fingers toward her breasts.
She pressed her palms to her temples. Her nipples stood straight up from the darker areolas, hard as bullets now. Her left nipple had a tiny dimple dead center and I leaned in to kiss it.
She said, “Oh,” and bent her knees. I kissed the right nipple and dragged my fingertips down her midsection and she said, “Oh, oh.”
Her crotch was a shade darker than her long brown hair that spread like wings on the pillow. I touched her left thigh, close to her fleece, and she spread her legs, opening them wide to invite my touch. Her nether lips shone with moisture, like morning dew on dark rose petals.
I touched her center gently and she stiffened and said, “Oh, my god, what are you doing
I parted her lips to reveal the soft pink underneath, haloed by the darker flaps. The stubby nub at the crown of her slit peeked from beneath its hood. I inserted a finger very gently into her opening and it squeezed my finger.
She arched her back and said, “Oh, oh, oh my god!”
My finger came out wet, a tiny drop of hot liquid clinging to the tip. I touched it to her clitoris and she bucked and writhed and moaned.
As soon as I went down on her with my eager mouth, her juices began flowing copiously. I started slowly, working my tongue in and out of her slit, massaging her swollen clit with the tip of my tongue, squeezing it between my lips.
Her musky fragrance flooded my nose and sent ripples of diffused desire through me. I was rigid. A tiny drop of liquid oozed onto my thigh. I began to suckle her clit. A salty taste clung to my lips. Her body stiffened, she cried out, a long cooing sound that seemed to come from deep in her throat.
She was panting, grinding her pelvis against my mouth, groaning frantically. She drew her legs up and the muscles of her thighs trembled. She reached for me, pawed at my head, clutched at my hair, and then she was over the edge, convulsing, crying out, and I counted the spasms . . . one, two, three, and the fourth so long it sent a thrill through me. Her climax ended with a sprinkle of liquid that made dark spots on the sheet.
She clawed at my hair, urging me up toward her. “Come . . . here . . . come . . . here . . .
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