Biologically speaking there’s not a great deal of difference between the mouths of men and women. It was simply the way she used hers that made me melt. Unhurried at the outset, delicately picking up the pace to heighten my desire for her, each tender lap between my parted legs complemented by breathy kisses on alabaster thighs alongside stolen glances that dripped with loaded intent. She savoured every note of nectar that drizzled onto her fluttering tongue as if she were the bow and I her Stradivarius, a world away from the goal-oriented approach of past boyfriends, and all the sweeter for it.
As we writhed on the unfamiliar bed, I struggled to recall a time I’d been as wet. Was part of the allure the whirlwind nature of our illicit affair, drawn together at the tradeshow by chemistry I wasn’t qualified to understand? Perhaps a connection formed through shared loneliness in a strange city? Or the overpowering magnetism of her lilting North Carolina accent, in stark contrast to my very British vowels that bounced around the London hotel room at every sinful caress.
Whatever the driving force behind our attraction, she’d teased me to the cusp of overflowing and I couldn’t bring myself to stop her. Two evenings ago I was carefree and normal. Now I felt tangled. Conflicted. Dirty. Like I was cheating on my man back home. But how could anyone say no to such exhilarating deeds, however reprehensible? Throughout every fast flick, seductive swirl, and muffled moan of encouragement, raw desire for this woman trespassed across the manicured lawn of better judgement. And I wanted more.
With my back arched and legs hooked over Jess’ shoulders, trembling alongside her tousled auburn mane that glowed in the soft lamplight, I pressed my feet into her supple thighs where she knelt supporting my curvy bottom, devouring me like there was no tomorrow. Technically there wasn’t, and I felt a pang of emptiness at the realisation this was our last night together, offset by the determination to ravish one another until the small hours.
Beyond the jutting peaks of my caramel-capped breasts and electrified nipples, the fiery minx’s face was only half visible. Her cute, button nose nuzzled my landing strip of hair, tongue performing impossible acrobatic shapes in and around my proud jewel and hairless pink lips. I never knew I wanted anyone as much, let alone someone else’s wife. Those piercing emerald eyes above her dusting of freckles shone while she feasted on my womanhood as if I was the only drink in a thousand mile radius.
My excitement soared at being revered, and for the second – or was it third – time of the evening found myself barely cogent. Laboured panting reflected off the hotel ceiling as I gripped fistfuls of bed sheets and thrashed my head from side to side, catching glimpses of our hastily strewn clothes around the room. Strands of long, raven hair clung to my face with perspiration as I unceremoniously thrust myself up against her chin and welcoming mouth, the shiny contact points clicking with wetness as I purred guttural approval.
She hummed against me like my favourite toy, the vibrations sending pulses everywhere that mattered.
My mouth opened in sync with her tongue invading my drooling honeypot, breathless ohs projected beyond the cheap walls to whomever cared to listen. Her hot hands snaked along my hourglass to cup my breasts, squeezing them rhythmically with my escalating cries as her oral gymnastics took on a deeper urgency and I was reduced to involuntarily swatting the bed sheets.
I could feel the tsunami rising inside, threatening to engulf me, and had a delirious sense of vertigo as if inching backwards along a diving board away from – or perhaps toward – the inevitable, trying to prolong the tension just a few moments more. The crystal blue water beckoned far below my mewling form as I begged my pretty American lover for release, half wishing the mouth-watering period of limbo would last forever.
She knew I was close, pinched and rolled my nipples, fuelling my hunger. Her tongue insistently circled and swabbed my sensitive pleasure spot, drawing further clear juices in which she eagerly bathed. Lust welled. My eyes implored her to finish me and with a flash of mischief, she drew my clitoris inside her talented mouth.
The spark inside me ignited, fizzed and burst into flames, the heat rapidly connecting every erogenous zone in a tingling ballet to which the rest of my body danced. Between gasped lungfuls of oxygen, I cried out and tensed as I came. My heels found nothingness as just my toes remained in contact with her springboard. Reaching down for her head, I pulled her roughly against my frothing centre, selfishly taking everything she could give, then found myself tipping back, freefalling not into the expected crash of cold water but landing in soft, endless marshmallow fields, gently sinking, losing fidelity amid the roar of orgasm as the sugary whiteness hugged my rigid body.
Pathways ignited the surface of my exposed skin like runway lights, destination clitoris. My pearl throbbed, body ached, and as the delicious, rhythmic contractions fed us what we both craved, far above me stars exploded, painting my mind’s sky a sparkling rainbow of light. Bubbles raced to the surface of my skin, effervescing as I quivered in wordless, wet appreciation for the woman who had made it all possible.
Time came and went. Nothing existed except us, joined as one, a beacon of wanton love in the centre of a heartless city, floating together as the room spun, slowed and gradually returned to shape.
Gingerly disentangling, we lay face-to-face wearing crooked smiles, hearts beating rapidly. My fingertips traced her smouldering body, brushed her lips, cheek and damp hair, drawing her in until our mouths connected in a languid kiss and we lost ourselves amid the remnants of her vanilla lip-gloss mixed with the heady, jasmine scent of my exquisite starburst.
