A lone finger slips inside as your tongue slowly swirls with mine and I immediately feel the slight vibration of your mouth against my mouth. And that seems to send a jolt through my senses. 

The way you taste, the way the slight spray of perfume on your pulsing neckline is so light but also seems to travel to some place in me that struggles to find the words because it's light, but also flowery. It's the sudden blossoming of a mysterious flower that's like honeysuckle but also like oranges with faint traces of camelia and jasmine and lemon and then the softness of a showered body just beginning to warm up beneath an ocean of blankets.

Just one finger trespassing between slick folds and into the tight fiery tunnel within can teach you so much about someone. That immediate sharp inward gasp of breath signalling surprise. The tightness enveloping a finger that can barely slide forward but each minute movement is sensed below. 

I can see it in the way your eyelids flutter several times, remaining only half open as if in the sudden throes of a narcotic. How the muscles in your thighs tighten, then your back arches. It's as if the rest of you must tighten up for you to allow this sudden trespass within. And our bodies tend to act of their own accord with both little and seismic shifts that catch us off guard.

Your thighs suddenly part wider and my finger just doesn't proceed, it seems to be pulled in, enveloped in your glistening nectar. And just that parting allows enough room for my thumb to seek out and rest against your swelling clit. I can already feel it throbbing like a rapid heartbeat.

This pulsing conduit of sheer bliss delicately massaged at first, knowing that this tiny nub of flesh is the true nexus where your pleasure sings. 

And just when I think I cannot travel deeper, I slip in further as you whisper my name.

It was just once, that arrangements of letters that seemed to flutter through and beyond your lips and out into the dark of your bedroom. No one has said it that way before or since. My name fled your lips like a confession you've always been waiting to give. It was always inside you, waiting to be coaxed out. 

And as I keep going, I start to believe it's deeper than flesh, than any fissure to allow us inside. Deeper than nerves, electric and singing, being teased. It made me think of how the tines of a tuning fork vibrate when struck to tune an instrument or to keep time in a watch. It helps to find a specific constant pitch. I'm doing to the same.

I'm trying to harmonize with something deeper than words, trying to find what notes ripple through you, what chord can be plucked and resonate forever. 

I begin to move within you faster, thumb applying more pressure. It's a dance that I'm learning. There are no instructions. The only map lies inside you and the tune is there waiting to be unearthed.

The rhythms are all instinct here, your breath serving as the metronome that determines how fast and hard to go, when to ease back, when to catch you off guard with speed. The tempo rises, not quite a crescendo yet, but signalling that the only possible things to come are either escalation or a full stop. 

They say it's the hidden ones, the notes that you never hear, that matter the most. It's the motions, the way we sway, the way we respond to absence.

And I know this is true when I withdraw. It's sudden and fast, your moans ceasing, becoming something close to a whimper. Your eyes lock with mine, pleading. And you don't say a word, only returning my smile when I begin to lick my glistening fingers clean. You're as transfixed as I am while memorizing the way you taste. 

My fingers return and sink within, speeding up the tempo, your narrowing eyelids signalling to not relent, to plunge as deep as I can and do not dare slow down or stop again. I know this in the sudden rise in your hips, in the way your lips kiss mine now with an urgency so primal that it almost hurts. Sometimes we need the pain. I never pull away, melding our tongues together in their own furious dance.

The body always accelerates here, desperate to reach an apex, moving on its own accord. Hips rocking with every thrust into greedy, soaked depths that I seem to know even better than my own body. I've mapped the terrain, studied every secret of this tight fissure, have thrived within its unique dripping climate. Plunged so deeply inside, my own fingerprints may as well be imprinted into this beautiful territory. And I know only thing now.

The body always demands closure. 

As my mouth is drowning in our joined moans, you begin to tighten around my fingers. It's almost imperceptible at first, tiny spasms that seem unsure of themselves. But your hips writhe harder, driving me deeper, forcing my thumb harder against your tender clit.

The crescendo arrives, sudden and forceful. A new rush of searing nectar coating, your moans rising until all I can hear is a steady hum harmonizing from your throat. The rapid clenching is next, clamping around over and over until my fingers can barely pump. I never once relent. Once that edge is reached and sailed over, you've told me to never stop. As if you can glean my thoughts, your thighs also tighten around me, a lock of bare skin, bone and muscle. Everything in you tenses and halts, a complete stillness overtakes, motionless for a moment as if your flesh and bones have become a sculpture, frozen in one pose. 

Through the stillness, though, my fingers feel the molten core still flexing, gradually calming to gentle flutters. Everything has harmonized in this music we make together. 

My fingers slowly withdraw and I already want to be inside again. So much heat is contained within that my body is rippled with goosebumps, cold, craving your warmth. I taste my finger and you watch me savor the glistening nectar. Your thighs still parted, eyes meeting mine again. My tongue wants to devour you.

I'm ready. So are you.

You're ready for me to know more.