I can't quite remember where this falls in to the timeline of those two weeks in each other’s arms. My brain has shook that particular tin of memories around so much, it doesn't seem to have an order anymore. Just a beginning and an inevitable (and unwelcome) conclusion. The middle is a (sweaty, panting, sticky) mess of nights out with cocktails, a lazy Sunday getting lost in the city, verdant parks, pizza in bed, too many restaurants... All punctuated by your naked body, your incredible and explosive orgasms, and the strength of the bond that connected us.
There is one memory that always sits on top of the happy jumble as if carefully placed there so I'll always find it when I want/need it. It's the one I always come back to, whether I'm idly daydreaming or slowly masturbating to thoughts of you. It’s forever etched on to my mind so I never lose it.
My jumbled memory puts us on a sunny Sunday, browsing the market a couple of hours after you woke me up with my stiffening cock at the back of your throat. The brightly coloured clothing on the stalls, the smells of different foods poking our hunger, the maze of the unfamiliar alleyways making it feel like an adventure, but nothing detracting from each other. Stopping at random points to indulge ourselves in long, deep kisses, feeling each other’s body pulse with the excitement of where the day could take us. It wasn't just that we had a day off from work together, it was that we had two weeks off from life and it felt like we could do anything, go anywhere, but chose this. We spent that day never not touching each other, always finding a way to tease. You'd tickle the back of my neck. I'd whisper in your ear about what I'd do to you over the Goth stall table. You'd push a hand in my back pocket and squeeze. I'd gently run my hand across your breast as we kissed, not caring who saw. You, with more disdain for those around us, would run your hand across my thigh and up the length of my cock as we stood and looked through knock-off t-shirts three for £5... At that point, you won and we hastily headed to my flat.
As always, the foreplay was long and selfless. Our tongues tracing over each other's skin, our fingers and hands teasing and twisting the flesh we knew caused a reaction. Our words dirty and uncompromising. Your taut nipples against my lips. My fingers exploring your hungry holes. The slow pulse of my cock nestled against your puddling cunt as we kissed, biting and sucking each other’s lips. I hadn't let you come yet though. Every time you came close, I pulled away from your glistening, wanton centre and let you suck my cock, my fingertips keeping you on the edge between pleasure and frustration. You begged me to fuck you. To hit it hard from behind. You wanted to feel every inch of my girth fill you and my hips crash against your arse. How could I refuse...?
I moved from the bed and walked towards the full-length mirror that rested against the fireplace, while you circled your clit as you watched my hard dick wave from left to right as I moved. Your eyes travelled up to my arms as I grasped the heavy wooden frame, watching the dimples of my traps hollow as I lifted the looking glass and brought it over. I placed the mirror on the bed and told you to straddle it. The unexpected instruction shocked you and you gasped as you arched your leg over the glass. Every inch of your own body was reflected back at you. Your perspiration-moist skin, your erect nipples, the thick strand of secrete leading from your inner thigh back to your wet lips, the end of my cock, perilously close to them, almost touching against your throbbing clitoris. Your eyes moved across the image, down the length of my shaft and balls to my large, sculpted thighs. You exclaimed that you could see everything and you wanted to see it now. You tucked your knees up and pushed your neatly formed pussy out, making sure you would be able to see me enter you. My cock nudged at you, pushing apart those moist folds of precious flesh, releasing your wet so it fell on the glass in glazing droplets...