Those strong hands powered by determination entered me one finger at a time, without malicious intent. Gentle caressing gave way to rhythmic motivation and his husky, low hummed voice exhaled with an amused smile. The pleading of my contorted face was difficult to conceal. I had lost my ability to create structured sentences and was sounding in broken moans. He, of course, knew how to pace his torture; with his vulgar words saved for a moment like this he whispered, “Your wet cunt is mine tonight, and I’m going to fuck you until you cum all over my dick.”
A tingling sensation penetrated my ear canal, and my already agonized sex vibrated to the sound of his words. I could feel the tension rising in my body like a mid-summer heat wave, and I was desperate to hold onto it; not wanting to surrender so eagerly at his touch or give in to the surmountable release that would surely end this tryst, I closed my eyes. I wanted to feel him close to me; to take in the scent of his unmistakable musk that enveloped the room. Bourbon and cigarettes; a combination I abhorred, but couldn’t resist. It personified a carnal sexuality that was carefully groomed and contained within an Armani suit. He was the type of man that carried his swag like a cowboy carried his pistol; ready and set to be justifiably cocked. But this swag was busting at the seams and he was visibly hard.
I kept my eyes closed and thought of his hands; still inside of me, pleasuring me. They were worker hands with fingers grooved from constructing houses. His veins perforated from within his flesh as if they were tree branches sprouting to life; accentuating the strength they held. They were hands that spent the day tearing then building all kinds of homes from top to bottom. Creating and renovating the old to new so they had years of purpose already structured at the tips. These same hands came home to a bottle of wine and a piano that beckoned a gentle tap; he never failed to please it. I knew I loved his hands the most for this reason, a combination of jagged manhood and tender masculinity. I let myself feel him deeper, guiding his hand with my own. I could feel his attentive gaze soaking in the shift in pace as if a lesson was being taught, and it pleased me to know he was all too willing to learn.
With my own guidance we had found the right spot; sweet, and ripe that had been so greedily neglected. My hips undulated close to a frenetic plunge and I could hear only muffled noise of a “not yet” as the blood began rushing to my head. He must of spoke again, but my mind had been made I was reaching the lake in this heat-wave and quenching my thirst for better or worse.
He must have understood my intentions to defy his wish for a prolonged, anguished pleasure because his architectural hands grasped my face and brought me back to him. My round adult face melted into that of a novice child with my innocence as real as my desire. He ordered me, without any indication of malice, to look at him. Willfully, my eyes met his, and I was confronted with a sea of blue as deep as the Seychelles. I let out a barely audible gasp as he removed his fingers from me, and before I could plead a “no” his lips found mine. The kiss was unfathomable and profound drawing me in one breath at a time. I was helpless and craving more, but he was skilled in the art of harrowing time, and his idea of lengthening climax meant agony would be felt first from a distance.
He drew in one last kiss and released his grip. All the air had depleted from my lungs and whatever sound had me moaning before had all together disappeared. An impish grin floated to the corner of his lips wrinkling a deep satisfaction at my hankering body. I had been spellbound at my spot, unable to will my muscles to move. A master he was at this bestial scheme when he played a move that left me irrationally hungry to be filled. He stepped back where the dim light conglomerated around him, and the rough edges of a rugged man at his primal age emerged. He was older than he looked, which meant he knew better than most men the essence of a woman was in the way she tasted and he wasn’t afraid of the scent. He brought his hand to his face and let the aroma envelop his senses. At each draw of inhalation an unbearable tease; my wet sex began pulsating like a wild drum and I wanted to be satisfied right there and then in the muted room of the library. But instead, he and his wicked devotion to timely orgasms left me to regain what little composure I had in a flustered mess of exasperation.
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