“Sex is more than fucking.” If it hadn’t been for her heat, her wetness, the short, sharp breaths in my ear, I might have been able to hold back. But I yearned for more of her, and I pushed a second finger into her folds and began to stroke, forward and back. “Sex is about feeling, anticipation. About understanding.”
She moaned and her fingers curled against the countertop.
“I want to drive you to the brink . . . and pull you right back. Over and over and over. I’ll understand your body then. I’ll know exactly how much I can touch, press, suck before you go under. I’ll know what you like and how your body responds, and you’ll know too.” I slid another finger inside her and grazed her clit with my thumb.
She grabbed my wrist. “I’m so close.”
I stilled and smiled against the skin of her neck. She got it. Despite her protestations, she wanted it to be as good as we both knew it could be.
“So quickly, Sofia. You’re riled up tonight.”
She sighed, her body sagging against mine. “For you.”
Blood rushed to my flint-hard cock and I swallowed. Shit, this woman.
My fingers went back to work, pushing and circling, slow at first and then faster and faster. Sofia’s body tensed and I removed my hands. “Breathe,” I instructed.
She inhaled deeply, once and then twice, pushing her orgasm down and away. Moments like this were meant to last.
“I’m shaking,” she said, holding her trembling hand up to show me. “I feel . . .”
“Lightheaded,” I finished her sentence for her. “It’s the adrenaline mixed with the anticipation. Take a small sip of water.”
As she took her glass, I removed my shirt. Time to switch things up. If I touched her again, however softly, she was going to explode. And I wanted to be inside her when that happened. She watched hungrily as I stripped. I enjoyed her attention on me, my cock rearing under her scrutiny.
“Now do I get to taste you?” Her expression was pleading and I wasn’t about to deny her.
I pulled out a chair from the dining table opposite the kitchen island and took a seat.
Sofia didn’t take her eyes off my dick as she followed me over and knelt at my feet.
“I don’t want a hand job,” I said. “I want to feel your mouth, your tongue, and the back of your throat, and that’s it. You hear?” If she wanted to suck me then I wanted to be sucked. I never enjoyed a blow job that was more hands than mouth. I didn’t like people who didn’t commit to whatever they were doing. And I didn’t like women who pretended to like giving blow jobs. My rule in life was to do something properly or don’t fucking bother.
She nodded while securing her hair in a thick knot at the top of her head. A nice touch. Smoothing her hands up my thighs, she caught my crown between her lips and I exhaled.
I bet Sofia didn’t know how to give a bad blow job.
A pang of jealousy caught in my chest and it interrupted the feel of Sofia’s tongue, just for a second. I frowned. It was a new sensation for me to think about anything when a woman had my dick in her mouth, let alone other lovers she may have been with. Jealousy? That was definitely new. It felt primal and instinctive. But why would I feel jealous? I wasn’t some neanderthal who only fucked virgins. I liked women who enjoyed their sexuality. So what was my problem?
The drag of Sofia’s almost too-sharp teeth brought me back to the moment. Fuck, she was good.
She glanced at me, and as her eyes met mine, I had the urge to kiss her.
“Sofia,” I said, stroking her cheek.
She pulled back, looking at me like a student about to get a critique of their work from a favorite teacher.
“Come here.”
I encouraged her to her feet and then drew her toward me. She straddled me, the heat of her rubbing against my hard length. I cupped her head and drew her toward me, snaking my tongue into her mouth and kissing her.
This.
This.
This was what I wanted.
The feel of her entire body against mine, her arms around my neck, her breath mixed with mine.
I relaxed into our kiss all lips and tongue and passion. It felt good. Right. Like the final piece of a jigsaw that had just been found under a wine glass. We clicked together. I felt complete satisfaction, and I wasn’t even inside her yet.
Instinctively our bodies began to move together and I grabbed the condom I’d pulled out of my wallet when I’d undressed.
She shifted back on my lap as I rolled it on. Our eyes fixed on each other, she stood astride me as I held my cock at the base. Without breaking our stare, she lowered herself onto me. I gripped her hips and tried not to explode at the friction of her tight cunt.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“You feel good,” she said.
I nodded, unable to add to what she’d said. Saying it was “good” was like saying it rained in England. It was obvious. And the truth. But it was also the biggest understatement I’d ever heard. This wasn’t just good. She wasn’t just beautiful.
Fucking Sofia deserved a fireworks display and a sixty-piece orchestra. I needed to take out an advert in the Times to tell people how completely fantastic I felt when this woman was naked and on my cock.
I enjoyed sex. Savored it. Made it a priority in my life. But this? Sex with Sofia? I needed to do nothing else but fuck her. The feel of her made me want to give up my job, take her to some deserted island and just fuck her, all day every day.
I began to shift her hips. Slowly, back and forward, in small intense movements so I could make this last. This woman had endured me torturing her until now; it felt selfish to take my orgasm as quickly as I could. I had to fight every urge to flip her over the table and fuck her into oblivion.
“I don’t know how long I’m going to last. I’m so full up with you. It’s like you’re . . .”
I began to move her faster now. Knowing that we were both so close, I couldn’t think of a reason to hold back. Her hips moved in perfect rhythm; my cock plunged in and out; my fingertips pushed into her flesh.
We locked eyes.
“It’s like you’re . . . in my head,” she said.
I licked up her throat and took her bottom lip between mine. Our tongues crashed together as she began to climax. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close as I erupted into her, the vibrations of our orgasms mixing and binding us closer together.
As we floated back down from the high, the rise and fall of our joined chests began to slow. We sat there with our cheeks pressed together, and I refused to let her go. I wanted to eek out as much from this moment as possible.
“What was that?” Sofia whispered.
I didn’t know.
Intense wasn’t a good enough description. It was as if the tectonic plates under us had shifted and swallowed us whole. She moved her head and put a small kiss on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, drinking in the perfection of such a small, intimate gesture. It was just what I wanted in that moment.
We stayed that way, embracing, our bodies only moving with our breaths.
“We should move at some point,” Sofia said eventually.
“I suppose.” I trailed my fingers down her spine.
She looked at me like she wanted to say something but stopped herself, then stood and headed toward the bathroom I remembered down the hall.
I liked that she didn’t try to cover up. She just wandered naked to the hallway.