I sit on the arm of the couch, look down at him, stroke his face. I place my hand on his cheek, and cup his face up to me as I kiss him gently. He kisses me back, tentatively, and I nudge his mouth open, tasting him, and it rises quickly in me, passion, heat. I kiss him a little harder, exploring his mouth, my fingers slip to his throat, applying some pressure, pushing his head back, tilting it until it is along the back of the couch, and I kiss him, tasting him, feeling the skin of his exposed throat under my fingers. I kiss him harder, biting his lips, feeling him wince, feeling like I can’t breathe. And I kiss him harder and he returns my aggression, his mouth hungry, wanting, I slip my finger between his lips without breaking the kiss, feeling his tongue, his teeth, I kiss him harder, I can’t get enough.
He is stroking me, running his hand cautiously along my arm as I lean further over him, his hand along the side of my body, I grip his hair and hold his head back, he strokes my side, across my ribs, my breast, I push him back along the couch, eating up his mouth, shoving his head back, I feel like growling and I can’t get enough of his mouth. I am almost lying over him, pushing at him, his head arched back against the back of the couch, kissing, pushing, wanting.
I pull back finally, slowing, just touching his lips with mine, lapping at his soft bottom lip, pulling it gently into my mouth, my breathing ragged, pulling a few inches away, thinking I am finished with him.
He whispers, “You are such a great kisser.”
“So are you,” I answer and it’s true. “This was so worth it,” I tell him, but I am not finished with him yet.
He looks up at me and he knows I am not done with him, and I feel him reach for me, and I let him guide my mouth gently back down to his, like guiding a missile to its target, like guiding me home, and once I am locked, I am lost again, and I nudge against his mouth, finding his tongue, aggressively taking his mouth, and feeling like I can’t get enough.
I feel a soft pressure as he tries to urge me off the arm of the couch into his lap, against his body, I resist, keeping my mouth on his, pushing. I grip his hair tightly in my fingers and he lets out a little moan and I twist his head back further and pull away to look at his face, his eyes are closed, supplication, surrender, submission. I touch my fingertips to his lips and he opens his mouth, I enter with my finger, fingers, he keeps his eyes closed and he wraps his lips around my fingers, he sucks them and I slide them in and out of his mouth, feeling his tongue lapping at them, watching, wanting, perfect and it makes my hunger rise, my stomach lurching with lust. And I kiss him hard and it’s delicious, and I feel voracious and he is pushing up against me with his mouth, wanting more, and I feel like I want to get inside him through his mouth.
I start to slow a little and pull away, I gently touch his lips with my tongue, he reaches up for me and I pull back further and he arches up to me and he can’t get to my mouth and I make him wait for me before I can’t bear not to have my mouth on his anymore, and I move down to kiss him, hard, again, and I make a sound, like a moan deep in my throat and I feel him react to it even though I never heard it escape my lips. I feel like I am kissing him forever.
I finally slow my attack on him, pause and pull away from him. I whisper, “You’re lovely.” He doesn’t hear me, I repeat it, and he smiles up at me.