He stood up and held his hand over my lap. “I’ve got something else on my mind.”
I reached for his hand, not knowing what he was doing or why he had got up from the couch. It was late, but I didn’t think it was so late he would consider leaving. He pulled me into him as soon as I was standing, and kissed me gently.
I wanted more.
Thirty seconds later, after lowering me to the bed, he gave it to me.
He lifted my dress over my head, but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Maybe it was because I wanted it so bad. Maybe I was noticing all of the details that had escaped me in the beginning. Maybe it was that I knew deep down inside that I loved him, and my love allowed me to enjoy all of the small things that I had simply taken for granted before.
It didn’t matter.
I was enjoying it, regardless.
I nervously chewed my lower lip as he reached toward my hips. He hooked his fingers beneath the delicate fabric of my panties and met my gaze. With his eyes locked on mine, he slid them down my legs in what seemed like a ten-minute ordeal. When he pulled them over my feet and tossed them beside my dress, I inhaled a choppy breath.
Whenever I watched him touch me it seemed I even forgot to do the simple things.
Like take a breath.
He stood and removed his shirt. The color of his skin was a reminder that summer was upon us, and the light-bronze color suited him well. His biceps and upper chest flared as he reached for his belt.
I watched intently while he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans. His gorgeous cock swung from side to side as he climbed onto the bed. Another labored breath on my part acted as a reminder of my desire to have him inside of me. I tore my eyes away and searched for his hypnotic eyes.
His mouth met mine, and at the same time, he guided himself into me. His girth made each time feel like the first time, and this time was no exception. I gasped for breath as he filled me with his thickness, and he bit into my lip in return.
Passionately, we kissed, his hands gently touching me, caressing me, reassuring me. He found his rhythm—a slow, steady motion—pushing himself into me fully with every stroke. Our mouths eventually parted and he kissed along my shoulder all the while continuing his predictable—and oh-so-enjoyable—punishment of my wet and willing pussy.
I squirmed while he nibbled at my shoulder, only stopping when he moved his mouth to my breasts. Kissing and gently sucking, he teased my nipples, sending small tingling shocks jolting through me from my nipples to my clit.
I opened my eyes only to find him staring back at me. He held my gaze, lifting his mouth from my nipples and slowly arching his back while deep inside me. With his head directly over mine, our eyes remained locked.
His rhythm increased steadily, as did his force. I spread my legs as wide as I was able, giving him free rein to do with me as he pleased. In a few seconds, he was fucking me steadily, the upper portion of his shaft tapping a tune against my swollen clit.
I closed my eyes.
It was the sex women dreamed of, but most would never know. In an unfamiliar state of sexual arousal, I felt myself inching my way to climax with each stroke. A few thunderous thrusts later, and we both began to moan.
I grabbed for the cheeks of his ass and pulled against his muscular flesh, forcing him to go as deep as he was able. His back arched further. I clawed at his butt. My clit began to tingle. His hands groped at my breasts. My mind tried to catch up with what was happening, only to give up and allow me to focus on nothing. Quickly, nothing became everything.
I felt him swelling inside of me. I reached for his balls and cupped them in my hand. Almost instantly, I reached the peak of my sexual bliss, and felt as if I exploded into the room. My eyes opened and closed repeatedly as he thrust a few more strokes, each one a little shy of full penetration.
My body shook. I cried out.
He erupted inside of me, filling me with his love.
He collapsed onto me. I realized we hadn’t spoken a word.
We didn’t have to.
We both stared up at the ceiling for some time. After several minutes, I turned to face him. “What was that?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Was that fucking, or was it making love?”
“With you, it’s all the same,” he said. “It isn’t the act, it’s the person that determines it.”
“So, in your opinion, fucking and making love are one and the same?”
His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “Precisely.”
“I thought fucking was rough and deep and hard, and making love was soft and slow and sweet?”
He chuckled. “It’s all making love if you love the person you’re doing it with.”
“And it’s fucking if you don’t?”