like watching two brilliant dancers working the ballroom floor. My response to him was purely instinctive. I hadn’t even thought I was a particularly good kisser until I had come into contact with his mouth.
His tongue stroked along my bottom lip and I made a sound of approval as I welcomed him inside. The warm glide of his tongue over and under and around mine made my insides contract with lust. His hands pulled me against him, his fingers digging into my buttocks to hold me against where his blood pounded with desire. I could feel the hard ridge of him swelling against me. It made my body restless to get even closer. I could feel the tingling and tickling of my inner core, an ache and pulse of longing growing more intense by the second.
His hands began working their way under my jumper, sliding his palms over my bare skin to find my breast. I made a little gasping sound as his fingers pushed aside my bra and made flesh-to-flesh contact. He cupped me first, and then he rolled the pad of his thumb back and forth across and around my nipple. It was the most exquisite torture. All the nerves beneath my skin leapt and twirled and pirouetted.
I wanted to touch him to give him the same pleasure he was giving me. I tugged at the towel covering him and it fell to the floor. I stroked my fingers down his hard, flat abdomen, stringing out the anticipation for him as I slowly made my way to my target. He sucked in a harsh-sounding breath as I claimed my prize. He was iron hard and yet his skin felt velvet smooth. I felt the throbbing pulse of his blood against my hand. I squeezed and stroked in turn. I circled my fingertip over his tip, where pre-ejaculate fluid was beading. It was an erotic reminder of the primal impulses going on in my own body, the silky dew that moistened my inner walls in preparation for the thrust and glide of his body.
He helped me out of my clothes with gentle but urgent hands, using those same hands to stroke over my flesh as he uncovered it. I felt like a present he was unwrapping, a present he had waited a long time to claim. He kissed every inch of my décolletage, along the scaffold of my collarbones, dipping his tongue into the suprasternal notch between.
His mouth came back to mine, plundering it with increasing vigour, as if the tight hold on his self-control was under enormous strain. I kissed him back with passionate enthusiasm, my tongue dancing and duelling with his. He tasted so fresh, a combination of mint and salt and sexy maleness. He had shaved during his shower but his skin still rasped against mine in a way that made me feel incredibly feminine.
Once I was in nothing but my knickers, his hands came up and cupped my face. I liked it that he hadn’t stripped me naked, that he’d allowed me that final barrier to make me feel less pressured, less exposed. I could still feel him against me, the hot probe of his erection making my body ache behind the lace of my underwear.
His lifted his mouth off mine so our lips were almost touching, our breaths mingling in the intimate space. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he said.
That was another thing I liked. He hadn’t taken my consent for granted. He’d allowed me time to back out if I wasn’t comfortable with taking things further. I don’t want to make Andy sound like a predator or anything but there were a few times when he hadn’t really picked up on my change of mind or mood.
‘I’m sure.’ I put my hand to his face and stroked it down the chiselled plane of his jaw. ‘But thanks for asking.’
He rested his forehead against mine. ‘It’s been a while for me.’
‘Me too.’
He lifted his head to look at me. ‘How long?’
‘It’s been a couple of months.’ I gave him a wry look. ‘Actually, it’s probably longer.’
He brushed his lips against mine. ‘Good girl.’
‘Why’d you say that?’
He smiled at me. ‘You’re being honest.’
The words I was going to say were obliterated in the combustible heat of our mouths meeting in a scorching hot kiss that spoke of the deep, irresistible yearnings going on in both of our bodies. Our tongues tangled and teased, stroked and swept and chased each other in a sensual dance as sexy as any Latin tango.
I was standing up on tiptoe, my breasts pushed almost flat against his chest in an effort to get as close as possible. His hands gently peeled away my knickers; his palms warm as they cupped my bare behind. He moved against me, the strong pulse of his body sending mine into a frenzy of want.
He pulled back from me slightly. ‘I need to get a condom.’
He left me briefly to find one in his wallet. He didn’t have a supply in the bedside drawer, I noticed, which seemed to suggest he hadn’t brought anyone back here before. I liked the special feeling it gave me, the feeling that I was the only woman he’d considered making love with since he’d got back from the States.
He came back to me sheathed and gently guided me to the bed, where we ended up in an erotic tangle of limbs. That was another thing I noticed. There was no awkwardness about who was going to put which limb where. We fitted together like one of those complicated puzzles that only a Mensa member can solve. The feel of his naked skin moving against mine, the glide and stroke of his hands, the caress of his lips and tongue and the heat of our connection went through every pore of my body like a current.
I stroked my hands over his back and shoulders, discovering every knob of his vertebrae as his mouth savoured mine. Our tongues did that sexy little tango again that mimicked what our lower bodies were aching and straining to do. I shifted beneath him, urging him to take things to the next stage, but he was taking his time to ensure I was properly aroused. He stroked my entrance, felt the wetness of me and then slid one finger inside. I almost came right then and there. He stroked his fingertip across my clitoris, just enough to make me aware of him.
The sensations gathered like an approaching wave, building momentum with a force that threatened to overwhelm me. I felt the tension building in my body as he stroked me again, softly, slowly, then varying the speed, getting to know what I liked and what I didn’t.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more he moved down my body, kissing my breasts, down my sternum to my belly button and then to the top of my mons pubis. Instead of using his fingers, this time he used his lips and tongue. I know I sound like a ridiculous prude but I’ve never really understood all the fuss about oral sex. Andy did his best, but I always felt he couldn’t wait to get it over with so he could get on with the main event, so to speak. I would freeze up or fret that I hadn’t waxed or that I might not be as fresh as I should be down there. I would end up pretending I’d had a good time just to get it over with.
But with Matt I forgot about all those insecurities and hang-ups. His caresses were so perfectly timed, so cleverly orchestrated my body went on a feverish journey of discovery that left me completely breathless. The orgasm rolled over me like a massive wave, spinning and tossing me into a world of sensation that left no room for conscious thought. I was reduced to that one part of my body, my most primal part. I writhed and clawed and cried and gasped as the ricocheting pulses went through me, finally leaving me in a limp heap as the afterglow flowed through every muscle in my body.
Matt came back over me, cradling the side of my face with one of his hands. He didn’t ask if it was good for me. He didn’t need to. Instead, he kissed me again, the taste of my own body on his lips stirring me into a new round of arousal.
I reached for him to guide him into my body but he really didn’t need any help from me. He knew exactly where he was going. But he didn’t thrust in hard, not at first. He took his time, inching in to allow me to get used to his length. I felt like a virgin
