black lace

He ran his tongue up my abdomen, leaving my chest out, back arched–a breath that I seemed to hold forever without even noticing. My attention was fully consumed in his eyes as he watched my mouth and listened to my short, heavy breaths.

His hands managed their way around my arched back and unhooked my bra that, until now, held tight to my shoulders with a whomping four straps–two that crossed over the front between by breasts–and just barely sheltered my tits with a thin layer of black lace. The remainder of our clothes had already graced the floor. He’d managed those in no time.

Every part of him was so incredibly rigid. The curvature of his hip bones as they pushed up against me, the lining of his jaw leaned over my shoulder, and his daunting personality–one which captivated my lonely, blue eyes at our very meeting three weeks ago.

I knew everything about him, yet nothing–all at the same time. He was an enlisted airman for the U.S. Airforce, grew up in a small town in Indiana, was great at card tricks, and extremely witty. On the other end, he revealed nothing else about himself and the voice that tells me that I know him truly is the same voice leading me back to his sheets. Either way, I was inevitably consumed by his witty nature, and I had feverishly become devoted to his touch.

I’d never managed to maintain anything casual before him. I have always been an all or nothing person. Commitment or flirtation, nothing between. He doesn’t get to taste me if he doesn’t choose to know me. Yet, with this man, how could I deny him? His hands gently touched my ribcage and goosebumps coated my body–each one a flash of what he could make me feel, if I let him. His embrace pushed my thoughts into full-swing imagery of him thrusting into me, up against a wall or on a desk, or up against the side of his blue tile shower. His fingertips filled the gap between my legs with a sense of warmth, and it would be a short minute before I realized how much of my mouth had filled with saliva.

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