Be My Valentine

When they arrived back at the lodge, it was already dark. The sun's afterglow rent a streak across the horizon, illuminating the undersides of clouds and silhouetting the mountains in brushstrokes of blood red, autumn orange, copper and gold. They put their cross-country skis in the rack outside the inn's door. The soft glow from the lantern lights illuminated their faces, and he gazed at her. Her complexion was bright pink from the cold, and her soft brown hair stuck out in tufts around the white fur of her ski parka. She looked into his brown eyes that were sparkling with happiness, little crinkles around his eyes highlighting his ruddy cheeks.

"Did you have fun?" he asked, sliding his arms around her waist.

"It was wonderful," she replied. "I think I'm really getting my kick stride down." She pushed her foot back, as if she were skiing, and in doing so pressed her body closer to his.

"It was a pleasure to watch you, I'll tell you that," he said, nuzzling her neck and running his hands down her back, holding her close. "You look absolutely stunning in those ski pants," he added, taking her derriere in his hands and giving her a squeeze.

"Not here," she sighed, her breath warm on his ear as she twisted out of his arms.

"But it's Valentine's Day, and this is our treat to each other. Can't I have even one little squeeze?" he pleaded. A sensual smile played on her face. Then she leaned forward and kissed him invitingly on the lips.

Once in their chalet suite, she said, "Brrr. I'm cold. Can we soak in the jacuzzi before dinner?"

"I can't think of a better idea," he said. "I'll go check the water temperature."

She came into the tiled jacuzzi wearing a big, fluffy terry cloth bathrobe. She smiled, turned, and took her robe off as she sank into the tub across from him. He had only a moment to let his eyes roam over her naked form, yet it was enough to stir him. They touched softly in the warm, bubbling water. "Oh, this feelssonice," she said. He slid his foot up the inside of her leg until it was resting against her soft muff, then he wriggled his toes gently. "Umm, that feels even nicer," she said, rising up over his legs to slide into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; her breasts floated in the water, tempting him to kiss them. He could not resist; he drew her nipple between his lips, caught it in his teeth and tugged gently, then sucked it into his mouth where he could loll it around on his tongue. "Ohhhh," she said, pressing herself more tightly to him. His penis was utterly erect between them, and she rubbed and nuzzled and slid up against him until it rested against her clitoris, then she rubbed him against her in slow, deliberate up and down strokes. His hot, hard manhood felt so good, and she could feel her clitoris responding, sending hot waves through her body. She sought his lips and opened her mouth to his in a warm, wet kiss that went on and on until they knew they had better get out and go to dinner now, or they never would.

He put on slacks and a ski sweater and waited while she dressed in the bedroom. When she came out he was carried away by her all over again. She wore a corduroy skirt and a turtleneck under a big, soft ski sweater. A touch of makeup lightly accentuated her blue eyes, and her hair was brushed into warm reds, burnt umbers, and browns. "God, you look beautiful," he said, and she smiled and walked into his arms. They kissed lightly, and he could smell her arousal on her skin, taste her desire on his lips. Or was it his own?

At dinner, they talked between visitations by the waiter. They sat close, so they could hold hands while they ate. It was all either of them could do to concentrate on eating, but the food was wonderful after their exercise, and the inn and the dining room were enchanting. It was during salad that he felt something against his leg, and it startled him; then he looked at her, saw the mischievousness in her eyes, and knew it was her. She had taken off her shoe and was sliding her foot up his pants leg. He responded in kind: when she took up her fork, he let his hand disappear under the table and touched her knee. He slid his hand up her leg, crossed over the top of her stocking and squeezed gently. Her knees, pressed together, relented slightly and he moved his fingers between her thighs. She looked into his eyes and her mouth opened, the desire to kiss him written all over her face.

Somehow, they made it through the rest of dinner. He took her into the small bar, where a trio played light jazz and old standards. When the combo began playing "My Funny Valentine," he asked her to dance and they held each other closely, lightly, hands squeezing, fingers eager to entwine, their bodies desperate to cling together. Every so often their lips would meet, a kiss full of promises. Once they had one of their perfect kisses. Neither knew how it happened, or what made it so; it was a kiss where their lips and hearts met in perfect unison, a kiss that took their breath away, swept them up and bespoke their love for each other, a kiss that said "I'll never let you go," that bound them freely but totally to one another. When it finally ended, they were standing still, holding hands, and no one else was dancing. The band played on, smiling at them. He pressed his lips close to her ear, nuzzling her hair, and said, "Darling, I love you so." She replied by pressing up close to him, kissing his neck again and again to show her devotion.

When they couldn't stand it any longer, they went back to their suite. The bed looked utterly inviting. He turned to her to resume kissing as she began unbuckling his belt. In a matter of moments they were lifting sweaters, ripping each other's clothing off, and when they were naked they flung their bodies together and fell on the bed in an embrace.

She ran her hands up the back of his neck, all the while kissing him wherever her lips fell, which sent him into a frenzy of desire. She paid careful attention to the places where he was sensitive and erogenous; it had been an adventure to discover them, to learn just how to touch each place, what kind of intensity or gentleness or pressure he liked there, and how it would arouse him. Sounds came from him, soft, halting, not quite moans, not quite words as passion ripped through his body. She knew she could make his penis hard if she took it in her hand or mouth; what was far more pleasurable for her, and for him, was when she could do the same thing by kissing or nibbling or licking him in a special place.

He reached his arms around her and pressed her tight against his body, so that he could feel her breasts against his chest, their bellies taut against each other, their legs and toes entwining. His penis stuck up between them, tumescent and hot.

He ran his hands over her downy skin; it was like velvet to his touch, a thirst that he could not slake, this touching. He would skim his fingertips lightly over her shoulders, down her back, then grip her firmly at her waist, pulling her tight against him. He would run his hands over the swell of her hips, then take her derriere in both hands and squeeze gently. He loved to touch and squeeze her there; her cheeks were small yet firm, shaped into an almost perfect heart. He always loved to cup her in his hands and sense the vulnerability that she rendered unto him when he held her that way, that said she gave him permission to take possession of her body.

He put both his hands at the small of her back and pulled her even closer, then reached down and squeezed one of her cheeks gently. There was an especially erogenous area he would touch lightly with his fingers, the soft curve where her cheek became her thigh, and he touched her there now. His finger traced around her plump rump and followed her firm thigh muscles, then ran to the inside of her leg and came back up to that erotic curve. But as he did so, his fingers slipped into the crack between her cheeks and he felt moisture – the slick, warm moisture of her womanhood. He slid his fingers further down, down, deep and down; she was soaking wet with her love juices. This aroused him further and he pulled back so that his penis slipped between her legs, grazing her clitoris as it did so.

"Oh!" she said, bolting a little, shuddering, then clinging to his body with her own. She pressed her tummy up against his so that her clitoris rubbed against his penis, and hooked a leg around him to keep him tight against her, then she began a slow, sensual rubbing up against him. She loved to hold him, stroke him with her arms, her legs, her belly, her toes. There was something about his body that made her want to blend into him until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. Sometimes he made her feel like that in the night, when they were sleeping, even when they weren't holding each other or spooning. There was something just about his body warmth, just knowing he was close, that drew her to him, made her want never, ever, to be away from him. They always talked in bed; sometimes they would fall asleep on their backs holding hands, or with her cradled in his arm and her head on his chest, or perhaps with an arm flung over one another. In the morning they would awake all tangled up in each other's arms and legs, mingled in desire, lips pressed together; sometimes they would make love at once. She recalled one time when they awoke in the middle of the night, a full moon bathing their bedsheets, to find themselves making tender love.

He stretched his body taut against hers. Their lips met softly at first, then locked in a hot, wet, passionate kiss. Her tongue came between his lips, asked for his; they French kissed lightly, gently, exploring each other's tongues and lips with flicks and sallies back and forth. Her hands played at the back of his neck; his grasped her gently at the waist, then moved up her back in slow, sensual strokes. Then he was inside her; it just happened. She was so wet he had slipped into her, and she could feel the heat of his hot, erect penis as she bathed him in her love juices. His hand went down her back, across her derriere, and into the cleavage, pulling her closer, deeper. She was wet everywhere, and it aroused him powerfully. He slid his hand between her thighs; she was bathed in pussy juice, and he drew his hand through it, basking in the warmth and sultry slickness it made on her skin.

He withdrew his penis from her, then bent down between her legs. Her pubic hairs glistened and sparkled with love juice; a rivulet ran from between the bright pink petals of her flower. He touched her there with his finger, watching her open to receive him. Then he bent his tongue to that place and licked the juice from the petals of her pink rose of desire, and she arched her back to press her pussy into his kiss. He scooped her derriere up in both hands and pulled her hungrily to his mouth, licking her pussy, sucking the sweet love juice into his mouth, feeling the warm, silky moistness lubricate his cheeks as they moved between her soft thighs, smelling the delicate, musky scent of her. She intoxicated him; she drove him wild with desire, and he pressed his face between her legs again, and again, kissing, licking, nibbling her clitoris, then sucking it, passing his tongue into her, driving her wild with desire.

She reached down and took his penis in her hand, and in the way she held him, he knew what she wanted. He rose on his knees and let her put him back inside her pussy. Ah, she was so warm, so silky around him. He could feel the lubriciousness that her love juices created, and yet he could feel the texture of her inside as well. God, he was so hot, so very, very turned on, his penis felt too large for its skin. He eased himself into her, felt himself fill her wide, then deep, until he touched something and she shuddered. He moved a little, probing, and she moved to meet him, shuddering sighs coming from her. They had found her G spot, and the tip of his penis was there. He moved in little ovals, grazing it, listening to her moan, feeling her hips press against him. She could come, and he could feel how close it was for her. But not yet; he wanted to build the desire in her more before she began her exquisite symphony of orgasms that he loved to explore with her.

He withdrew, slowly, with many little strokes and kisses and caresses, then he sat cross-legged on the bed and pulled her over to him. She looked at him, her blue eyes pleading with desire. He smiled, took her fingers and kissed each one. Then he began kissing his way up her arms, seeking her erogenous zones. He knew she loved it when he kissed her palms and the inside of her wrists. He kissed the yellow rose tattooed on her right breast, an act of devotion and praise both to her and the symbol. There was a spot near her shoulder that he nuzzled, then he licked her with the tip of his tongue along her neck, to her earlobe, now nibbling, which drove her into another state of passion. He could feel it ripple through her, and he put his hand between her legs; she was getting wet all over again. He ran his palm up and down her pussy, stroking and petting her clitoris, letting his fingers slip into her, bathing his hand in her love juices. Then he brought it to his face and licked it off, like honey, offering her some as well. She took his hand in hers, held it, and sucked it off his fingers. Then they kissed again and tasted her together. It was not her favorite thing, to taste herself, but it turned him on and she loved his desire, she loved it when he sighed like a hummingbird in her ear, whispering his passion to her as he held her and stroked her. He made her feel so sensual, so alive, so like a woman to him. She craved his body, but her heart longed for that safe place where he took care of her, and when he held her in his arms and touched her so gently and sensuously, and when he spoke to her and told her how lovely she was and how happy she made him, that she was the best lover and the sweetest woman he had ever known, then she felt safe and cared for, and she cocooned with him. Something would happen inside her, involuntary, like the way he made her get so wet, wetter than she had ever been for any man. It was a special way her pussy would enclose him, the way she opened up to him and how she could hold his penis, somehow he went deeper inside her, somehow she held him tighter, somehow she could feel him more intensely, and he seemed to grow, to get larger, more metaphysically than in reality, she was sure, but the intensity of feeling them joined together like that would make her lightheaded and they were lost then, they were lost to each other, their lovemaking transcended the physical sensation of his penis filling her up and with each gentle stroke he made inside her, every sigh, every movement, every whisper, every touch, seemed to draw them toward a light that pulsed in her heart, it made her want to cry it was so beautiful, and she gave it all back to him, she didn't know how, but she knew he could feel it because it carried him away, too, and when she felt that it carried her up and away all over again.

His hands moved to her waist where he squeezed her, then he slid his hands to her thighs and squeezed her again. His nostrils were filled with her scent, both the sweet scent of pheromones from her skin and the heady musk from between her legs. He reached around her, took her derriere in his hands and squeezed her again, and in so doing she shifted toward him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and led his throbbing penis inside her. It felt warm and calming here inside her; he was so big he could feel the skin stretched taut against the tip of his penis, so taut it almost hurt, but now it eased a bit and he could feel her tighten her muscles around him, encircling the base of his penis and holding him, then sliding up and back down in a delicious way that thrilled him but took the edge off as well.

He had been looking at the two of them, at his penis sliding in and out between the petals of her flower, watching as their pubic hairs, all alight with sparkling pussy juice, intermingled. It was nice to see himself inside her, to see her smooth alabaster thighs wrapped around him, to look at the sensual curve of her feminine belly as it pressed against him, then moved back to reveal her garden of love, then touch him again. He lifted his gaze to her eyes and saw she was looking at him and he took her in his eyes and she took him in her eyes and they touched deeply. Their movement stilled, but he could still feel himself inside her, held gently by her body, and they looked into each other's eyes and squeezed together. He could feel the emotion rise up through his chest, like heat straight from between their legs, and it made him shudder inside. She could feel his penis and then it blended into her and warmth radiated out from where they were linked and made her feel lightheaded again. And as they looked into each other's eyes, they seemed to enter one another all over again. They looked and their eyes widened, and the widening kept opening up and they kept going further inside, deeper inside, and her lips were seeking his but she would not break their gaze, and a slight breeze seemed to come up like a breath that gives life, and their eyes touched, something inside and outside, warm and soft and pure like air touched, and they came like that, they came together like honey pouring all over their bodies, warm honey flowing over them and filling their hearts and tummies, and he could feel her come because she took him like a lover's kiss and held him tight and gushed honey all over him, he could feel her honey pouring out of her warm all over his balls and it felt so good, and she could feel him coming, pulsing like a heartbeat, the head of his penis pounding against her G-spot inside, pulsing and pounding and filling her up as each throb traveled from the base of his penis up through her and deep into her and she cried, "Oh, God, oh my God, Oh! Oh!" and her body was racked with more emotion than she could bear. The intensity strummed her like a Flamenco guitar and every time she felt she could take no more, another wave traveled up his penis and pounded into her G-spot like an ocean wave, spilling and pouring over her soul in warm, swirling currents.

But now a calmness began to overtake them; their eyes, still locked, drew the powerful energy away from their limbs, their flesh and, still embracing, still kissing, the energy became a trade wind that took the ragged edge off the orgasm they had shared. They kissed with their eyes, like they kissed with their mouths, like they kissed between their legs. The energy diffused and they became aware of their fingers, arms, touching, they way they were locked together, she sitting in his lap with her arms and legs wrapped around him like she would never let him go.

He was still big and hard inside her; they could both feel him. She knew he had climaxed with her; it was another extraordinary thing that had happened in their lovemaking. Before, he had been a man like any other, who ejaculated and thought it was an orgasm. After sex, his penis would shrivel and they would be done. Before, she had had sex, and if she was fortunate, more than one orgasm. But with him, she had become truly multi-orgasmic, and so had he. He could bring her to the edge and take her over again and again; she had brought peace and acceptance to his soul, and he had discovered the difference between simply coming and having a true orgasm. They were like musical instruments to each other, and they delighted in bringing each other's music forth. Perhaps, they had thought, it was because of this giving to one another that they had discovered so much more in lovemaking. Perhaps this gift was because each sought to give each other pleasure, to love the other person and make them feel good, rather than to just seek their own physical satisfaction. Or perhaps, they thought, these incredible orgasms they shared were because they were so deeply in love with one another.