Bluff Ch. 05

As she leaned back, his hands instinctively covered her breasts, the small points of her nipples pressing against his palms. He thumbed them slowly until she wriggled beneath him. His fingers slid apart, allowing his mouth to settle on her breast, tongue poking and flicking until her breathing was harsh and shallow.

He tried to maneuver himself to her other breast, pulling and shifting his legs beneath her until she grunted; their positions on the sofa would not allow it.

"What's the matter?"

"There's no room here."

A chill swept his skin, leaving him briefly regretting he'd said anything when she got up, dragging a blanket from the back of the sofa past him. She tugged gently on his arm, urging him down to the floor with her. The heat of her hands brushed over his shoulders and down his arms as she pushed his shirt off and laid back.

He covered her body with his own, the silk of her stockings brushing against his legs, his cock gliding against the cool fabric of her panties, just a hint of the heat beneath teasing through. His lips found what they'd been seeking, and Hank took a deep breath, pressing her chest upwards to his mouth. The floor was much better.

He sat up, ignoring her small whimper of protest as he shifted away, and pulled her skirt down over her legs. The silkiness under his hands as they trailed back up was better than the feel of any wrapping paper on Christmas morning -- though the excitement building in him was not entirely dissimilar: months of anticipation building to one moment.

His giddy fingers traced the whorls of fabric at the top of her stockings like bows and ribbons, knowing the grand unveiling was at hand. Her garters and panties were a tangle of straps. He may as well have attempted to solve a jigsaw puzzle.

"Umm..."

"Hang on," she said. "Let me."

"Yeah. Kind of what I was thinking."

With a couple tiny plastic clicks, she shifted her hips and told him it was okay. He'd expected a lot more squirming and swishing of fabric. When he laid his hands back on her legs, the stockings and garters were still there.

"No." He hesitated. "I meant ..."

"I know. Keep going."

His fingers pushed onward, away from the strappy, stretchy lace to the smooth softness of her hip and stomach. The bands of material from her panties were gone. He grunted softly.

"They clip," she explained. "You can just undo the snaps and pull them off. I like them with garters."

"Me too, apparently."

He searched for the small strip of hair he had encountered last time, but found only a continuation of that soft silk-like skin, as though her stockings ran on and on. "Smooth," he whispered.

"I waxed. You like it better?"

"Feels nice," he said, brushing his fingers back and forth. "But I kind of like the change in texture too. It's interesting when it feels different. I don't know." He laughed self-consciously. "It's like having to choose between cookies and cream or rocky road ice cream. I like both."

"Aren't you easy to please."

"I guess so."

He shifted downward, allowing his kisses to travel, fighting the urge to rush. He laid a kiss where she had denuded herself for him. Alex smiled at the idea: it was for him. She had done that to please him. His cock throbbed.

He pushed his tongue forward. She was already wet, slick on his mouth, that rich heavy scent clouding his mind. This woman would be the end of him. She gasped as he kissed her and he couldn't help but moan. Her clitoris was plump with arousal as his tongue lapped around it, reacquainting itself with the hidden folds of heat there. Smooth, soft, wet -- heat on heat as his mouth explored with a zeal approaching worship.

Hank's hips rocked and shimmied and pressed against him. Her fingers knotted in his hair, clenching into a fist. Heavy breaths became raspy moans as his tongue circled and stroked. And that low throaty whine grew louder. The muscles in her legs trembled and tensed under his touch. He focused the flicking of his tongue with delicate precision and her body jerked upward -- the goddess ascending, shouting hosannas and adoration to her devotee.

He kissed her gently as her body relaxed, working up across the dampened skin of her stomach, the tang of salt mixing with the ambrosia that still lingered on his tongue. His whole body ached with the anticipation of what was next and he had to remind himself to breathe.

He sat up, running his fingers through his hair and trying to remember where his clothes had been discarded. "My pants?"

"What about them?"

"Where are they? I have a condom."

"Well, weren't you optimistic."

"Hope springs eternal. I've been carrying it since 2008."

She laughed loudly. "Maybe we should use a different one, then."

"No, no. I'm kidding." He leaned over, reaching out the across the floor.

"Oh, don't bother," she shifted and slid beneath him. "You're like a million miles away from them."

With a heavy flourish of denim and the crinkling of plastic wrap, she pressed the condom into his hand. He rolled it on and lowered himself down over her body. Heat. He sighed, "Wow. Finally."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah, of course. You?"

"Definitely."

He licked her nipple and reached down to rub the head of his cock through the gathering slickness between her legs.

"Oh god, Alex." Her voice was a deep moaning whisper, the voice he recalled perfectly from their every encounter. He could taste cinnamon on his tongue.

It was a smooth, wet push inside her, his cock now engulfed in a grip of fire. Forget Dante, her pussy was the source of all heat in the universe. He rocked his hips and heard her moan close to his ear. His lips locked onto her neck, heedless of residual perfume -- he was probably beyond noticing the taste anyway. Hank moved against him, a wildfire clutching at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin. She jerked and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. The sense of being enveloped, almost consumed, by her unwavering heat overwhelmed him; he felt as though he'd dissolved through his own skin and become part of her body. He never wanted to go back.

The sweet cinnamon of her breath puffed past his ears, tickling his neck as it moved his hair with each pant and gasp. Her breath caught in her throat, a hitching whine of bliss that felt like his balls would explode.

"Quit making noise," he teased. "You're going to make me come again."

"That's fine."

"No, I want this to be good."

"It is good. That's why I'm making noise."

He kissed her and continued pushing, wanting to regain that feeling of being absorbed. For a second, he felt outside himself, like this couldn't really be true -- he'd fallen asleep on the sofa, this was a dream, and soon he'd wake up and never get the chance to make love to her. The sting of her nails on his shoulder brought him back. This was definitely real.

Heat surrounded him, diffuse and encompassing. It permeated his skin, like sitting in a sauna. Hank writhed beneath him, pressing and twisting and shaking, her every breath now a euphony of constant gasps and cries. That shiver ran down the length of his body.

"Fuck." He shook his head and stilled, shifting his weight to wipe the sweat from his face. A slick pool had built between their chests. He puffed out a breath and muttered, "Baseball. Think about baseball."

She laughed and stroked his cheek. "It's okay."

"Not really the first impression I want to make."

She kissed his neck and waited, brushing his hair back behind his ears. His composure returned in a series of slow, deep breaths, though the heat still pulled his body in all directions as he began thrusting again. Her soft whimpers rebuilt to wild cries and broken shouts. In the grip of their shared fever, her body tightened against his, every muscle, every cell, grasping at him and pulling him deeper. Her pussy clenched and contracted around his cock, paroxysms of delight as she screamed and he somehow felt her whole body push.

Fluid like he'd not imagined poured over his cock, an upturned bottle; except for the clenching grip, there was no friction. He could feel it rush over his balls, running to the crease of his thighs and onto the floor. Her hips were manic against his, mid-scream she bucked forward and drove her teeth into his shoulder, and still she squirted fluid. It was a tsunami that pulled him violently under, into his own orgasm.

He twisted in pleasure, letting out a small scream of his own -- though, perhaps the pain of being scratched and bitten as he was contributed to his vocalization. His body shuddered through the fireworks, heat and explosion, and nothing in the world mattered except his cock and Hank's wet, wet pussy. He gasped and settled, his heart still pounding so hard it felt like his ribs might burst open. Soothing warmth as she stroked her hands down his back and through his hair.

Alex laughed, or at least he meant to laugh, but it sounded rather more like a sob in his own ears. "I was doing so well."

"You were," she cooed, still stroking and petting and pecking small kisses on his cheek. "It was absolutely perfect to me."

He laughed, trying to wipe his face while balancing on liquid arms that did not want to support his weight any longer. "That happen to you often?"

Her head moved against his neck. "Almost never." Her voice was soft, a small lilt of shy laughter at the end.

It could be delayed no longer; pushing away from her to sit back, the air in the room was a cruel chill on his skin. He slipped the condom off, tying a tidy knot.

"Umm..."

"Yeah. I'll get that."

She left the room, leaving him with the ticking clock and the soft whooshing hum of the heating vents. He tried to wipe his chest with his hand but felt like he only succeeded in pushing the sweat around, catching in his chest hair and he wondered where she'd left his shirt.

"Here." She placed a soft bath towel in his hands. It was still warm from the dryer.

He muttered his thanks as he dried off, smelling the fresh fabric softener scent as he wiped his face, and then wrapped it around his shoulders to keep the chill from finding him again.

"So," he began, then stopped, realizing he really didn't want to say what he'd started to say.

"Yeah?"

"I guess ... I should probably, umm ... you probably have things to do."

"Not really. I mean ... I did promise you a sandwich. You might as well stay. If you want, that is."

Barely suppressing a smile, Alex whispered, "I want." That sounded just fine to him.