I leaned down, my lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck, my tongue tracing a path along her collarbone. I could feel the vibration of her moan against my lips, a low, rumbling sound that went through me like a jolt.
I could feel the heat of her, a warmth that seemed to radiate from her core, a warmth that was drawing me in, pulling me closer, making me want to lose myself in her completely.
My hands moved from her back to her breasts, my palms covering them, my thumbs brushing against her nipples.
She gasped, her back arching, pushing herself into my touch. I could feel the weight of her in my hands, the soft, yielding flesh, the hard, sensitive peaks. I could feel the frantic, uneven rhythm of her heart, a frantic, fluttering beat that mirrored the frantic, fluttering beat of my own.
I lowered my head, my lips finding the hollow of her throat, my tongue tracing a path down her chest, between the valley of her breasts. I could feel the frantic, uneven rhythm of her pulse, a frantic, fluttering beat that was both a warning and an invitation.
I could feel the heat of her, a warmth that seemed to radiate from her core, a warmth that was drawing me in, pulling me closer, making me want to lose myself in her completely.
I kissed a circle around her left nipple, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her areola, my tongue tracing the hard, tight peak. She squirmed, a small, involuntary movement that was more eloquent than any words could have been. I could feel the tension in her body, the coiled energy, the unspoken need for more, for something, for everything.
I took her nipple into my mouth, my tongue circling the hard, tight peak, my lips creating a seal, a gentle suction that was both a question and an answer. She moaned, a low, guttural sound that went through me like a jolt.
I could feel her hands in my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands, her grip tightening, holding me to her, a silent plea for more, for something, for everything.
I increased the pressure, my sucking growing harder, more demanding, my tongue flicking against the sensitive peak, my teeth grazing the hard, tight nub. She cried out, a sharp, breathy sound that was almost a sob, her body arching, her hips rising from the couch, a desperate, seeking movement. I could feel the tremor that ran through her, a full-body shudder that was both a release and a new beginning.
I released her nipple, my lips moving to her other breast, giving it the same attention, the same consideration, the same desperate, hungry worship. I could feel the shift in her breathing, the change in the rhythm of her moans, the way her body moved beneath me, a series of small, involuntary movements that were both a response and a request.
My hand, which had been resting on her stomach, began to move, my fingers tracing a path down the curve of her waist, over the swell of her hip, to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. I could feel the heat of her, a warmth that seemed to radiate from her core, a warmth that was drawing me in, pulling me closer, making me want to lose myself in her completely.
My fingers traced the seam of her jeans, a light, teasing touch that was both a promise and a test. I could feel her tense, a small, involuntary tightening of her muscles, a moment of hesitation, of anticipation.
Then she relaxed, her legs parting slightly, a silent invitation, a wordless plea for more.
My fingers pressed against the denim, against the heat of her, the dampness that was already seeping through the fabric. I could feel the frantic, uneven rhythm of her pulse, a frantic, fluttering beat that was both a warning and an invitation. I could feel the coiled tension in her body, the unspoken need for more, for something, for everything.
I rubbed her through her jeans, a slow, deliberate, circular motion. She moaned, a low, guttural sound that was both a protest and a plea.
I could feel her hips rising from the couch, a small, involuntary movement that was both a response and a request. I could feel the tremor that ran through her, a full-body shudder that was both a release and a new beginning.
I increased the pressure, my rubbing growing harder, more demanding. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her movements more frantic, more urgent. I could feel the tension building in her body, the coiled energy, the unspoken need for release, for an end to the sweet, torturous pleasure.
I could feel her getting close. I could feel it in the way her body tensed, in the way her breathing hitched, in the way her moans became more desperate, more urgent. I could feel it in the way her hips bucked against my hand, in the way her fingers dug into my hair, in the way her whole body seemed to be vibrating with a desperate, hungry need.
And then she was there.
Her back arched, a beautiful, painful curve, a silent scream caught in her throat. Her body convulsed, a series of sharp, spasmodic movements that were both a release and a new beginning.
I could feel the wetness spreading through the fabric of her jeans, a warm, damp proof of her pleasure, a confirmation of my power, of my ability to give her this, to take her to this place, to make her mine, at least for this moment, at least in this room, at least in this space we had carved out for ourselves, a space that belonged to no one else but us.
I held her through it, my hand still pressed against her, my lips still pressed against her breast, my body a steady, grounding presence in the midst of her storm. I could feel the aftershocks running through her, the small, involuntary tremors that were both a release and a new beginning.
I could feel her breathing, ragged and uneven, the slow, steady return to a state of something approaching normalcy. I could feel the tension leaving her body, the coiled energy unspooling, the frantic, fluttering beat of her heart slowing to a more manageable rhythm.
I pulled back, my lips leaving her breast, my hand leaving her crotch. I looked at her, really looked at her, in the dim light of the room. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dark and unfocused. Her hair was a mess, a dark halo against the pale fabric of the couch.