Morning Kiss

I emailed him back almost immediately when I read his request.  A morning meeting at my place? I couldn’t think of a better way to start my day than with strong arms around me and hot lips pressed passionately to my skin.  Only a fool would say no to that kind of invitation.  And I am no fool.

I prepared carefully, shaving in the shower, running my hands over my legs, testing the silky factor of my skin and making sure it was as perfect as possible.  I wanted my skin to unhinge him.  To make him want, no, need to touch more.  I scented my body, a light floral scent that blended well with my natural smell.  As I went about my ablutions, my clit tingled like an antenna receiving a distant signal.  I watched the minutes tick by, marveling at my own chutzpah.  I barely know this guy.  By the end of our morning tryst, I will know him far better.

He arrived a bit late, having gotten lost and sending me an apologetic text.  He was chilled from the cold November air.  He took off his coat and settled himself, watching with amusement as I fumbled nervously with ice trays, trying to fix him a drink.  He laughed at me and I laughed at myself. How could I not? I was all thumbs just from the intense stare of his icy blue gaze – he hadn’t even touched me yet.

He took his drink and settled comfortably on my sofa, all long legs and confidence.  I prayed I looked cooler than I felt.  I was like a teenage girl on prom night.  And like prom night, I took a deep breath and dove right in.  I sat next to him and immediately he reached out for me.  There would be no time wasted with small talk.  He was there to press his lips against me, to taste my mouth and touch my body, and he was not going to wait for my girlish shyness to subside.  Rather than let my nerves settle on their own, he kissed me senseless instead.

When was the last time you just sat and kissed someone?  Not kissing as means toward fucking, but kissing for the sake of connecting intimately with another person? I am a big fan of the kiss.  A dying art, and something that when done skillfully, will vault a man to the top of my fuckable list.  He was skillful.  He absolutely vaulted.

I had to pull myself back more than once. Pull hard on the reins of my desire to keep myself from tearing off his clothes and mounting him like a thoroughbred about to be put through his paces.  At one point, his large hand was lingering above my breast, teasing the soft skin of my chest where it peeked out of my blouse.  I tried to hold back.  I really did.  But I broke down with a moan, grasping his hand and sliding it down lower, filling his palm with my breast.  He smiled at that.  By that point he knew enough of me to recognize the hunger I kept barely in check.

He paused, pulling away from me with a breathless whoosh of air and a mischievous grin.  He reached for his drink, eyes alight with a hunger of his own.  When he returned to my mouth his tongue was cold from the ice in his drink and I took great pleasure in warming it again.  As I licked and kissed his mouth, it was all I could do not to demand that cold mouth on my nipples.  Oh god.  I wanted to fuck him so badly it hurt.

He went down on his knees, spreading my legs and wrapping his arms around my torso, lifting me to his kiss.  I heard my pulse pounding in my ears and I pressed my breasts eagerly into his chest, my legs wrapping instinctively around his middle.  My hands roamed his back, taking in the sheer size of him, wondering what he would feel like, naked and buried balls-deep inside of me.  My pussy was drenched by this point.  He pressed his lips to the skin at the base of my throat, his hands sliding up the legs of my jeans.  He groaned into my chest as his fingers grazed the silky softness of my calves.  I smiled at the ceiling, a jolt of sensual victory that went straight to my dripping cunt.

He started pulling away at 7:30, telling me he needed to get to work.  But he kept coming back for more.  Another kiss led to another.  His hands roaming my body, still not touching the primal parts of me I knew he craved the most.  It was sweet torture and we were happy, captive participants.

As he took his last kisses, drinking in my mouth like a fine wine, he told me the next time he came over, he wanted to push me against the wall and frisk me.  His voice was husky as he told me how much it turned him on to think of touching me wherever and however he wanted.  I readily agreed.  Then he surprised me.  “Tonight when you are lying in bed,” he said thickly as he pressed kisses to my neck, “I want you to think about me frisking you, and I want you to touch yourself.”  I don’t even know if I said yes.  I think I just groaned a little and nodded.  It was enough for him.  He left for work late and smiling, adjusting his jeans as he walked out the door.

I came like a freight train on downhill track that night, shuddering and soaking the blanket beneath me as I thought of his hands on my most intimate parts.

I can’t wait until he visits me again.

 

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12 Comments

Filed under Erotica

12 responses to “Morning Kiss

  1. 'Tis

    mmmm, kissing. The things that simple act can do. 🙂

  2. Well, I’m ready for a kiss and a cuddle now. 🙂

  3. Very yummy, I can’t wait for him to visit you again too!

  4. Pingback: Morning Kiss – Part Three | Cliterary Review

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