Parts of this chapter belong to a piece I wrote in June. The prompts fit. And the prompts do lend themselves to a sensual post. It’s a one night stand in a ritzy hotel in Toronto.
She couldn’t get enough of this man who she had met only a few hours ago. Her hands became uncontrollable, they meandered over every inch of him she could reach through the robe; she finally understood the song, Fever.
His mind had experienced so much and she wanted to learn every crevice of it. She wanted to climb under his skin and live under his protection, strength and knowing touches.
The scent of him, unidentifiable foreign spices, caused her body to vibrate with passion and yet calmed her at the same time. She brushed her tongue in the center of his palm and felt him shiver; his flavor recalled her childhood dreams, like a breeze through the window, awakening her. His deep voice resonated with her own beating heart; taking a little piece of her heart with it.
I must be mad.
These thoughts and yearnings blew through her body as they kissed, still standing close to the door, the only sounds the ticking of the brass clock, his shallow quivering breath and the rustlings of their scant clothing as they fondled and touched each other with eyes, hands, and mouth.
She wondered if they resembled two animals clawing at each other, he almost stooping to reach her height. She didn’t care what they looked like to an objective viewer, she only knew what she felt.
Their tongues spoke their own unique language, softly, with lips barely grazing, roughly with gulping mouthfuls. His lips spoke in simple basic language and she tasted the remorseful memories of his youth.
A lock of hair fell over his eye and this time she did not restrain her urge; she gently pushed it back, reveling in its touch and allowed her fingers to lose themselves in the teasing strands. The philtrum on his lip only made him that more sexy, if that was possible.
An impression stole over her that this night was the highlight of her life. But it’s only make believe, she told herself.
This sexy man made her laugh, and didn’t bore her.
She looked away from his eyes, pools of brown, which drowned her in their warmth, and led him to the bed, taking note of its crumpled sheets, scattered pillows and mattress askew. They had indeed utilized the entire span of the king-sized bed. But once hadn’t been enough. She wasn’t through loving him yet and desired more of what his body was saying to hers.
Their heated hands had already separated most of the fabric from their bodies, mere scraps of cloth remained. She loosened the belt on his robe which plopped on the floor. He turned her and unwraped the over sized dressing gown, and it too landed without a sound on the carpet.
They lay across the bed. He cupped her right breast and the nipple stretched toward him. It was as if a small orchestra had descended on her chest. His embrasure was that of a wind instrumentalist, his precise fingering that of a violinist and the delicate hand of the drummer on the cymbals, maintaining a steady rhythm.
She splayed her hands over his chest pulling his hairs, almost long enough to lightly hold in her fingertips, and massaged his nipples. His obvious thrill with her action transferred to her multiplying her sensual pleasure manyfold.
His desire grew; she stared, in awe that she effected such a huge need in him. She slipped her leg over him, straddling him.
This man had more sexual experience than anyone she had ever been with, but with him it felt right. He didn’t try to prove his prowess; the lovemaking was for her enjoyment as well as for his.
He lifted her leg over his and slowly pushed into her. His strokes unhurried not the haste from earlier but as if time had stopped. The intensity of the sensual was as if an artist brushed his story on a blank canvas, then precisely colored in every detail of hers, resulting in their shared new history, though the painting would remain unfinished.
This coupling was gentler, slower and more loving. Their first mating was rougher, more urgent, with a greater primal need. Now with her heightened senses she felt her soul relax and breathe for the first time.written for Blogophilia Week 3.6 Topic: Once Is Not Enoug Bonus Points: (Hard, 2pts): incorporate a line from a Conway Twitty song* (Easy, 1pt): include someone’s Philtrum *it’s only make believe *a little piece of my heart *fever *I’m not through loving you yet