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I see you, sitting at a table in the corner of the room. It’s odd; the sounds of laughter- albeit drunken- and merriment surround us both, but you remain on the periphery, your eyes flicking back and forth. You draw the eye, though; if you didn’t by your looks alone, you do by your attire.
The theme is Hawaiian, and you are thus attired; string straw skirt, shell bikini. Your dark hair is loose, draped back over your shoulders. You smile, over and over, but as I watch you I notice. You only smile when someone addresses you directly, only look alive when someone’s watching.
You noticed me, watching you, earlier. You looked me over, just as I looked you over; when I wasn’t watching. I saw you though.
You clearly didn’t mind it too much; you kept looking at me. But when I look back, you look away. I know we work together; I know your mum is close to my dad.
I come over to you, my eyes looking directly at yours, waiting for your eyes to flick up and notice me. I’m almost upon you when it happens, and you blush slightly, your mouth suppressing a smile.
I’ve never really talked to you; had a one on one conversation. But we know random facts about each other; you know I study, and I work nightfill in petrol stations; I know you like to party, and that you’re older than me, but you’re not sure by how much. The obvious is that you’re taller than me, but as that doesn’t bother me so it doesn’t seem to you. The thing was, I never knew you liked girls.
We continue jumping through our conversational hoops, but we’re both reading between the lines here. I don’t know why you chose me tonight; maybe it was my looks, or the way you and I both seem eternally on the periphery of things, never the centre. But you did; your hand is on my arm, your hair carelessly tickling my shoulder as you smile at me surreptitiously. You moved my hand onto your thigh underneath the table.
Drunk now. We took a cab back to mine, which was further away than I thought it was. But despite the alcohol, you are still self conscious of me, and I of you; we touch, but only in small, manageable ways; you softly rest your head on istanbul escort my shoulder, almost as if you’re afraid of me pulling away; I place my arm around you, but lightly. You sneak glances and smiles at me through your fringe; I look down at you, when I think you’re not paying attention.
Tired of waiting. The second we get inside, I took your waist in my arms, pulling you to me. I kiss you softly, the touch questioning; do you really want to go through with this, and damn the consequences? You pull back slightly, and look into my eyes.
Then you kiss me back, your hands moving to the back of my head, your lips tasting of vodka and raspberry. Your hair caresses my cheeks, and you moan into me, pushing yourself closer.
I run my hands over your back, as I feel the shells covering your breasts against my shirt. I remember you telling me how much they hurt, so as I drop to my knees I hold them up, and make sure they don’t scratch you as I remove them.
Wow. I cannot look, not really. I close my eyes, and kiss down your body, feeling the softness of your skin on my lips. You arch your back, holding my head as closely as you can.
I delve lower, and curse slightly and quietly; the straw dress is Really annoying. You hear me, and you laugh. Your hands guide mine to your waist, and I pull the string around your waist down, making a mess around your ankles.
The white fabric of a bikini bottom is all the modesty you wear at the moment, but your eyes are blazing at me. I look at you, as I kiss you through the thin material, and your hands drive me in harder.
“Damn it, stop teasing me!” You whisper at me, your nails scratching at my neck. I smile into your thighs.
I pull them down, and breathe lightly on your mound. Beautiful, lovely. I couldn’t bear to look at your breasts, but I find myself unable to look away now.
I descend upon you, my mouth covering your mound from top to bottom. I make sure to never lose that contact, and I make love to your pussy with my tongue, pushing it inside you, running around your slippery nub. Sometimes I caress the hood, and you push yourself into şişli escort me harder. You stifle cries; I’m not sure why. Maybe you’re afraid to completely let go.
I look up at you, and I change my technique. Before I was only playing; now I want your pleasure, your taste. My tongue moves deeper- and trust me, if you thought it was long before, you haven’t seen anything yet. I strum over your clitoris, as I toy at your opening with the tip; your hips uncontrollably buck at me, as you continue to fight to keep yourself quiet.
Enough. I plunge my tongue inside you, as far as it will go. You shriek, and your hands become talons, raking my scalp. You thighs grip my skull fit to crush me. I feel you heat up, spilling your pleasure into my mouth. I continue, trying to keep you as high as I can. I move the tip of my tongue upwards, against the roof of your pussy. I can’t quite get your g-spot, but I get close enough.
You collapse onto me, your legs giving way. You would have fallen over, but I hold you against the door, taking your weight on my shoulders. You explode again, and you cry out.
I hold you until you’re steady, before coming up, and smiling at you. Dishevelled, your hair messy, lips apart, gasping. it was probably not how you had pictured tonight going, but the first time I saw you I wanted to do that. You look simply beautiful, standing there, shuddering still. Your breasts feel wonderful against mine, and though I’m sure I smell like sex, you don’t hesitate to take advantage of your height as you kiss me hard, forcing me to bend to your embrace.
I love it; it’s how I dreamt you to be. I want you to want me more than your inhibitions, more than you don’t want to let go. I want you to take me, driven by your desperation for me.
You push me onto my couch, and you drive my skirt upwards. I went less risque than you; a hawaiian shirt, and a flower skirt. But my briefs underneath are lace, and thin enough so I can feel your tongue against me through the fabric. You damn near tear them off, and I gasp as I feel your hair against my thighs. I look down, and the picture of your hair, nestled against mecidiyeköy escort me, pooling on my thighs, as I feel your tongue moving against my slit, is so powerful I close my eyes.
You’re good. I can’t think of much. You are everywhere; your hands on my hips and palming my breasts, raising me into you harder. A finger joined your mouth, or it didn’t; I’m not sure. I can hear you growling into me, as you bring me on to boil.
I can’t help myself anymore. I sink lower down into the cushions, if only so I can get my heels under me. I push upwards, hard, and I hear you purr into me, and I feel you smile into my sex.
Hot, wet, burning, swirling passion. I can’t come down, can’t even think of stopping. You don’t leave me be, even after my peak is past, and I’m too sensitive to want you to continue. But you hold me up, keeping my back arched, forcing your embraces onto me. I pull your hair, screaming, as you push your pleasure- your desperation- onto me. But it happens; my pulls away become pulls towards, as the journey from too intense to wonderful ends.
This was how I wanted you. I can remember standing there, at after work drinks, seeing you for the first time. I got damp, simply taking you in. Classic, italian beauty; wicked curves, majestic breasts. But your face captured me, made me melt inside. You were elusive, something I could fantasize about. Something I would never have.
I shiver. I moan. I bite the inside of my mouth. You don’t- can’t- stop. I love it.
You take your time now, covering the insides of my thighs with small bites. I pull your hair upwards, towards me. I love the smell of you; musky now, not the clean smell earlier. Now you smell of sex; my sex.
I hold you close to me, and kiss you hard, harder than before. I put my intent, my possession, my feelings into the embrace.
You pull back after a while.
“You’ve wanted me that badly? For how long?”
“Since I first met you.” My voice is unsteady, but I look deeply into your unreadable eyes, hoping.
Her eyes closed, and her lips descended on mine again, for her reply.
Ecstatic, amazed. Her touch is soft, yet possessive, just as much so as mine was. She opened her eyes, and drew away, her body still lying between my legs, but this time I can feel her fingers on my face, before she takes one hand.
“Me too,” she said.
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