Sexy sexy bookette

 A very very sexy book this one, read at your own sexy peril.

The night was cold. The clock stuck twelve. Her I could feel her hot breath on my sternum. I could feel the soft skin of the index finger she had pressed softly against my lips. Silence, as she demanded, had the air clam, yet the scent of citrus and passion fruit swirled around the room. The flickering light of the aromatic candles, cast from the flame as it danced an exotic salsa, in slow motion, as if preserving the night.

Inhaled:  Absorbed all I could, the atmosphere was such that I knew exactly what I wanted, what she wanted… What we wanted.

The stage was set. The path was clear. I was ready.

Exhaled: The trigger.

From her position straddling me as if I were a motorbike, she raised her head from my chest, her hair flowing like a waterfall in reverse away from my shirt.  I closed my eyes. Counted to three, my heart a metronome, beating on every count; my body and mind were in sync. I opened my eyes, she ran her finger off my lips, across my chin, and stopped it as she reached my top button.  I placed my right hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed the sleeve of her lightweight peasant top over her arm. She threw back her head and with a single swipe ripped down the button line of my shirt, freeing the buttons from there eyelets and allowing them to run uninhibited across the vast expanse of red satin that we were on, unveiling my naked chest. I was awestricken; I stared up in amazement as she lowered her head, and her hair in a mess covered her eyes, creating an aura of mystery. Her perfect lips, in there clear gloss reflecting the flames shimmering delicately on their slender wicks, drew me in. As I raised my face to meet hers, she placed a firm palm flat on my chest, it was soft. She pushed me back down, and bit her bottom lip.
She wanted this her way…
As did I.

She took my hands and placed them on her breasts, then slid her hands down my arms and onto my chest, all with very deliberate motions. I could tell she had been planning this. She then lifted her hands off of my chest, leaving them cold and bare, and returned them to my hands. She sculpted my fingers so they were holding her shirt and bra, and moved her hands behind her back. A smile flashed onto her face, and she grabbed the back of my legs, and threw herself back, leaving me holding my hands hovering in mid-air, gripping her shirt and bra in there clutches.  I leant forward to see her head, resting in a puddle of her own glistening hair, playing host to an expression of utter bliss, she was enjoying this as much as I was.

I moved my eyes down to her torso. Exposed… Naked… Beautiful. I wanted with all of my being to paw furiously at her breasts, but instead I felt compelled to place my hands on her hips. She shuddered with delight as I, in a single swift action, lowered my fingers one-by-one onto her skin, as if playing a delicate song on a piano. She let out a shallow breath of air, carrying with it a light whimper, and rose back to her jet-ski position on my lap. She placed her hands on her head and pulled her hair away from her face, (she always said she didn’t like it tied back…) revealing to me her eyes. Again, reflecting the flames slowly licking the air. They say the eyes are windows into the soul, I’m not so sure, but something was clearly burning within her. She leaned in close to me; I could feel the comforting warmth from her face on my own, and without a word, placed her lips onto mine and gave a strong, heart-melting kiss. Time stood still, we were frozen like the models on a postcard, trapped within a frame in a moment of pure perfection. I had waited so long for this, we both had. But after what felt like only a few short moments, time crept back into room and she pulled herself back away from me. She licked her top lip, slowly, and smiled a simple satisfied smile; it was clearly a long time coming. My mind was a whirl. My heart was a flutter. I could have gone home over joyed. But the night was not over yet…

We starred deep into each other’s eyes, each knowing this should have, and could have, happened a lot sooner. Yet, on the night, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. This… was perfect. And I knew that she felt the exact same way. I opened my mouth, but she stopped me with a light press of her index finger on my lips. She slowly shook her head, her eyes, narrowed playfully, maintained contact with me. She once again lent in to me, her chin resting just above my right shoulder, I felt the soft weight of her breasts on my bare chest. She tipped her face toward the side of my head, and whispered softly and deliberately into my ear:
 “I'm more flexible than skinny jeans, and I keep forgetting”
I opened my mouth to question, but the words stuck in my throat, they knew it was better to wait and see.

She rolled off of me, and sunk below the side of the bed, out of my view. Then, seconds later, just as the idea of looking down to see what as was going crept into my mind, she sprung out from below the foot board and leapt onto the bed. She landed with her knees in the space between mine. Breasts: bouncing.

Jeans: absent.

I just starred. She saw that I was stunned and amused herself by carefully pulling my socks off, and tossing them into the corner of the room where her top, jeans, socks, and underwear now lay. The words I had trapped in my throat escaped me, although in storage they had blurred and came dribbling out as a pathetically bemused: “wah?”
She just shrugged, her tempting chocolate coloured hair falling from her shoulders and swinging gracefully just above her breasts, and said “aren’t you going to join me? It’s too hot in here for clothes, don’t you agree?” She knew what she was doing, and what she was going was driving me crazy. I looked at her, perched between my legs, the hair on her crotch, trimmed. I was certain; this was her plan all along. It was time I took back some control. I placed my hands on the bed by my hips and pulled myself back and up, undid my belt, undid my button, and unzipped my fly. “Pull” I said. And pull, she did. Strait off, my jeans where shed from my legs, leaving me in my boxers, the only clothes being worn in the entire room. They had to go, and, thanks to her, they soon did. One hand, one swipe, and they were gone, and the two of us, were naked.

The rest the night took place like a perfect silent symphony, the mute notes of our passion twisting like thorny stems of a rose bush grown in plain sight yet unnoticed from the cracks of a busy city pavement. My memories of the night scorched fluently in faultless calligraphy across my mind. For that night we were each Michelangelo, painting our image of inspiration onto the other, every action a deliberate stroke of genius to create a final painting of beauty. Yet at the end of the night, the frame held nothing but a mattress and sheets, as we both fled from the canvas it bore. The sheet furled up like a snowball, each flake a memory waiting to be thrown into the wind and melt together into a pool of remembrance, and soak into the earth, where they will wait to join with those who created them, then rise with them into the clouds.