I close my eyes briefly. Every sensation is more vivid and intense than anything I’ve felt in years. It’s the real world times ten. It’s everything amplified. I almost can’t stand it anymore, the way he’s sending me through the roof with every single touch.
I open my eyes to see him pulling off my jeans, unzipping my boots, running a finger along my glass slipper tattoo. My clothes are scattered across the floor and there’s Matthew, kneeling over me. He’s grinning at my panties, white low-rise with a single red rose drawn near the hip bone.
“My God, these are fantastic,” he says, admiring my underwear. No one has admired my panties for years. “It’s like it just keeps getting better.”
I laugh a little.
“I love them so much I almost don’t want to take them off.”
“Take them off,” I instruct. “Take them off now.” Screw the roof—I’m halfway on a slingshot to Pluto by now. I’m so tightly wound already. I’m like a jack-in-the-box that someone’s been winding, ready to pop.
He obeys, slowly pulling down one leg, then the other, before he settles between my legs, his shoulders against my thighs. Then his mouth is on me and I am in heaven in an instant with his touch. I am in absolute bliss, and I want to bathe in this moment, to revel in all these sensations that I haven’t experienced in years.
I want to memorize each agonizingly delicious second so I can recall it whenever I need to know the definition of insanely-turned-on-and-inside-out-with-pleasure.
His tongue is soft, and he slides over me, as if he’s drinking me in. He places his palms gently on my thighs, spreading me wider for him. My knees fall open as he tastes me, drawing delicious lines across my wetness and flicking his tongue in a way that makes me feel as if I’m in a dream, a heated, fevered dream where nothing exists but this exquisite ecstasy.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and I think I might die from the intensity of the feelings, and this would be a hell of a way to go. Because soon, I am rocking my h*ps into his face, and he’s holding the back of my thighs and bringing me even closer to his mouth, and this is the way it should be. This is the very nature of desire and want and attraction. We are it right now, me wanting Matthew, him wanting me.
We haven’t even had time to turn on music. The apartment is silent, and I can hear everything. I hear my breaths, coming faster, as I move into him, my body having a mind of its own. I hear my moans, growing stronger. But there’s something else too. Something even better than my own pent-up, mad need to be touched. I can hear him too. I can hear the satisfied sighs he’s making as he works his tongue up and down, and then there, right there, then his moans too, the sounds of him practically coveting my body. I’m aware of every detail—the tingling of my skin, my face heating up, my hands digging deeper into his soft, dark hair, the low crackle of the radiator, the muted sounds of cars far, far outside my double-pane window, my own quickened breathing.
He wraps his hands around my ass, bringing me even closer, as if he can’t get enough of me, as he licks and tastes and savors the delicious ache between my legs. That’s all it takes for me as I shatter, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through my body.
It lasts for ages, or so it feels because I’ve been unlocked, set free from years of not knowing this, not having this, not even coming close.
Now, I do, and it feels like I am flying, and I never ever want to touch the ground.
Soon, I open my eyes, and he moves up to kiss my belly, planting sweet, soft, après-kisses on my body that make me shudder.
“Can we please do that again?” I ask with a woozy smile.
He kisses my br**sts, then works his way up to my neck, giving me a very satisfied grin. “I knew I could make you a junkie.”
“I am making up for lost time,” I say.
“I will happily assist in that project. Do you want me to do that again right now?” he asks, and there’s a part of him that seems so earnest, so willing, and I can’t quite believe this is real. But yet here he is with me.
I shake my head. “You’ve unleashed me,” I say playfully. “Now I have to have you inside me.”
“That’s music to my ears,” he says, and then taps my forehead once. “And hopefully you’re thinking of songs. Do you need me to do a striptease for you? Will that get you inspired?” He stands up, gyrates his h*ps like Magic Mike, and I laugh.
“You don’t think I’m a good stripper, do you?” he says with a pout.
“We just need to take your clothes off,” I say, loving that he can make jokes during a time like this.
I sit up, and reach for his zipper. “Do you have a condom?”
“What do you take me for? Some kind of man who’s not completely fixated on shagging his woman tonight? Of course I have a condom.” He plucks one from his wallet, as I shimmy his jeans down his legs. He steps out of them, pulls off his shirt, and takes off his boxer briefs.
He’s ready, completely ready, and I know this shouldn’t surprise me, because it’s a normal reaction. But it’s still a thrilling one to me, and I want to revel in it. In him. In us. My hands are drawn to his body instantly, to his flat belly, his legs, and to his fabulous steely length that I so desperately want inside me.
“God, you’re so f**king beautiful,” I say as I touch him, and the laughter and joking is erased, and now we are all need and desire and lust. I watch as he rolls on a condom, and heat spreads through my body at the sight. It’s such an erotic act, seeing his hands on himself and his eyes on me.