Featured

Feel It.

Baby, tell me you want it deeper, I don’t ever wanna come out, put you in a coma, yeah a sleeper. – “Feel It”, Jacquees featuring Rich Homie Quan and Lloyd.

tumblr_d0517b9b8fa6b07728855d0c09bdbbae_cae9b6c5_640
I love how he’s always ready for me.  I don’t have to do much, just a slight touch like so and…

Oh yeah, he’s ready.  I pull my hand away slowly and let it rest on his thick thigh and look over at him.  He catches my eye, his dark eyes go even darker, like he’s ready to pounce.

I watch as the thin line of smoke escapes his lips into the dark and humid night.  He flicks the end of his smoke out the driver window and turns to face me.  He moves closer and puts his hand on my hip.

I take his hand and move it in between my legs, over the flimsy material of my cotton dress.

Oh it’s like that?

I smile and he bends down to kiss me, the unmistakable taste of the weed he’s been smoking on his tongue.  I inhale him, his own scent mingled with the weed and the last remnants of his after-shave.

It’s like that.

His kisses are savage-like and unadulterated.  Ardent, like a fucking fire you need to extinguish.

I tell him this and he says:

It’s you.  You alone do this.

This.  This what?  Lovemaking.  This fucking?  My mind is always in a constant battle…

Lovers love.  What is this?  This is sex.  We’re fucking.  There’s no feelings…

He moves quickly and pulls me on top of him and slips himself in between my thighs. Perfect match.

I feel him.

I feel the pounding of his heart over mine.  I feel his mouth on my skin.  Warm and wet.  I’m trying not to feel, but motherfucker, do I ever feel…

I feel his hands on my face, my neck, my shoulders…I feel…

And as he’s kissing my mouth, calling me “baby”…

I don’t want to, I really want to avoid this feeling, but I’m unable, not wanting to fucking feel this man and all he does to me, I’m not wanting these feelings, but I can’t resist him, I can’t leave him alone and all I do is….feel….

….his hands in my hair.  And then…

…his hands on my throat.  God.

…his warm breath in my ear.  Why does this feel so good?

…his length deep inside me.  Fuck me.

No feelings?

Why then, why does he touch me with these goddamn big hands like this?

Why, why does he push his body into mine like this?

Why does he press my breasts into his chest like this?

And why, dear Jesus, why does he kiss my forehead so tenderly?  Why does he rock into me, while he stares down at my face like this, speaking to me like:

That mouth baby…

Why does he stare into my eyes, waiting, wanting, asking for this pleasure that’s his, this pleasure that’s mine, this pleasure he gives me, so right, just like this, so lovely, ever so lovely?

Look at me…

He says.  He tells me to look at him.  Fuck.

Don’t look away.  Look at me.

And I’m shaking my head, avoiding his stare.  I know it’s time.  I feel it.  He brought me here.

Give it…

He says.

Let it go baby.  Don’t fight it.  Give it to me…

And I swear his voice is an aphrodisiac, because right then, I can’t help it, I can’t control it, I’m staring into his eyes and gasp as if something struck my heart and he smiles and lets go with me, as if he had this planned, as if this was his purpose, as if this is meant to be…

And as if he’s trying to fuck with my head and heart further, he whispers:

I feel you.

Advertisements

Lazy Love

Oh, you got that, I don’t wanna,

That I don’t wanna go nowhere, lazy love,

You got that, I don’t wanna,

That I don’t wanna do nothing, that lazy love. ~ NeYo, “Lazy Love.”

He greets me at the door wearing sweat pants and a wife beater.  He has no idea what one of those items does for my thirst, imagine the deadly combo…

He’s barefoot and comfortable and immediately this makes me smile.  He lets me in and half hugs me but I fold into him and he hugs me again, fully, hands tightly around my back like this happens every day…

I can’t stop looking at his arms.  He has no idea how many times his arms have been in my thoughts, how many times those arms kept my legs up in the air, how many times those arms were above my head, how many times I bit into his flesh…

His pants are too big and they slide ever so discreetly over the vee of his torso and goddamn, I think, why doesn’t he tighten that string that’s made specifically for that reason and then I think, maybe he did that on purpose because he wants to tease me and get me on my knees…

His back is strong and sculpted and again, he has no idea about how I feel about strong backs or else he wouldn’t make me follow him but I follow him into the kitchen and watch as he struggles to open up a bottle of wine and it’s clear he doesn’t have to do that often and again, I smile, because he’s doing this solely for me and I think too much and I like to make up stories in my mind and this particular story in my mind in his kitchen is endearing…

It’s not small talk.  It’s like he knows I hate small talk because our conversation flows and our words mingle and already he’s finishing my sentences and I just want to kiss him as I watch his mouth move and his lips, Jesus, his lips…

And I say something that makes him smile and his eyes crinkle in the corner and motherfuck, why do I want to lick his crinkle, why are his eyes so sexy…

He leads me upstairs and I could tell he cleaned up for me, a girl knows when a man gets ready for her and he did, he got ready for me and again, another thought pops into my head and I’m saying this is all too good to be true…

I want nothing more than to lay him down on his neatly made bed, nothing more than to pull those sweat pants down over that vee and have that back under my fingertips and have those arms in between my teeth.  But I don’t.

I sit on the chair in the corner…

90 Minutes

  
Ninety minutes of bliss.  Ninety minutes of  mouth and teeth and I asked him, “Will you smile for me, daddy?” and he smiled.  You know how much I love your smile.

And he kissed;  he kissed and kissed and licked and rolled his tongue and I remembered your smile;  remembered your mouth.

His hands explored and his fingers caressed and it was your hands on me, your mouth on me, your body on me.

Non-stop loving, ninety minutes worth of non-stop loving and he was insatiable, pleasing, so eager to please, so eager to get it, so eager to take it and my oh’s were his ah’s and his hands were in my thighs and his love was my breath but his voice, his voice, when he spoke it was your voice.

Ninety minutes.

Ninety minutes of thoughts of you.

Only you.

Always you.

Never you.