A Romantic Interlude

I love kissing him.  The rasp of is beard against my face, the way he slowly claims my mouth.  There’s something about the way he hold me when he kisses me.  We touch each other a lot.  I’d never noticed it, until someone else pointed it out.  We hold hands a lot.  When we pass by each other, we touch.  Maybe a brief caress, or a quick squeeze of the hand.  But when he holds me, that’s a connection on another level.

Throughout the day, and most often when we are alone, I’ll hug him – just to feel his arms around me.  His strength as he tightens his arms around me, the wide, firm splay of his hands across my back.  He holds me this way as he kisses me.

We continue to stand in the kitchen, I lean against the counter.  Getting lost in how hungry his kisses are, how demanding.  He continues to hold me and kisses my neck.  Kissing and nipping at me.  I wanted him so much.

A dark haired man in an 1800s style purple coat and white, lace necked shirt carries a blond woman in a long white dress. A burning building is the background on the left and a large group of candles is on the right.
“The Wings of Love” Barbara Cartland

I love the way he follows me down the hall, lightly holding my hand.  I think in all the years we’ve been together, he has very often followed me down a hallway to our bed.  I like knowing that he is behind me, that he follows me because he wants me.

I sit on the bed, and he tells me to lie down.  He lies down next to me, and I feel like I can breathe again.

He’s touching me again, his hands sliding under my shirt, over my stomach.  Stroking and lightly scratching me.  Where his hands have touched me, he follows with his mouth.  I clutch at him, my hands grasping his shoulders.  He tries to untie my sarong, and it gets stuck.  We both laugh.  I love how often we laugh together.  And it was real laughing, expressing honest joy at being together.  And I want him so much.  He’s running his hands over my legs, up to my pussy and stopping.  He runs his fingers along the edge of my panties. I wanted so much to move, to lift my hips – but he tells me to be still, to enjoy the moment.

Eventually I’m naked.  His mouth is teasing one nipple and his fingers are pinching the other one.  I love the mismatched sensations.  The hot, wetness of his mouth and sharpness of his teeth contrasting with the rolling and pinching of his fingers.  I am lost in the feeling, the overwhelming sensations that fill me.  Again, I want to move my hips.  I know I’m so very wet, and I want him so very much.

When he finally slides his hand down to my pussy, through my wetness and begins to rub my clit, I can only moan.

He was on top of me.  I love the weight of him on top of me, the feeling of him between my legs.  His arms braced around me, not trapping me, protecting me.  I reached between us, finding his cock, and rubbed it through my wetness.  I love feeling of his cock rubbing against my clit.

Later, he’s lying next to me again.  I want his fingers inside me.  I want, and I’m trying to form the words.  I start to ask, I want his fingers inside me.  And he’s so fast, his fingers are buried inside me – sliding in and out and I’m drowning in the sensation.

We’re laying next to each other.  I’m able to lay on my side and face him.  There’s petting and talking and more laughing.  I am so very tired, and warm, and safe, and happy.  I want stay next to him – I want it to be less hot so I can cuddle up next to him.  The weather is not going to cooperate.  I know that I go to sleep smiling.


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