He clasps his hands on either side of my head and kisses me. Deeply. Possessing my mouth. Angling my head... controlling me. I moan against his lips. This is what he likes. This is what he's so good at. Everything ignites inside me and my fingers are in his hair, holding him to me, and I'm kissing him back and saying I want you too the only way I know how. He groans, shifting me so I'm astride him, kneeling over him, his erection beneath me. He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes hooded, glowing and lustful. I dropmy hands to grab on to the edge of the bath but he grips both my wrists and pulls my hands behind my back, holding them together in one hand.
I groan, closing my eyes, and I revel in the sensation, the stretching fullness. He flexes his hips, and I gasp, leaning forward, resting my forehead against his"Please let my hands go," I whisper."Don't touch me," he pleads, and releasing my wrists, he grabs my hips.
We're wet and slippery and moving against each other. I lean down and kiss him. He closes his eyes. Tentatively, I bring my hands up to his head and run my fingers through his hair, not taking my lips from his mouth. This is allowed. He likes this. I like this. And we move together. I tug his hair, tipping his head back and deepen the kiss, riding him - faster, picking up the rhythm. I moan against his mouth. He starts to lift me faster, faster... holding my hips. Kissing me back.
We are wet mouths and tongues and moving hips. All sensation... all consuming again.
He is mine, and I am his.I love this man. I love his passion.He is beautiful; the mix of colors in his hair vivid against the white Egyptian cotton pillowcase, gray eyes, smoldering, expressive. He looks concerned.
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