The smooth, cold feeling of her skirt sliding up her thighs felt like butter melting on hot flesh as a light breeze blew up to her V, centered on the little bit of hair under her postage-stamp thong. She shivered and he nearly growled, his face about to descend on her womanhood, his eyelids heavy and his hands communicating his own, barely-controlled need. A deep sigh from him as his hands roamed up her torso told her more than words, that he was enjoying this, that her body was his and fine and enough.
As he slid the thin string of her thong down her legs she worried they were too plump, too full, too – and then, oh wow, he gently kissed her labia, a soft touch like a promise, so profound she nearly came in his mouth, the thought and feel of this giant, gentle man wanting her such a balm. A quick flash of Dylan – would he never leave her thoughts? – nearly ruined the moment for her, but she pushed him away and let Mike continue, surrendered to what was before her.
A man who very much desired her – and who was showing it, touch by touch.
“Oh, oh!” she whispered, his hands slipping between her ass and the blanket, her nak*d bottom half exposed for the sun and clouds and sky to view unfettered. Modesty disappeared under the sun’s rays in their secluded spot, and the knowledge that here, miles from anything that could judge her, they just were two people enjoying each others’ bodies and minds. Muscled arms pressed in the right places, his fingertips gently folding back her labia and his hot breath teasing her just before his tongue did its dance, flicking against the tender, red skin that craved his mouth so much.
She bloomed with lust, every pulse of energy focused on her womanhood as he sucked her clit, slowly extracting the release within, entering and pulling back with two perfect fingers as he seemed to know exactly what to do to make her build to a cli**x. This wasn’t some shy guy who didn’t know his way around a woman’s body; she couldn’t control her shaking legs, a sign she was getting so close and, moreso, that he was a master at triggering a woman’s touch points, making the different parts fall into place for the grand finale.
Letting go was so hard, but at one point Mike’s hand came up and touched her hip bone, the simple, non-sexual gesture a symbol of a bond here – that this wasn’t just sex, but it was something more. A connection. She looked down – something she never, ever did during or*l s*x – and her hands found their way into his hair again, her eyes wide open as she took in the cloud formations, the shine of sunlight on the side of the mountain, the lush greenery, the quality of the light and the chirping of birds. They were just mammals who were part of nature, yet so much more.
“Please, please!” The words came out of her so abruptly she nearly pulsated as she came, her p**sy walls slamming against each other as the orgasm hit her without warning. She groaned, pelvis grinding into his mouth and tongue, which danced maddeningly right where she needed it most. Then he lapped her, enlarging the surface area of his amazing tongue, changing between flat and pointed to tweak every pixel of flesh he could. Feeling both sensations led to a screaming rush as a huge, muscular wave tightened every part of her, her dripping hole clinging to his finger, f**king his face, his tongue eagerly catching up to her clit.
“No! Keep going!” she groaned, hands curling into fists of orgasm, her p**sy crammed into his tongue as she hissed, “You are so – oh, Mike!” The vortex of lust, the churn of hope and disbelief and pleasure, didn’t stop and she didn’t think it was possible to feel so much so fast, his fingers strumming her and his tongue licking exactly what she wanted and where she needed, the blanket beneath her ass soaked, his breath coming in little pants now as she imagined he was ready to explode, too.
Keeping her p**sy on his tongue, he maintained a steady pace, little laps followed by faster, eager strokes, tonguing her, working to extract every last bit as she came and came and came, comfortable enough to let her face contort and her body twist as she reveled in what he could do to her. One deep, full-body clench as she closed her eyes so hard she saw fireworks behind them and she was done, the peak ended, her prayers nearly silent, the breath leaving her body.
He grinned, then climbed up her body, his long, lanky runner’s frame a muscled wall as he made his journey up to her. One hot kiss full of her taste made her red and engorged again, her cl*t tightening so much she came right there from just a kiss, her h*ps pushing into him, her own musk covering her lips, her nose, the intoxicating odor so powerful that she couldn’t believe she was coming again. What kind of man could do this to her?
This kind.
Frantic hands that didn’t feel like hers, but were, pulled at his waist. She wanted him in her now. Preliminaries first, of course – she had to give him some attention, too, as a wildflower patch nearly mingled with a low breeze to send an incredible, heady rush of pollen and perfume their way. Freeing him, she gasped.
She looked down at his cock, pausing a moment to really appreciate it, rising up to meet her.
“Laura,” he said, his voice gravelly and tight.
“Yes?”
Then he reached for her and in one fluid movement stripped off her shirt, his eyes lighting up as her skin shone in the light. She hunched her shoulders forward, a bit embarrassed to be so exposed in bright, unrelenting sunshine.
“Don’t,” he said, his hands cupping her br**sts, fingers playing with the light-pink lace at the top of her bra. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Alarm raced through her veins, mixing with the endorphins from the orgasms she’d just enjoyed, leaving her cotton-headed and puzzled.
“Don’t hide yourself. Oh, Laura – you are so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he leaned forward, unclasped her bra, and pulled off his t-shirt. Within seconds he had unveiled himself completely, his body nude before her, and he gestured for her to do the same.
She had to stand to slide off her skirt and she sucked in her lower abdomen, wishing she’d spent more time on pilates than dead-lifting, the pain of each fat roll of excess ruining her arousal.
Until Mike said, “You’re like a model in a Renaissance painting. Perfect and real.” He pulled her hand and brought her down to the blanket, kissed the nape of her neck, and she melted.
She was real.
As she grinned, she took one experienced hand, making sure she had his full, erect attention now. She ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the pleasure she was about to give, so the first touch would be perfect, not too dry or bothersome – and, of course, all-too-real.
She clutched his swollen rod in one hand and teased his tip, ripples of muscle under his rib cage going crazy. Flicking the tip until he groaned, she perfected the friction level all the way down, completely aroused by his excitement. Thick runner’s legs shifted, the hair against hair like the sound of light sandpaper, and his face was open, languid, even, as she touched him.
No one – not even Dylan – had made her feel this comfortable with her own sexuality. So pure. So real. So alive. Mike was so present with his arousal, so into the moment of her hand, her mouth – her.
Returning her attention to the tip, firming her grip and tonguing the soft rim of his mushroom, she knew he was getting close. Her hand rubbed the base of his c*ck while she very gradually moved her mouth up and down on him, accentuating the sensation of the roof of her mouth, her tongue and her lips, pumping him with her hand and hoping that she could give him the same pleasure he’d so beautifully given her just moments ago.
One of his hands touched her head, stroking her hair encouragingly, the fingers trying to tell her something she already knew – this was good. Great. Amazing. She took her time to extend his pleasure, for making love on this blanket at the top of a mountain, jet trails above them the only testimony to civilization, was a once-in-a-lifetime event. She wanted to make it perfect.
She continued this motion, going slowly faster and faster as his fingers tightened in her hair. She gently touched his balls, knowing she was on the right track when she began to taste him as he released that little drop of fluid, and she groaned with enjoyment. She took him into her mouth as far as she could, as her fingers clutched the base of his c*ck while continuing to stroke it, his athlete’s body tensing and clamping without regard for anything but the pending release.
Blowing more air on the sensitive skin while milking him, he groaned, neck muscles tense with the agony of holding back. She was ready to give him the release he so desperately needed and licked her palm to get ready for more when a firm hand covered hers.
“No. Not like this. I want to be in you,” he commanded. It wasn’t a request. Laura was more than ready to comply, but he beat her to it.
He searched for her clit, finding her willing again. “You make me want to take you right here, right now, in the wild open, Laura.” A completely new wave of arousal came out of nowhere, slamming her, making her want to f**k him for the rest of time. Or, at least, for the next hour. She wanted to straddle him, to ride him, to feel that Greek-God body on top of hers, to be together and come together and so much more.
“Climb on me, Laura. I want to touch you,” he said, pulling her gently onto his hips. She was so wet as she reached beneath her, straddling his h*ps now, the little scalloped edges of muscle where his abs met his h*ps too tempting not to touch. As her fingertips brushed there he shivered and nudged her just so – making the tip of him go in her. It felt like sinking into the perfect, hot bath, like the first bite of a chocolate torte in a cafe in Paris, like – so cliched! – like coming home.
To a home you didn’t know you had.
He pulsated and she moaned with pleasure as her thighs hit his balls. “You are so amazing,” she moaned. Her entire body stretched up, catlike, her br**sts thrusting forward and instantly covered with his enormous palms, the feeling of his fingers pinching her n**ples like a direct, hot route to her clit. Something zinged on her arm, then again on her thigh, and she felt more inside her p**sy walls, her body overcome with little zaps that hurt, then faded.
As she rocketed herself up to the mushroom cap, the friction made her shiver, growing an orgasm that felt like it might just very well be more supernova than any before. He licked one hand and stroked her nipple, then repeated on the other side, the pale pink skin pebbling at his touch, making her throat tighten and her passage wetter than she thought it could be. He was making her G-spot scream for attention. She shifted, changing her weight distribution, then drew him all the way out to the tip, clamped her p**sy, hard, then impaled herself.
“How did you – What are you doing?” he groaned. “Do more,” he urged, his h*ps thrusting up to catch her now, the rhythm clear. He was close, and so was she. She was at a loss, the feeling too intense.
Mike took charge, his hands on her ass, guiding her in rhythm as he used his glutes and thigh muscles to push up, then pull back. If he angled her h*ps just so, he could hit her –
“Ah, God, right there, Mike!” she gasped. She needed to touch herself, as he widened her pleasure zone by stretching his legs open a bit. Sitting up, she gave herself access to her clit, a bit shy. Some guys didn’t like it when she touched herself, but –