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Thunderstorn, Romance, Straight Loving Intimaty

Something about the intensity, the electric charges in the air, lightning, wind and rain. On countless nights we lay awake, silent and warm together, watching the awesome display in the sky. He still stares. He knows that stare drives me crazy. It starts at the nape of my neck and slowly crawls down the curve of my back until it resonates powerfully enough to jolt my entire body.

He knows how to stare right through me, how to convey sensuality without words. I enjoy his look, the caress of it, but those EYES of his, fascinating in their varying hues of blue. Dark and steely as the turbulent weather, they will change throughout his pursuit. True seduction commences and ends with the imagination, cryptic words, seemingly innocent gestures. A gust of wind brings the beginning few drops of rain.

Now and then I let him know what a wildly sexy thing he is . . . not at first . . . because I love to tap into his reservoir of passion. It initiates the best of his sensual talent. He is assured. He knows what he can do and so do I.

"Looks like a good one, eh, babe?"

The first rumble of distant thunder, its sound waves echo and he stretches in his chair, long powerful legs extending toward me. He reaches over and shuts down the computer. This is our dance. The blue in his eyes brightens.

"Great afternoon to . . . get a little?" He nonchalantly announces.

My telepathy must be kicking in. I turn from the window. We have that unusual link of reading each other's mind.

"You think every afternoon is a great afternoon to . . ." Good try, but he detects my spoofing.

The sky darkens to a deep gray, clouds churn, beautiful storm, not an opportunity to waste. A skilled game player knows when it is in their best interests to concede. I walk to his chair. His smirk intensifies. He always gives his intent away with his eyes.

"Gotcha!" I spoke, stepping up to him.

Lightning chases itself through the sky. The cloudy sunlight flickers. I kneel in front of him. Now he sincerely smiles, yet I see he is going to lead this dance . . . instead of giving himself over to my intended charms. He slowly rises, he is more than six feet tall and I am a foot shorter than he. My green eyes follow his. I know they must have that encouraging, devious shine.

He extends his hand and I take it. No subtlety as his hand grasps my waist. I wrap my legs around him and smile defenselessly as he carries me into the bedroom. I weave my fingers into and out of his hair, then drop my hands on his shoulders, our mouths met, oh I love French kissing him. Our lips lock again as we move to the bed.

A rush of wind streams in . . . curtains eddy in the current. Drops of rain patter against the bedroom window, tapping like an interested outside force, saying "go ahead - go ahead - life is short - summer is here."

I slowly unbutton his shirt. My feet sink to the floor by the bed. He is still smiling. The blue in his eyes shifts to a powdery shade.

I take time to rub the veiled hair on his chest. More will be exposed as the dance progresses. I pull off my shirt, glad I picked a black bra this morning . . . he loves black on my creamy skin. We are a study in complementary contrast, physically and emotionally.

Delicately he strokes the satiny fabric under which my nipples fail to hide, no matter. His jeans don't hide him either. I reach for his belt, the button, the zipper. His eyes focus on my breast.

"Ah, your headlights are on. Better turn them up to high-beams. It's dark in here today." He confides.

Thunder shakes the house, a strike in the distance.. He is free now and sighs. It has been a long time since I've seen him THAT HARD . . . It looks like it hurts. I anticipate soothing him. My mouth opens slightly, as if I could reach . . . Not just yet . . . He returns my favor . . . kneeling before me, flinging my pants aside, face at thigh level, a responsive lingering kiss, trailing down to the knee, then back up. His eyes close in anticipation.

"Ah . . . something is in the way here . . . the entrance to paradise" He muses.

Wind and raindrops cover the roof with a hypnotic sound. I save him some effort and remove my bra while he busies himself. His lips curl around the waistband of my panties . . . down . . . down . . . one of his favorite moves. Our bed cover is a floral print sheet. I relax on it, arranging pillows for comfort and view, my body reclining before him, legs hanging over the edge.

He kneels and admires. His ardent hand advances toward an accommodating nipple . . . agilely stroking . . . restrained squeezing, sending sparkling sensations through my body. His mouth inches forward, while his eyes look up in love.

"Ummm a perfect mouthful." He smiles.

I can hear and feel his breath against my neck, his mouth fastens on and I know the slow part of the dance has not ended. My hands play in his brown hair. His tongue continues circling and lovingly sucking. He knows what I like.

Distant thunder grows into a roar. He moves to the other breast, his arm slips around me and lifts me to his mouth. It is very exciting to be held captive in this fashion. I know what to expect. He is breathing harder. Our telepathy clicks. I feel myself gathering, slowly he retreats, trailing kisses down my stomach. I stretch like a languid and contented cat. He looks up at me, from the blending of my legs. He is going to tease me. His eyes darken.

"If you tease me too much, I'll scream!"

"Go for it. Who is going to hear?"

"Ohhhh . . . I will get you for this . . . !"

"I'm counting on it," as he blew a kiss to me.

It's wonderful, so exciting, I . . . My husband is proud of his gift. I find them endearing . . . he can back up whatever he starts. Especially in bed. Finally, finally . . . his tongue moves in slow and wonderful circles around me. It is the most beautiful feeling I know, short of having him in me. He knows how to bring out the sensual potential of my body. His eyes narrow, then close with a smile.

Outside, in my briefest vision, trees are violently swaying in the storm. The weather merits being near a radio to heed warnings. I don't care if the whole house is blown apart. He lifts his head and stares. The tease. I know the response he is going for, times like this are rare in some lifetimes, yet we are fortunate, we have many. I know he will go on as long as I can stand it. My eyes rhythmically open and close, as I alternate between concentrating on the stirring ache and the incomparable bliss he is sending through my body.

Delicately he scratches outside my thighs. Small sighs and moans enter the room, my sounds are as much out of encouragement as out of pleasure. Soon his hands are at my breasts and then we kiss again. His kisses moved from my lips, to my neck and gradually to my breasts. His fingers now gently scratching the insides of my thighs, but now he allows that "accidental" touch. I reply with a sigh of encouragement and a modest upward bob of my hips. He allowed one finger to part my lips and very gently tease. Circling with his finger once or twice then withdrawing to explore the puffy lips that shielded it. His eyes lighten into a smile.

More rain, driving sheets of it, lap against the window. Soon, his mouth is drawn like a magnet downward, tracing kisses down my abdomen, around my navel and to the top of my legs, before allowing his tongue to explore the delicacies that awaited inside. He works his tongue slowly, circling back and forth, alternately licking and gently sucking. My hands remain active with my breasts and at other times his head. He moves down and thrust his tongue rapidly in and out of my love canal while making sure the tip of his nose stayed close to my love bud.

"I will do anything . . . I mean anything . . . if you tell me you WILL NOT STOP! Yes, ah yes!" There, I said it, and he will not forget. I grab his head persuasively, his eyes glimpse up - then close.

"Mmmm, I . . . I." He submits, not stopping.

Lightning is very close now. Close enough to cast an enchanted glow in the room as he submerges his well-practiced tongue closing in on his purpose and my delight. The rush of my answer is so strong . . . I am trembling, rigid, vibrating until I am no longer sure I am still on the bed. His mouth stays in place, holding fast as my body shudders. This is more than an orgasm.

Is this my body? Am I still coming? Have I ever heard of anyone passing out from having sex? Is today my turn? My hands press and slam onto the bed, I'm screaming, pleading, thrashing, my tense body paralyzed in ecstasy. A glint of satisfaction winks from his up cast eyes.

Sheets of water from the sky totally obscure the view from the window. I never knew I could come THIS OFTEN . . . THIS LONG. . . I collapse. Oh, how he seems to enjoy feasting on me as my breathing returns to normal. He is on standing now, towering, proud, pointing directly at me with his quivering sex.

"Name your pleasure." I persist, not hearing his reply over the constant din of thunder.

"You already know." He repeated.

I did. I was intent on giving him back exactly what he has given. He usually has to be hushed, but today he can scream for me. I will see to that. I sit up and we trade places, before I slowly edge toward him.

"Tease me, will you?" When I look at him, I think of him as a present for me to unwrap over and over. The thunder is moving off to the horizon, shafts of amber light shower the room.

His eyes flare, then subside into a midnight blue. Kneeling, my hand reaches his pointing sex and my tongue promptly fondles the delicateness hanging below. A picturesque frame of fine brown hair surrounds his sex. I love knowing the sensitive spots of my tough soul-mate. He knows he is safe to reveal his softer side to me. The rest of the world can be left to think he is 100 percent impenetrably. He is whispering now, but I cannot hear him over nature's crashing symphony being played beyond the window. No matter. What I know, he will be groaning loud for me, soon. Yet, his throbbing nature is just too delicious too neglect very long.

Delicately at first, I take it, honoring it first with loving attention from my tongue over its sensitive head, it's amazingly silky. I know he loves it when I take him like this. I run my tongue up and down his length, enjoying the silkiness. I close my mouth tightly and a sigh escapes from him. Then I continue too really turn-him-on. Yummy. I am well on my way to making him come -- I am also playing with what hangs below, so I could tell -- when he stopped me.

Others may prefer varying degrees of sexual expression, and some value quantity of partners. I prefer knowing and loving one body year in and year out, learning more about it each time, until we are so attuned to each other's reactions and preferences that loving becomes art. Clouds obscure the sunlight as the thunder moves closes, shreds of lightning jump along the horizon.

The hue in his eyes begins to change. He thrusts his hips in a slow and even motion. But I stay alert. I must save some of him for the climax of this incredible afternoon. He moans as I remove my mouth, almost as if he might cry. The distraction is momentary, as I push him onto the bed, and he senses I am moving for him. Getting my body and ready. . . Wow! That didn't take long. One thrust and he is inside me, bucking and calling out.

"Ohhhh, ohhhh, oooo, that feels so gooooood."

I can't resist, I open my eyes, I must see . . . yes, he is shifting into a euphoric state. Head thrown back, pectoral muscles tensing and flexing, letting me ride him. No mercy. I hold onto the bed-covers, withdrawing and shoving onto him. It is getting darker outside as evening approaches, but the fire leaping in the clouds provides plenty of strobing light.

His brow furrows, eyes squint shut, then relax. My legs around thighs, pinning him against me, and squeezing my muscles as hard as I can around his stony sex, the reward is unintelligible murmuring. I feel the delicate trembling in his breathing. . . giving back that supreme delirium as his reward for an exemplary conquest of my body.

I pull away. He stares, panting, knowing I want something from him next, waiting for my verbal request. . . I move back, maintaining him, guiding his hands to my breasts. He says nothing, not wanting to . . . to ruin the sound accompaniment of the furious weather.

His eyes are nearly azure now, it means he is at the limits of arousal. I smile. I scr*pe my nails along his chest, enticing him, encouraging him to squeeze my nipples, wanting his to massage my breasts. It's a cherished way to finish. We bring our rhythm together, plunging and thrusting, alternating the approach to whatever pleases us most. With my mouth grasping with certainty, my head and upper body rocking to match his movements, he is moaning, growling in guttural sounds. I reach back and run my hand up his leg, a quick, light stroke of my fingers over him, ending when my hand gently, yet firmly clench him. This time I can hear him over the storm.

My body yields more, he's in me as far as he can go. We are a perfect fit. He's long enough and wide enough that I can easily feel every stroke that he makes. I press my legs around his thighs and back as he moved in and out. The vibrator is put where my soft flesh opens to his hardness, just where I want it. I climax and squeeze around him, as we continue to move. He enjoys making me come -- repeatedly -- before he let himself go. This is the time to savor all the sensation together.

We rest and I catch my breath. He must suspect that I can come perpetually, at least as long as he wants me too. Usually, it gets to the point where either I want him or he can't stop himself. Today was no different. He lets me collect myself, then the vibrator switch snaps on -- I go again. He holds my breasts as I calm down.

After a minute or so, I ride him again. I am a good rider. Sometimes, I lean back on my hands and rock in and out. Sometimes our finger interlock, sometimes, I use the bed to get some leverage. Sometimes, I just lean over him and do a classic ride. Always, we have a good time. He doesn't like to come until he believes I'm ready, or until HE thinks I'm really ready, it's just that much more for me. We move our hips against each other - grinding rather than moving and when he cannot stand anymore, he grabs a handful of my thigh and lunges up for all he's worth, throaty groaning, rising to a long and lovely scream, how incredible, tensing and tightening. We collapse, spent, in the after glow, pulses still racing frantically, too breathless to speak.

I lay on his chest as he relaxes. He is soaking with sweat. I snuggle as near as possible, to mingle my sweat with his . . . I love to have the scent of him on me for hours afterward, his subtle man's essence. Fleetingly memories, more like feeling linger on, with replays of us, before I give in to a satisfying and contented rest.

The first good storm of the summer is subsiding. The downpour has given way to a steady, consistent rain, winking with more moderate and infrequent lightning. Reality slowly returns to our shared perception. No more words, I roll off, he cuddles me, from behind.

The air is still with the windows open. A small chorus of frogs sing out in the distance nearly masking the ever present calls of crickets. The scent of freshness now fills the room.

Hovering, perhaps in the state of a waking dream, passion holds me, not allowing me to fall into the comfort of true REM sleep, where disjointed feelings ramble without conscious thought. My mind is adrift on a sea of intense feelings, sparing nothing, not emotion, mind or body.

Then, I feel the touch of his fingers, soft against my cheek, brushing back a stray lock of hair, "waking" me gently. His lips moist against the back of my neck, kissing so lightly, my skin tingles at each contact. His chest against my back, the strength of his thighs pressing against my thighs, causing me to draw up my knees, curling my body within the safe haven of his arms. The heat from his body curled around mine for some reason makes me shiver. I flatten against him, letting him know much I am enjoying the simple intimate touches from him, idly tracing delicate spirals across my skin across.

His fingers slip slowly down from my cheek, touching each contour from my neck to my hip, turning again to draw a river of fire over the lines of my belly up to the curves of my breast. His lips surrender a low breath, I push back against him, I cannot hear his whispering words I cannot understand, just "feel" them against my neck. His stiffness lay tight against me, while his fingers continued their fire dance over my skin. I lift my hand, wanting to touch him as well. His whispering words stop its movement in midair. He knows how much I was enjoying his simple intimate touches.

His hand steals to my face - placing two finger gentle against my lips. "Be still, don't move!"

A slight nod and I allow my head to fall back to the pillow. The soothing dance of his fingers makes my body alive to every touch. My fingers curl into the sheet at the same instant he moves, setting himself deep into me. Not the slow, granting entrance, I offer, instead an aroused strong message, a total contrast to the soft dance of his fingers over my skin.

Spontaneously I shove back, tighter against his body, if possible. My head pressing back against his shoulder, his arms suddenly wrap around me, pulling me toward him. One hand pressing against my sex, his fingers stroking, touching, sliding, moving more and more, encouraging, leading, drawing me into another orgasm. The feelings rocket me up and out of the state of "sleep" before floating off again into sleep. I lay there, until the soft morning light chases away the darkness. All the while feeling him and wondering if they forecast a thunder storm for today.