Moist…

a nye imageThere aren’t many things that compare to a woman that smells good, maybe getting a check in the mail or that first bite of a really good steak. But knocking on the door, waiting while that lock clicks, and having that scent invade you. Whether it’s perfume or lotion or that moist smell when she’s straight out the shower that’s a combination of body wash and heat, it does something to me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my loins start to come to life, I just want to reach out and touch her. Feel the softness of her skin, the moistness.

“You knew I was on my way, so why aren’t you ready?”

Standing there in her towel, knowing the only thing that separated me from the feel of her moist skin was a purple cotton towel was erotic. It sat folded right above her breast, it sat right above her upper thighs. When I called her and told her I was ten minutes away she said she was ready and now here we were. A wicked smile on her face, Amel Larrieu on the speakers, her hair in a bun. “I promise I was getting ready and before my shower I stepped on the balcony to check the weather and it was all cold and wet; I figured we’d have more fun here. I mean, my wet is better than the wet out there right?” She started to take the towel off, I stopped her. “It’s more fun with the towel on.”

Holding her waist, pulling her close, whispering in her ear. “Dance with me?”

Her head on my chest, that hot and sweet scent soaking into my clothes I could feel our bodies pressing into each other, drawing each other in. Turning her back to me, moving her hips with the rhythm of the ballad I started to bite the back of her neck and shoulders, she laughed because it tickled but she didn’t ask me to stop because I knew that was her spot.

That’s why she loved in from the back, bent over or lying on her stomach. Because when I was inside of her and my lips were on the back of her neck the orgasms she reached were explosive. Every woman has a spot, every woman as a position, every woman  wants to be pleased but more than that they want to give pleasure. Her body pressed against mine, her towel raised up to her stomach, my hands finding the buried treasure I was controlling her spot, controlling the tempo. Fingering her moistness like Carlos Santana fingers his guitar chords. One finger inside, one finger on the button and my tongue singing the lyrics on the back of her neck. Pleasure only begets more pleasure.

“I told you my wet was better.”

Sitting on the couch, the towel falling to the floor, her feet on my thighs… She brought Heaven to my mouth and let honey drip down my chin. The harder her orgasm the harder I got, the wetter her nectar, the more she moved. I knew her body better than she knew her body and right now it wasn’t her body anymore. It was my conquest.

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