What We Need, What We Want

I want him tonight. I want him tonight and over the three weeks that he has me before life and my class schedule comes back into play. I want him to have me again and again and I want him to love me like I know that only he can. Because I can get fucked by a dozen men or more, could call them up and have them give me a night to remember.

But only my man can make love to me.

Only he can make me feel whole.

"Emily," he smiles, pulling back and peeling me off the wall, "Oh my Emily."

I fall into him, letting him hold me to him once more and feeling the bounce of his step as he carries me from the main room into the bedroom just off the hallway. Feel his cock pulsing and throbbing, still buried deep within me, as he steps to the bed and for a moment we are weightless as we tumble down into it, a tangle of limbs and sheets and warm bodies coming together, falling into pleasure, into relief.

Into the final stage of this encounter, but not the final stage of us.

Maybe it's that our schedules never seem to line up perfectly. Maybe it's the fact that we always seem to be working towards stolen moments. Maybe it's the complicated history of our relationship, not getting the honeymoon period or stumbling from one crisis to another.

It hasn't been an easy relationship, but there has been a benefit to that too. Because it's always exciting and new and we are always discovering and we are never resting on our laurels.

I am always finding more about him and he is always finding more about me and it's been that way the whole time, from the very first moment. We've always felt like we were chasing each other, searching for some little slice of heaven and never able to catch our breath.

And our history has made it so that I'm always thinking that the other shoe is going to drop. Even here at the begininng of three weeks of bliss I can't help but think that something will come along to interrupt it.

So if it does. If tomorrow morning comes and we don't have any time anymore. If fate conspires to make it so that we never get any peace.

Let us have tonight. Let us make the most of it.

Let us show we are in love, through our bodies and our spirits.

Let our bodies come together, and press on to the next beginning.

There is a momentary peace in that moment, when we are more alone and more together than we have been in months. When our bodies are pressed so tight that it's about more than just the fact that he's inside of me.

Our lovemaking over the last months had hardly ever been like this. Too many stolen moments for it to feel like anything but ****. Too much of a rush for us to feel like we were doing anything but trying to rush ahead to the end of things, to get in and through as if the end result, our mutual climax and pleasure, was all we wanted but the truth was that this was so much better.

We were close. We were so close right now. Two bodies pressed together so tight that I can close my eyes and feel the beating of his heart through his skin and god it is in perfect time to my own.

My god. We fit so well together.

With my eyes closed he reaches for me and his touch is so gentle. He brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes and I smile a little, bemused by the almost casual and chaste nature of that moment. Still there is such an intimacy behind it, such care and attention. When he brushes my hair it's like he's telling me that he loves me and he does this in a thousand different ways and I do the same.

Silent messages. Hidden retreats. Little moments where time stands still.

There is an urge to rush here. That is, after all, what pressed our hand and our bodies forward initially. An urge to make up for lost time by rushing through as many encounters as we can, to get while the getting is good.

That impulse is as unnecessary as it is unwelcome and it misses the point entirely, truly. Truly it is moments like this that matter so much more.

I'd take an instant of intimacy with him, just a moment of him brushing my hair out of my face, over a thousand climaxes with every gifted Cassanova across the planet.

"Kiss me," I say, so quiet and soft that it's a plea but one that barely travels past my lips, "I need you to kiss me."

He ducks down and he doesn't have far to go. Less than an inch and a little tilt of his head and his lips are against mine and it's different. It's not fumbling but it feels like a first kiss and if my legs weren't wrapped around him holding him tight to me right now, I just might have kicked one out behind me.

Our position and our clothing, or lack thereof, is far too indecent for any kind of cinematic rating other than a skinematic one but there is such a sweetness to the way that we kiss at first. Just lips pressing and feeling each other out, before mine part with a sigh and my tongue slips forward to tease his lips apart.

I press my tongue in and taste him. And as I do I start to move my body, rolling my hips against him and feeling him start to rise and move against me as well. He comes into me and I feel him swell and I squeeze tight, my fingers pulling at his shoulders as I try to almost absorb him into me.

He comes into me again. Faster now. Stroking in and out of me in slow and rhythmic strokes and I can't help it, I cry out so loud that my mouth falls open and my head falls to one side as I almost wince from the sensation running through me.

A shock.

A bolt of lightning.

Striking so deep in my belly and rushing up my spine and making my whole body tighten before it relaxes around him and I'm squeezing him again. I'm holding him to me as I'm gasping and pressing up to meet him once more.

Each stroke of his hips is long and slow and it is so achingly perfect that I can feel every inch of him. I can feel every bump of his veins and the way his head bulges out at the end of him, the throbbing pulse of him as he rises as well, as he starts to draw closer.

I can feel it rising in me, a pressure so intense that it's going to make me boil over and this time there is nothing he can do to stop it but this time I want it to stop. This time I need it too...

There is a perfect moment, a perfect moment so perfect that it exists only in my mind. An illusion or a dream or a fantasy or call it what you will but I want it. I want it now.

I want him to find his pleasure and me to find mine all at the same time. I want us to climax, for it to be unbearably perfect. And I want it to happen simultaneously.

I want to cum, you better believe that, but I want to feel him cumming inside of me at the very same time.

The heat of it. The knowledge that I had given just as good as I received. The moment, the singular moment, when I could look the man I love in the eye and feel his ultimate satisfaction.

Oh god. I want it.

So I clench. I tighten the muscles deep within me and I squeeze myself around him. I feel him throb and tense and pulse and he pulls back but I dig my heels into the small of his back, just above his ass, and pull him forward like I've got spurs on him and he is my horse. My bucking bronco.

And, "Don't leave me," I beg.

With a groan he thrusts forward and I feel him fill me once more and my body responds, shuddering on the edge as my back arches and I press myself up to meet him. He groans and buries his face in my neck once more, or tries to at least but I don't let him.

One hand up and grabbing the back of his head and pulling it down, dragging it down until his lips find my nipple and close over it and he pulls it in, sucking on is while his hands find my hips and hold me still.

There is an animalistic rumble from somewhere deep within him as he finds life within my body. He thrums, vibrating to the tip of his cock, before he pulls back and rolls forward and his hands hold me still while his hips pin me down to the mattress.

And again. And again he falls into me and again I take him and I move his mouth from one breast to the other and I draw him into me, holding him tight against me.

A thousand memories of a thousand encounters with him flash through my mind and they are all so good it's hard not to feel all of them at once. He is so good to me, always. His body so hard and so cut and his touch so firm and so dominating. He can take me, better than anyone I've ever known.

In his bed like this. In a hallway or a back room or an office or an alley. Once in a club at a bathroom where we pounded so hard the door nearly bounced off its hinges and once in the back of a taxi while the eyes of the driver watched our every move.

Oh it is always so good with him, whether it is making love of just plain and simple fucking it is always damn near perfect and I've had better, I've been with men who were bigger and stronger and thicker and longer and more skilled and more talented and more everything, but god none of them were quite like him. None of them could scratch the itch quite like he could. None of them could touch me so well, so deep, so full.

"Oh baby," I moan, "Oh don't you dare stop."