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Not Enough
Ciana Rose (c) 2001 All rights reserved
I await his arrival anxiously while I prepare his favorite dish. Hard
to believe he has been away for only a week. It has felt more like a
lifetime.
The ring of the bell sets my pulse racing and I rush to throw open the
door. The smile that greets me makes me laugh with joy. He drops his case
and opens his arms, and I stumble into his embrace. God how I have missed
him! Heart to heart, we hold each other and feel.
The kisses come, loving at first, but quickly turn more amorous. With
childish fervor, I inhale his essence to distinguish dream from reality. I
will never have enough of him.
Taking my hand, he leads me to the couch and takes a seat. I kneel
before him. With a tender hand, he cups my face and stares into my eyes
until our reconnection is substantiated more adequately. Then another
kiss--probing possessively, taking what is his. He has come home.
Unable to get enough, I rise higher on my knees so that my body may
express more articulately that which words can not. With my mounting
frustration, he circles his arms and secures me while his tutored tongue
conducts an in-depth exploration. In our fusion, passion
escalates--restless hands slide, feel, and draw sustenance. It is just not
enough.
He calls upon control and severs our kiss, slowing the pace. Stretching
the elastic neckline, he slowly draws my peasant blouse off my shoulders
and bares my breasts. Perky and tight, they stand for his pleasure. I
regard him with admiration, my breath quickening, while he looks his fill
in leisure.
Gentle fingertips brush the roundness playfully, urging me to arch and
offer. He tweaks one distended nipple. Then the other. Then exhaling a
contented sigh he relaxes in his seat. I cannot bear this distance of
separation. Leaning on him, I press my face to his chest and caress his
shirt while I listen to his life beat.
It is not nearly enough.
My rambunctious want tugs at me and I slowly move lower between his
spread legs. While my hand cups the weight of his balls, I rest my head
against his thigh. But that too is not enough. I bury my face in his
crotch and fill my longing with his scent. And still, it is not enough.
Blindly, my hand reaches for his belt, but I am too anxious and fumble.
With a small laugh, he relieves me of the responsibility. I grow
breathless with expectation as I wait and watch while he extracts that
which I burn to possess most at the moment--his cock. Deliberately he
works slowly, taking pleasure in taxing my hunger. Truth be known, it is a
burden I care to never be relieved of.
I manage to still myself a moment to take in its princely sight upon
appearance. But that is hardly enough. My patience lost, I devour him
with the satisfaction of the starved in the throes of a feast. "Mmmm," I
hum, striving to deepen my intake for mutual fulfillment.
While I suck to quench my thirst, he strokes my head with forbearance.
But I know well that regardless of the extent of my yearning, he will not
grant pacification so readily.
With his continued resistance, my physical lust wanes, paving the way
for a more emotional union. Detracting me from sweet suckling, he raises
my face and, in praise of their loving, presses a gentle kiss to my lips.
My eyes fall on bare chest gaping through his now open and my
fingers gravitate toward the field of dark cashmere and the pectorals that
it cloaks. But before I can savor the touch, he lays his hand on mine.
With a brush of his lips across my knuckles, he rises, dragging me up with
him.
As we stand face to face, he casts a slow consuming look that penetrates
through flesh and bone as it travels down and back. While I tremble with
desire, he tucks a hand inside my unbelted-waist and jerks me closer by my
shorts. Eyes boring into mine, he slowly rids me of all that I wear. Then
he divests himself of his own while I wait with baited breath.
When he takes his seat again, per instruction, I climb the couch on my
knees and move astride his lap. Once more, our eyes meet and converse in
silence. It is lust, male demand that his speak of. His desire for me
never fails to raise me to the highest of the heavens.
Carefully, I position myself over the rigid instrument, created to lead
us through the mating ritual and into the depths of its pleasure. When my
gaze returns to him, the armament shining through his keen eyes sets my
heart to somersaulting. He will use my anticipation to torment me. And to
confirm, he commands my obedience with a strong grasp on my hip.
Desire festers within me and I ache for his fuck while he ruthlessly
teases me into agony with a slow finger. "Please," I whimper, my abdomen
contracting with the sensitivity he has generated. Hooded eyes climb to my
face to gloat, then descend in dismissal to watch my helpless be
driven to weeping--a misery so sweet that even I treasure.
When he is ready, when he has soaked me to his satisfaction, he then
sets me free.
As he begins to guide my descent, one by one vibrant nerves soothe,
wringing little gasps of pleasure with my glide down. It warms my heart
that I am not alone in the fight against the talons of ecstasy, lashing out
to ensnare us into vision-less sensation. Gazes locked in resistance, he
lowers my full weight and completes the sheathing. Long-suppressed moans
release and we come together anxiously.
Urgent needs clamor but we ward them off for a demanding mouth-to-mouth
interlude that will not be deterred. How well we were constructed to fit
each other.
Stretched tight, full and moist, I remain in blessed awareness of his
presence in my body as I let my hips initiate the first rhythm of our
dance. Attuned to my every need, he returns my strokes, easing me into the
steady pace that will best escort me through my journey to the summit.
Destination within grasp, my blood brews in preparation of the
percolation that is mine to come. Reaching, nearing...and yes, arriving...
But privacy is not mine to be had. As heat waves break loose, he
suddenly clutches my hair and pulls my head back. "I want to see it," he
roars, searching my face to find the ecstasy he has brought upon me.
By sheer will, I bid my fluttering lids to remain open under the
merciless pounding of completion. His blatant satisfaction in conquering
me brings a whimper to my lips. I would not chance to miss such a reward,
regardless of how deeply I have fallen into the cups of pleasure.
Intensity begins to ebb, raising the quiet screams of the passion raging
through me. How do I adequately declare that it is just not enough?
Overcome by a fierce need to mesh with him, I lunge for the appeasement.
He resists briefly, then draws me hard against his chest, and its
sanctuary.
Allowing passion to sweep him, he throws a cushion to the floor and
swiftly brings us down. Now, he must claim his own. With my bottom
positioned high, I wrap my legs around his waist. If only I had the key of
eternity to lock him there... He rocks for a deeper joining, and siphoning
through frantic appetence, he unleashes his hunger with a punishing kiss.
Then, the pounding begins, in earnest.
My screams grow louder, urging his pleasure to complete mine. He
thrusts faster, his breath harshening in the drive. When I find his nipple
and squeeze, his demands turn more brutal--he cannot take enough. And
then, with one final delivering stroke, he grinds to penetrate to the soul,
then bursts with a groan. As the purging commences, I strain to spread
myself wider so that he can take all that he needs, and I can receive all
that he offers. He fills me. He fills my mind, my heart. He fills my
body, my womb. He fills me with love, and he fills me with desire.
Could it, at last, be enough?
Later, when I remember dinner and begin to untangle my pliant body from
his warmth, he tightens steel arms over me and whispers, "No, it's not
enough."
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