Bare legs in a summer skirt. The wind caught and flipped the hem, showing just enough leg for me to see her tan fade to pale the closer it got to the top of her thigh.
I sipped my coffee and watched her progress toward me along the street.
She ran across the road just as the lights changed against her and waved her thanks to the impatient car drivers. I bet they didn’t care, a flash of her smile and a flash of her legs, a devastating combination.
She always seemed to be running, rushing to get somewhere or see someone, today it was me.
I sat in the window of the cafe and grinned as she saw me, her pace increasing, heeled cowboy boots ringing on the pavement. How did this woman manage to wear what every other woman was wearing and still make her clothes look as if they were alive on her. What magic did her body exhale into the fabric to make it weave and dance around her?
I don’t know, but when those clothes are shed and she is naked in my bedroom her breath will calm, her nervous ticks subside and she will finally be still. She will wait quietly, her faith in me as mesmerising as she is to those that only see the frantic daylight energy of her. And when I begin to touch her, caressing her bare flesh she will melt further into calm. Her movements will shift cell by cell, like ageless sand drifting as dunes, minute but vast. Languid pouring of desire through her, flowing at my kiss and shimmering at my touch.
Until finally after layer upon layer of caress, kiss and gentle soothing she will be ready.
Bare of all thought and focus except for me. Tuned exquisitely to my touch.
And I will start to reassemble her in to my desire.
Soft caress will turn to drag of nails, gentle kiss to teeth pulling bite.
She will only open more for me, display more, need more.
Fingers sliding into her, spreading her wetness creating a wanton receptacle for my fuck.
Tied wide and the sting of leather across her arse, marking those pale thighs red.
Shuddering flesh under each lash, her head back and neck arched at the rightness of it.
And then the only question will be how long I can delay my desire, my need. To put of the moment that I finally take her, swiftly entering into soft supple wetness. Feeling her fold around me, surrounded by her deep stillness. Holding us both there until I start to move, winding her up again thrust by thrust until her body is nothing but spasming muscles, her orgasm echoing in every cell of her. Until her last release is breached, her control washed away by the wetness of her splashing against me as I fuck her. I will imagine waves and tides and all things of the sea; salt, floating, mermaids, drowning. Until she is finished, washed up, ebbing under me and will taste her, lick her, collect her in my mouth knowing that in moments she will surface, gasp for air and I will lose her to the world again.

Post Author

This post was written by Ruby who has written 115 posts on .

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply