(no subject)

I do love the nights where above and beyond the fun I usually have fucking Kittyboy there's that extra undercurrent of something that doesn't have a name, but somehow shoves the entire experience from something fun and physical to something more transcendant, cheesy as that sounds. Where it becomes less about whats going on with tab A and slot B and more about how his eyes go deep and strange and glassy and fiercely beautiful when he wants me, about how suddenly I'm more than half convinced that if I don't have some part of his skin or his hair in my hands at all times it will cause me physical pain, about how my whole body wants him and expresses that by hardening, softening or going suddenly from warm and soft to hot and slippery, how all I want to do is kiss him until I can't breathe and listen for the sounds that make it past years of self-control, a sigh here, a word there, and occasionally the low feral growl that boils out of his throat and turns my entire existence to water. Its about teasing him with my mouth until every flutter of my tongue causes his cock to throb in response, how warm his hands are on my shoulders, my tits, or half buried deep in my cunt, that biting frustration every time I brush his throat with my lips, wanting with all of my being to mark him as mine for the world to see but forcing myself to be good because he has to work in the morning, feeling him lace his fingers through mine as he slides deep into my ass, both of us marvelling at how ready for him I am, how much I want him there. It's about pressing my cheek to his and moaning encouragement as he grinds himself into me hard enough to leave me spent and shuddering beneath him, pleading with him not to stop until I hear his breath catch and the deep throb of his own orgasm deep inside of me, and the feathery brush of his hair as he collapses across my back, holding me like he'd rather eat glass than let me go.

I hate the term "making love," but some nights it's appropriate. Last night was certainly one of them.