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He comes to me only at night, always waiting, wanting, ceaselessly needing. His gleaming, glacier-blue eyes search mine, never breaking contact, always staring, looking for what, I do not know. He never speaks, using only his body to express the words he dares not utter, but I always know, in the depths of my consciousness, that he cannot be without me, and clings to these stolen moments with the same fervor as I.
He is always gentle yet rough with his desire, overcome simultaneously with the need to have me, all to himself, all at once, trying to prolong and delay the inevitable gratification that results from the fusion of our flesh. He never tires of my skin, tracing his perfect bow-shaped lips over every inch, his mouth from my neck and collarbone to the rise and fall of my sumptuous, round breasts. He ensures his own torture as he gingerly rolls each of my hardened, pink nipples between his fingers. All the blood in my body courses downwards, my liquid sex pooling in the crux of my thighs, my hunger increasingly evident with every moment he is near me.
He is a patient lover, yearning for a satisfaction he can only attain conditionally with my own pleasure. He revels in my low moans and gasps for breath, as his fingers skim down my soft, flat belly until he reaches past my navel to the most sore spot of my body, rubbing ever so gently, kissing my raw lips as I squirm underneath him. I love the smell of his sweet breath, the taste of his tongue on mine, the sensation of the stubble on his cheeks and around his mouth as he trails kisses down my naked body, only enhancing the already attentive nerve endings of my flesh.
I reach down and curl my slim fingers around his hard cock but he takes my hands off his body and grips them, not too tightly, reaching my arms above my head, making me feel even more exposed, vulnerable, submissive to him. I ache to feel his skin, his cock, his entire musculature beneath me, but I endure the slow, cautious strokes of his tongue on my swollen clit, feeling my juices almost flowing down my thighs, so unbearable is my impatient need. He knows this, as though he has memorized my body and every reaction he can elicit from each part.
I spread myself open wider for him, unconsciously, barely realizing my hips are arching more towards his mouth as he nearly brings me to the brink, but just as I feel my body ready to spasm and contract under his experienced manipulations, he stops and attends to nibbling my inner thighs, licking my belly, my breasts, all the way back up to my neck. When our lips finally meet again he releases his grasp on my wrists, freeing me from the inability to touch him.
My restlessness has reached its peak and I want nothing more than to impale my dripping pussy onto his distended shaft, but I too know the pleasures of tantric sex and the rewards of building up pleasure gradually. Instead I tease him, my long fingernails lightly scratching their way along his taut, muscled chest, feeling the soft and curly tufts of hair, down his hard stomach and along his treasure trail, aptly named. I graze the swollen head of his cock with my fingertips as I continue to run my nails along his inner thighs, turning my palms to cup and stroke his balls, his shaft, his head. I feel his hands bury in my hair as my lips wrap around his heat, slipping down around the head and along his shaft until he can feel the opening of my throat.
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