Still of the Night IV

He was so hot, his body slick with sweat as he moved inside her. His hands were on either side of her face, holding her so gently as he kissed her with a fevered softness.

Laura held to him, hands curled around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his while he rocked into the cradle of her body, slow and easy, a pace that belied the intensity of what she — and no doubt he — was feeling.

She met each kiss with one of her own, her heart pounding, rising in her chest on each one. A steady streams of hums vibrated in her throat, emerging as breathy moans of his name whenever he released her mouth for even a moment.

Things had started so intensely, then calmed, then, as he’d moved slowly up the bed with her, both of them kissing and caressing, it had turned intense again, leading to this moment when the world seemed to have vanished entirely, leaving just them in a universe of sensation and sanctity.

He had filled her pussy with his cock but the rest of her had been filled with something else, a flurry of feelings and thoughts that found cohesion in the press of lips, mingled breaths, and tender whispers of names, the unbounded gentleness of her lover.

It hadn’t been like this in a very long time, possibly never. She felt good in every way imaginable and she never wanted it to end.

Pulling her mouth from his, she pressed her brow against his, panted softly a request. “Don’t stop, Bill. Please don’t.”

“I won’t, Laura,” he countered, his voice hoarse and thick. He kissed her cheek.

She didn’t love him but she could, easily.

Stroking his body then sliding her fingers through his hair, she worked her legs up to wrap around his waist, wanting him deeper, as deep as he could go and deeper still, wishing their flesh could merge as fully as their breaths and fluids blended.

She kept nothing back from him, gave him the space in her body and all the tenderness she could muster, and he matched it measure for measure. He was present, with her in a way that Richard never had been. And she was with him because she wanted to be, because she wanted him to have her, all of her, wanted to trust him with everything.

Her trust had not been misplaced. He had told her that, and it had not been, was not now.

My loyal soldier, she smiled, kissed his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. She rasped hoarsely in his ear, “Thank you for this.”

An almost anguished “Laura” was his reply, accompanied by a stilling of his hips. She let him go as he rose up over her onto his knees, went when he pulled her up to him, sliding his arms around her waist and holding her close. He buried his face in her neck, panting and trembling ceaselessly, rasping, “Need a minute.”

Returning his embrace, she leaned her head against his and rocked him, whispering, “It’s okay.”

“Not ready yet. Too soon,” he explained. “Too soon.”

Laura hugged him closer, bowed and kissed his shoulder. “I know.”

He shuddered then squeezed her tight, rasping, “It wasn’t like this, Laura.” He shuddered again, his voice deeply anguished when he repeated, “It wasn’t like this.”

Laura returned the strength of his embrace but didn’t understand what he was telling her, what he seemed to need her to hear. “I don’t understand, Bill,” she whispered in confusion.

He drew back, eyes seeking and finding hers. So earnest. “She was never with me,” he stated emphatically. His hands came up, cradled her face, when he added, “You are.”

What followed would remain with Laura the rest of her life.

He took her down to the bed gently, with benevolent hands and a worshipful “thank you.” He kissed her with the reverence due a deity, lips covering hers soft and slow, caressing and releasing to caress again.

He guided her legs around his waist and moved in her with a singular purpose, leading her through an exquisite dance of flesh that culminated in a long, flowing orgasm that took not only her body into that realm of bliss, but her mind and her soul and everything else that made her who she was.

She clung to him in the cataclysm, felt the answering shudder of his body in the clasp of her own and heard the raspy, rejoicing cry of her name, and came again.

< Still of the Night III | When The Morning Comes I >