First installment of IT MAY BE LOVE erotic excerpt:
PLAUDITS OF THAT UNLETTERED MOMENT -- #1
Streams of moonbeams slanted through the blinds, turning everything to muted and contrasting shadows of grayish lavender. The window had been left open and a late night breeze tormented those blinds, causing the colors to bend and twist, likening everything to aged film, flowing upon a tattered movie screen. It's sepia outward show fully fit the dreamlike surrealism of the moment, a moment Cyndy had envisioned and craved for so long.
The perimeter beyond the gentle moon glow was lost to any perception. The only reality she garnered was the pool of fantasy tones, that hinted the probability of uninhibited exaltation, so she floated. This night, this moment, with this man, she was not going to quell any rapture.
In some ways she couldn’t believe it was finally happening; that James’ strong arms encompassed her, his body heat melded through her, and passion surged with the momentum of water bursting through a weakened dam. And she was weak, weak from his wooing with the humanity of a caring soul, allure drenched words, rapturously intense poetry, tempered interludes of simple chat, innocent storytelling that held her as spellbound as those he entertained, yes, yes, wooed totally and completely. Every wall was about to be collapsed, and rightfully so. He was the place she needed, no wanted to fall into. At this moment, the walls required only the breeze created by the hummingbird's wings to tumble.
Even the cut of him, the sway of his walk, the slightly crooked tilt of his smile, the striking cut of his five o’clock shadow, and his stimulating glances as furtive as hers, wooed. Yet, those exchanges were often caught and held, enticing her for a sliver of an instant. Like a pied piper’s lute heard upon the air, first only a come-hither hum but soon lulling, seducing, and then mesmerizing beyond resistance. Her heart pulsed with the power of lust, felt in firm breathing, tightening nipples, an engorged vagina, and enhanced sensitivity.
Still lifted in his strapping arms, he slowly turned her in a spiral, the dim lighting splintering around them like paparazzi snapshots. His head descended, her breathing halted even as her pulse quickened. James dipped his head further, swabbing her neck. His breath was felt on short-hair exploding in flashes of sensations that ricocheted beneath her skin, ending by chasing the butterflies of her belly.
She felt his grip tighten as his head rose. Tense muscles nudged soft flesh, her fingers slipped into his hair, urging his head downward with urgency, but James refused to be rushed. He stripped her with his adoring look as if not just seeing every curve and dip of her flesh but memorizing the depths and clarity of her soul. He swelled with great power as his discovery reinforced the model, she was a desired woman and he was a lustful, strong man. His bonds were breeched and he was claiming control, wielding it from her. She yielded.
“I adore your face. The god, Eros, has blessed you with humbling beauty.” His voice, quiet and gentle cuddled a sigh. It was more just a stirring breath than actual sound, as he caressed her mouth. “And you, my heart tug, possess the sweetest face I’ve ever encountered. It enslaves me.” Again, his gaze explored. This time it seemed to finger-paint her features as if memorizing every delicate line and perfect imperfections.
She studied him as if he wasn't real, as if this wasn’t the culmination of forever foreplay that meandered through the months, tantalizing strokes of sensuality. “Don’t,” she said with sudden shyness. Swollen with embarrassment, “You’ll see too much.” No man had grazed on her as he was. And that constant nibbling was feeding the insecurity monster that held residency in the a dark corner of her mind. Could she be worthy of his absorption of her?
Just a shadow of a grin emerged. “Exactly, I want to see everything, every freckle, every contour, every furrow and lineation. Why? They are you. And I want to own it all, every bit. These are the memories I have to write for me. Recalled every tomorrow, as if succinctly fresh just as they are right now. You are my future, and this moment is our real beginning.”
It wasn't the quixotic words as much as the intent behind the words that caused a quick intake of air. She didn't realize she had the doe eyes of an innocent, quivering in the puddle of their flash of time, rippling the waters of adoring, washing them onto the edges of lust damping its eventuality. For she might have experienced sex but she never experienced romance, and tonight was all about caring, tenderness, loving. He had stroked every part of her being but had yet to physically touch her. Their foreplay had its apt genesis in the mind, the largest sex organ. Feeling she needed to explain, "Your eyes make me shy."
"You are everything I have to be witness to. Chase your shyness with one thought, I need you. So I must stare."
“Then look,” she whispered, finding a renewed confidence, “own me...” then adding with an abrupt boldness as seductive and blunt as his own expression had been, "every bit." She melted. Every wall vanished. She exposed her soul. Opened up to him. Invited his invasion into her. Any resistance turned into the soft sweet pudding of one who had been gooey-wooed.
At that instant, the passion didn’t seem deep enough for what he experienced. Holding her like this, knowing this was just the inception of what was to come, his confidence noted, and cum they would. It took every fiber of restrain to not just toss her down and fuck her like might a bull who had been held in the coral all too long.
However was the definitive demarcation. It wrote a greater truth. So however, this wasn’t just sex, it was making love, and he never wanted either of them to forget their first time together. It wasn’t a backseat tumble or a quickie blow job, given just beyond the front door. It was forever. He knew and knew she knew, she would soon immerse herself in sharing loving sex. Was it duty? Yes, to the greater genuineness of who they were to each.
Rowe's Rule told that the odds were five to six that the light at the end of the tunnel was the headlights of an oncoming train. What was their fate to be? Glorious or gruesome? Neither perceived any other outcome but the flight of a fancy breathtaking and life altering idolatry. In retrospect of all the interaction between them, they both bent toward trusting and believing in this eventuality. They couldn't allow themselves to think any differently. It would alter the ironic fantasy that was once the rock-bottom fruitlessness of two shipwrecks, now, rescued by their current reality.
Frozen in between moments, his mouth lingered over hers, a tantalizing tormentor daring her to sample while at the same time his teal green eyes mesmerized, absorbing her as he drew her into the truth of him, the knight, the defender, the man who had been in her dreams forever, the ornery cad who’d make her wet with just a look, and wooing that would draw her into his soul and offer her his heart. She strained to lift closer, to tempt him to give in to the meshing of lips. Her mouth rose, just barely, still not quite connected as he retreated, teasing the glory of an everlasting, satisfying finale.
His moxie waned controlled by his own terms. He was going to lead, blazing the path forward. Why? Bound to his soul was a strong and powerful vision of them.
Warm kisses feathered her brow, cheeks, and chin. Slowly, gently, with muscular arms, he shifted her weight so he could lift her thick, cascading hair and press his lips to her neck. Flicking his tongue along her pale-soft flesh, he kissed her softly, tasting traces of salty sweat and fragrant lavender soap. He savored her delightful feminine flavor then as if in a frenzy of need, he splattered her neck with nips and suckling. "Sheeze," wistfully escaped on quivering breath. The jitters of jackhammered sensations reverberated riddling every thought. She rightfully shook as if this was her very first time. And it was, with him.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, clenching as his procrastination created blatant heat. Her body pulsated with the need to fuck and be fucked, not gentle, not sweet, but hard and demanding. His dominating persistence fed her insecurity monster. She sensed she would be giving up control to him. Could she? Would she?
Rattled, she tried to nudge his lips to hers, began to wiggle in his arms, wanting her feet, no, her knees on the floor, so she’d have the control once more. She wanted to take his cock into her mouth, to torment his balls and force his giant member down her throat, to make him cum with wild groans, as his cock smacked her lips swollen then doing it all over again, no down time, not even an instant to catch his breath.
Whether he was aware of her intent or not, he wasn’t allowing anything but his own determination to persuade her in this new way, coax her gently, opening her orifices with his mouth, tongue, fingers. The savage and primal would come but his first wooing was a crescendo building one note upon another. James intended to alter her sensual perception, pull her out of herself into that subspace realm, pillaged of thought, floating on mystical winds of intimate change, and ensconced by sensations alone.
His mouth lingered at her throat, feeding upon her hastening pulse, sucking at that spot until whimpers emanated from her parted lips. Finally, his lips met hers, crashing and then crushing. His own arousal momentarily untamed and vicious, his tongue speared past her lips, and attacked hers. Frenetic, Cyndy responded in kind, her mouth wide and inviting, her tongue tasting and exploring, the two fusing with the other, the connection a suggestive prelude to later even more enflaming connections.
Notorious cads had a history of using women who were so feverish. Finding folly in that. Caring jack-squat about her motivations and feelings, seeking one thing. His pleasure. James had squished that imagery for Cyndy. He was a good fair man who craved to share and be shared, thus, her heightened arousal had not reached its summit and she was not going to stop its ascending. What might that apex reveal? The co-mingling of souls requiting a shared dream.
Circuitous movements continued but faster as if aspiring to meet the momentum of that kiss, the never ending kiss that bonded and fused, not just mouth and tongue but that inner id that was once private and impenetrable. Would they turn over all oversight to their ids? Allowing the raw, primal instincts of the human beast to rule. The ids insisted yes. Neither put up resistance.
With breaths barely caught he let her feet find the floor, and their bodies meshed, breasts still cupped by lace and the propaganda of a blouse's cloth, feeling non-existent as his chest pressed fast and solid against her aroused flesh. Ribs met, stomachs warmed against each other. It had been so long since she had been with someone, and shy innocence overcame her once more, forcing her eyes closed when his mouth encompassed hers once more.
She moaned into his mouth as the kiss continued and slid her tongue inside, to savor him even more intimately. His possessive and dominant response had her withering and squirming. She didn't even feel his forward momentum until she found herself sandwiched between his hot, hard chest and the wall as if he forbade her from wiggling from his hold.
"Oh," cooed from a generally precocious women who was utterly engulfed in the race of fantasy.
"I need the all of you." His claim was sincere and overwhelming, holding the supremacy of a gladiator.
"Take me!" Her words comported one very simple understanding. She would spread and accept.
Yearning for more and more of him, her lithe body molded itself to him. Her grace was a gentle caress while her limb's flexibility clutched as might a famished octopus. Cyndy experienced the plumb of a perfect moment, relished in it and fairy-taled their outcome. (to be continued)****
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