Dreams in Moonlight

Part 30

He stopped tugging at the material, and instead allowed his fingers to savour the contact of skin. It wasn't long before his fingers were threading their way beneath the damp scrap of her gstring. He lifted his hips, helping her to pull his boxers down. With one hand planted by her hip to help him to lever himself off her, his other hand pushed at her skirt and tugged at her gstring. With her help, she kicked off her sodden gstring. And her hands returned to his body. Her fingers reached for his boxer shorts and pushed and dragged at the material. His shorts dragged down just past his thighs when his lips returned to take hers and his hips returned to nestle between the v of her legs. With their lips fused, he slid a hand between their two bodies and with years of experience guided his entry. He felt her reaction when she felt his penis. She was soaking wet, and still unexpectedly tight. He pushed gently, pressing forward as his body recognized hers.

She was tight. Stretched to fullness as he pumped hard, and gently at the same time. Magnificently she thought as their hips locked as he thrust and she accepted each drive, as nerves sparked in riot. Delighted, he thought when her body adapted to his size. She locked her heels in the small of his back, locked her hands across his shoulders and clenched. Nerves found the detonator and set off the fireworks in her cells. She locked her lips to his. His tongue stroked her lips and then moved past her lips. His tongue fenced with her tongue setting off another firework display.

How could making love to one woman feel so different? The thought slammed through him as he drove tenderly, stroking his way into the moisture and the hot heat. His lips tracked over her face, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and tracking back to her mouth. He reached for her hips and held tight as he pushed further, then withdrew delightfully slow. Tender penetrating again. So slow but hard. His tongue mirror that action in her mouth.

Everything about being with her seemed to be just that fraction more intense. Powerful. Passionate. Loving.

Her taste. Her tightness. Her breathing. Unique. He remembered her enthusiastic behaviour: that she did not hold back. Unrestrained. Adoring. Affectionate.

Her breath hitched as a tremor started. He remembered the way her body used to prepare for the onslaught of her orgasm: The demonstrative, vociferous, catch in her breath. The way her eyes rolled back, the sudden clenching around him. Then that earth shattering moment when she seemed to just explode around him. He wanted that. Wanted to see her come again. Wanted to be buried deep within when she came. As a school girl preparing for a career in dance there was little surplus flesh to her when he had last made love to her. But as a woman, fifteen years on, her breasts felt fuller and her hips had a more gentle flare. She felt softer somehow. But her reaction was what he remembered. Honest. Uninhibited. Wild. Unreserved. Loving.

His mouth and lips returned to torment her lips. His tongue stroked into her mouth and tangled with her tongue in time with the penetration as his hips pummelled hers.

He kissed along her jawline, teasing his way down the column of her neck before returning to take her lips. He knew he could spend hours just kissing her. He'd done that often enough. But now, this evening, what he wanted more than anything was to see her come again, for him.

One hand released her hip, and his fingers slid between their bodies, seeking the other detonator. With years of experience to go on, he inched his way slowly toward a core of nerves that he knew would send her up in flames. His mouth feathered across her cheek, heading for her earlobe. His fingers slid past the damp curls, parting swollen flesh, before his thumb pressed against the inflamed bundle of nerves. Her breath hitched. Her eyes rolled back. His fingers moved. His forefinger joined his thumb in paying service to the nerve bundle just as his lips brushed at that spot just below her earlobe. He thrust in hard at the same time, and Mallory did not let him down.

Everything within went up in flames, as her body spiralled out of control. Nerves fried, her breath hitched. Her heels dug in hard, pressing him closer, as if that was possible. Her fingers rifled through his hair, holding his head firmly, keeping his lips glued to that spot below her earlobe. Then she was flying.

All attempts at control stripped from her as her body fed an endless stream of electric jolts through every living cell. She screamed, as her body gave in to the tremors that coursed through her. His lips returned to her lips, taking her screams of pleasure as badges of success. His hands held her hips in place as his hips hammered, hard, pumping hard to secure some measure of release for himself. It came, washing through him like a tidal wave. His back arched. The muscles in his neck corded, as everything went tight, and hard, before he too splintered apart. His body convulsed, over and over, taking her back into the realms of another orgasm.

Light danced beneath his eyelids, electricity shot through from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. The force of his ejaculation, covered by the strength of his orgasm. He grunted. She shrieked.

Several minutes later, still sprawled over her body, Greg remembered he was probably squashing her. He rolled off. Both breathing hard remained on their back.

"Fuck!" He muttered. She turned her head and looked at him. "Fuck, Mallory. That was amazing." He glanced over at her. "You ok?" She nodded. "Cold?" He asked. She nodded.

The blanket was on the floor, and lethargically as the air in the shed started to cool his heated skin he blindly reached for a corner of the blanket and dragged it up. He had just enough energy to roll her, and spoon against her, with the blanket covering them, they drifted off to sleep.