consummate

We lie together in comfortable exhaustion, soaking up the warmth of sunlight and the radiated heat generated from vigorous friction. I slowly shift into my expected position; flat on my belly, left cheek on his flank, face full of our mingled scent.

My lips move.

As i settle into the familiar motion i anticipate his hand upon my back, a tentative touch growing in to a long dalliance, his fingers dancing patterns across my skin, the weight of his arm a perfect security.

He talks.

It is meandering post coital natter, one of my favourite forms of intimacy. Sometimes i respond, with my tongue still wrapped about his cock tip, or a query spoken out around his girth or an indignant exclamation buried into his warm balls, nipping at his flesh in mock retaliation at a teasing remark.

All the while his hand moves; in circles from hip to hip, along the ridge of my spine in slow sweeps, and the flat of his palm cupping the dimple of my waist, the twin ovals of my buttocks.

I nuzzle and suck, polish and preen, coating his rosy flesh in my saliva, lazily lapping at the length in my fist, echoing the idle pace of his arm. My fingers squeeze and stroke with the shifting motion across my curved back; as regular as my heartbeat, as reassuring as my breath.

it is not until his hand moves to the back of my head and grips my hair painfully that i start to move my lips with real intent.