The pinnacle of eroticism for me is, and has always been, the aftermath.
He, lying on me, belly to belly, faces almost touching, begins to soften. His weight on me increases, a ship in harbour. His eyes less steely, the lust smudged away for now, the intimacy heightened by the messy heat of effort spent and desire satisfied.
We smile, and study each other intensely. There is no mystery at this point, just a shared wonder at the rush from furious lust to gentle love. Sometimes we even greet each other as if it were the first time we have come up for air since he walked through my door. Hello, he says, and I blush a deeper red at the ridiculous notion that we are compromised strangers.
We kiss, a different sort of kiss. The metallic taste of arousal lingers, but his lips are kinder and the friction from minutes ago becomes a fusion that begins in our throats but culminates in the warm wet that seeps from between our fetted thighs.
5 comments:
Lovely.
Michael
That shy, almost embarrassed moment when you look into the eyes of a lover and see each other after the first shared orgasm, tender and delicious..
Ahem, normal, brash service to be resumed shortly.
Sumptuous writing; a moment pinned down deliciously.
Wonderfully written...much said yet leaving enough unsaid for the reader to interpret.
Well done.
Ciao sweetie.
Michael - you are kind thank you
Ceeej - i have that shyness every time, no matter how many times he has seen it. Brash? you hide it well :)
AAE - xx
Hi Spiky - lovely to see you pop by, and thank you x
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