And that was how it had started…..
Years ago now. And we’d done just about everything under the sun, sexually speaking, at some point or another in the intervening years. But no matter how often he touched me like this, it never got stale. Neither of us were as young and agile as we once were; me with my stretch marks and saggy skin, him with a slight paunch now where perfectly chiselled washboard abs once had been. But it didn’t matter. I still made him hard. He still made me wet. We were drawn like magnets to each other, though we both knew we could never be anything more than just sex.
With one hand still gripping a handful of my hair, he deftly unzipped himself with the other. I heard the clink of the metal teeth and felt the rustle behind me as he drew his erection out of his trousers, and shivered. Reaching a hand behind me, I felt urgently for his bare flesh, desperate to feel him hard in my hand, craving to hear the familiar moan break from his lips as I stroked his pulsing length. Naughty little bitch…
But he pulled away from my seeking grasp suddenly.
“No, not yet baby,” he begged, his voice deep and throaty. “Not yet. Slow. I won’t last otherwise.”
Slow. Oh god, this was going to be torture. Delicious, but unbearable torment. I wanted him so badly. I’d been waiting for this for so long, and I didn’t know how much longer I could contain the force of my desire before I would erupt like a volcano. Did he not remember how long it had been since our last time together? Didn’t he realise that while he had been living it up in Frognal with the leggy young blonde for the last six years, I had spent the last three of those years divorced and alone, sexless except for frequent furtive masturbations in which I pictured his face above me, imagined his piercing eyes watching from under heavy lids as I writhed against the mattress and moaned his name out loud as I climaxed?
“No“, I reminded myself. “He doesn’t know. Because you lied and told him you’ve been out there painting the town red. Shagging your way across London. And why? Because you couldn’t bear the thought of anyone feeling sorry for you, least of all him. Because, deep down inside, you wanted him to be jealous of all those ‘other’ men, dump Blondie, and bury himself between your thighs again.”
Now the girlfriend was gone at long last, but I was still going to have to wait a bit longer. At least he was here now, though, and judging by his hitching breath and the heat emanating from his body, he wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. Not until this was done. Not until we were both spent, and panting against each other’s sweat-slicked skin. Sleepy. Satisfied. Sated.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Slow then. You’re in charge.”