By The Light

By The Light
M/F
NC-17


***

They’d been so young.


After movie night he’d invite her to his room to listen to a piece of music or hear a passage from a book. They’d both play along with this pretense, too, except that he’d shut the door. 


Eventually, after repeated, torturous listenings to the song or words in question he’d kiss her. Over a month, or maybe more, it escalated until they finally made love. Just the lights from the stereo illuminated tanned teenage bodies. 


That was the first time he’d tasted her. It as addictive. For both of them. She was always so wet. There was a dangerous feeling, like he might drown. And she lost herself when he hit just the right spot. From the very beginning he was good at doing that. Not too much direct pressure on her clit, long, slow, flat tongued lapping to get her started. Two fingers inside her to keep her full. Her hands grabbed at anything; his hair, the sheets, her own flesh and she’d plant her feet firmly on the bed, pressing herself to his mouth. His tongue moved light and quick as hummingbird’s wing on her bud, making her leg muscles quiver and she’d come, choking back a scream under her palm. 


He kissed her cunt gently, laid a flat hand on her concave belly and slid alongside her. She kissed him gratefully, surpised to learn what she tasted like and that he was covered in her juice from nose to chin but he didn’t mind. 


While she kissed him he entered her slowly then stopped so he could see the look in her eye. 


“What does it feel like?” he rasped out.


“What?”


“Tell me what it feels like to have me inside you.” he insisted.


“Umm...full. Uh, as though...I don’t know how o describe it. Good.”


“That’s it?”


“What does it feel like to be inside me?”


He smiled. “It’s like being wrapped tightly in warm, wet velvet.” Clearly he’d been working on that phrasing for a while.


She squeezed down on him. 


He groaned and thrust until he came, yelling into her hair and the pillow.


In the years that they were apart she thought about his question often, refining her answer, hoping he’d ask her again.