Saturday night

Saturday night. Remnants of Ernesto pouring down. Wind howling outside. I love storms and I especially love storms, looking out at them through a large window,  with someone precious standing beside me, sharing in the moment, in the thrill, letting the excitement built between us, knowing we both are waiting for the next step. Who will take it, who will lean over and kiss, touch, stroke? Shall I reach over and stroke that hard nipple peeking out through that top or will you reach over to pinch mine, just knowing where to find it, or perhaps pull my head over next to you, opening your neck to my mouth, such lovely skin waiting. Or perhaps I will strip off my shirt, letting you rest your head against the fur on my chest, tickling your cheek, warm and soft. We love to tease each other, to toy and play. Each giving and taking. Take off those jeans and stand here next to me, let me stand behind you, rub up against you as we watch the storm play in front of us. Let my hands reach around you, hold you, cup your breasts, lean back and feel safe, held. Turn and let me kiss you, let me feel your tongue on mine, our lips sliding over each other, warm and soft. My jeans slide down my legs now, so we stand almost naked, skin to skin, warmth touching warmth, each breathing in the scent of the other. Time to slide down your body, to turn my head and kiss your lips, to let my tongue slide inside you, to taste you there, to feel you quiver under my touch, to stir you higher, to suck on your clit and drive you to a peak, to feel you weaken as you give in to the sensations, to feel your wetness on my face, my beard, while my fingers hold your ass, squeezing those cheeks and pulling you closer, harder against my tongue and mouth. The storm rising outside and inside you, higher, higher and higher, your moans louder than the wind now, your muscles so tense and your smell and taste so delicious. Mmmmm.