Eventually, he’s going to fuck me. Knelt at the foot of the bed with his fingers loosely holding his cock. Now it’s the same colour as the knuckles around it, but soon the flesh will be solid and deep and the knuckles white, bright against the veins and power of his erection.
Not yet though.
Now he is delicate and supple, pliant in his hands, rolling over the part of himself he knows best. His belly rises and falls a fraction quicker than usual as the fingers slip back and forth and the tender flesh rises too, thickens with the motion of his hand and the sight of my naked body, shower-damp and displayed before him. He passes his thumb over the head and it’s sticky. My desire to lick it off I quell, for now.
He moans. Sweet, earthy sounds I could listen to forever. His chest flushes pink too. Tense biceps flex and soften as he strokes himself.
Now the muscle supports itself without his cradling. There is a way to go before it is fully hard; ready for what he has in store for me. The pattern of veins is beautiful; a map of his pleasure and growth. Again he swipes the fluid from the head and lubricates his shaft. I note the whitening of his knuckles – see, so stark against his carmine cock. Urgent and necessary. The hand moves quicker now, the grip tighter as the meat within pushes back against his grasp. It is almost a fight. A battle between his body and his body and we know how it will end.
He rubs the thickening shaft – now barely contained within his palm – and the other hand sinks lower to seal the pact, stroking his heavy, cum-filled balls, and even the thought of this makes my mouth water.
“Fuck me.” I think. “FUCK ME.”
We agreed silence only. Eye-fucking one another for the past ten minutes. Eye-fucked me to a plump, fragrant high and him to a swollen, twitching crescendo. Both ready. Both stirred to perfection.
For a moment he removes his hand and I see him in every inch of his glory – pulsating and tumid. Delicious. Delectable. Proved to perfection.