"You wanna touch my cock?" he says, when I am tired, or grumpy, or blue. "You'll feel better". And I do. My hand reaching to cover his crotch, a smile creeps across my lips, unbidden. He shifts in his seat, moving to accommodate his growing girth, and settles down, his own, somewhat self-satisfied, grin appearing.
It often starts this way. It doesn't take me long to crawl into his lap, snake my arm around his neck, cup his head in my hands. I like to look at his eyes, so close, and to smooth his eyebrows under my thumbs, trace the shape of his lips as lightly as if my fingers were a feather, making his lips twitch, and itch, and his eyes twinkle.
The kiss is unlike any other. Soft and smooth and passionate and hot. It is like a piece of music- ebbing, flowing, building. The pull is tidal- my lips swell, and my heart beats in them.
I want him to have me, and own me, and he does.
Jealousy. Or longing. Or both. ;-)
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