Small Moments - Sex Stories

Small Moments

... clay. Gripping your hand became the gravity to still me, make me remember I had a damn spine. I've never told you that. I should one day. But we know how to speak in countless ways without a word exchanged. My lips inch forward for a split-second and finally kiss the back of your neck; just one of the ways to begin the exchange of our dialogue. Fingertips lightly trace below your stomach, one of the sensitive soft spots you love having me touch. It's one of the many spots I've memorized - how to navigate the specific nuances and reactions of. The sensation of my lips meeting that spot I love, the delicate curve right where the neck and shoulder meet, begins to pull you out of whatever realm of sleep you were traveling through, while my fingertips caress lower. The slight movement of your hips, your neck craning to the side to present more skin for my lip to kiss... they are all signals. Even though you've yet to touch me or make a sound, you have given me all the cues to proceed. My eyes have already adjusted to the near darkness of the bedroom, the moon's pale disc barely glowing against curtains beyond your side of the bed. You're never a vague shape though, but a beautiful silhouette I can always see because I know your form all too well. Even so, as your hips shift and I continue kissing, at times I wonder if you're more awake than you let on. If, maybe, you were already awake and simply waiting for me to act, seeing how long my need for you would pass through the cold ...

... winter night before I cracked and began to take you. This playful teasing, this delicate balance between two lovers, to exchange power and willingly hand over your entire being to another is one of the most intimate acts. It cannot take place unless two have built a deep trust between them that runs deeper than words. It's a trust that runs deeper with time and exploring one another. You move more as you roll over on your back and our lips meet. Each kiss in the dark in our bed is always a sweet wine to taste, always a storm delivered by the woman who once claimed my lips even more as hers while pressed against a wall. The side of your hips intimately press where I'm steadily growing, just teasing me with a slow little grind as your tongue flicks against mine. Every movement beneath the blankets pushes around the heat our bodies made together like invisible clouds of steam climbing up and down my skin, as your hands reach under my hoodie. I always love this contained space and time. These deliberate moments of escalation where hands begin to roam beneath clothing, trying to remove each article in the dark. I liken it to patiently untying knots, both of us undoing each other with skilled hands. You catch me off guard. As I'm pulling off my pants and boxers, still sitting up, you're a graceful blur suddenly at my side, on your knees. The fact that you can always surprise me with such feline, silent movement just thrills me even more. You know this well, can hear the surprised ...