Massage Therapy ~ chapter 16, part 2 teaser

Apparently Bella's mind is as poetic as her body is wanton in the early morning hours....

Kisses along my neck.

Warm, soft. I am dreaming of his lips again.

They part…tongue leaving wet heat behind, only to be cooled by his breath as he works his way down to my shoulder.

It feels real. My dreams of him are always vivid. I’ve even felt him moving inside me, only to wake up alone and empty.

But that was before I knew what it was to truly have him inside me. Those dreams of longing stopped after his love became my reality.

Is this real? He is spooning me, his body curled protectively around mine. His hand is under the sheets, over my breasts…fondling, rubbing my nipples firmly until they respond with a firmness of their own. Soft belly fur presses insistently against my lower back; I arch instinctively toward the silken warmth.

And then I feel it, hard and purposeful, smooth and sleek… like velvet-covered marble sliding between my buttocks. I arch further, lifting my outer leg slightly, parting to take the velvet between my legs. It finds my yearning wetness instantly. I am always this way for him. I couldn’t hide my desire if I wanted to. The evidence of my arousal always gives me away.

“Ready for me so soon….” More velvet, whispering in my ear this time. “You must be feeling better this morning.”

My hand covers his as he caresses my breasts. My leg raises up and back, over his hip; my thigh rests upon his, my foot hooks itself behind his calf.

“I feel amazing,” I sigh, waiting for the velvet marble to push its way inside me. He does not disappoint. One stroke, two, three… and he’s buried to the hilt. I exhale and it ends in a groan; he adds his own at the last thrust.

“You do feel amazing,” he replies, his voice rougher now. He releases my breasts and runs his long fingers down my stomach, over my abdomen, between my legs. He swirls them in circles over the sensitive flesh there as he takes me from behind in slow, deep, strokes. Quiet whimpers escape me already… the sounds of someone crying for more.

I murmur my disappointment as his fingers leave my sex and glide down my thigh, taking the sheet with him, exposing us to the cool air. His hand grips my flesh firmly, then lifts my leg like it weighs nothing. He is opening me up wider for him. He wants to go deeper. Always deeper.

And I love it. I want it. I crave and need it. I need him.

I reach back to wind my fingers in his hair, gripping it tightly as he pushes his velvety shaft all the way in… pulls all the way out … then plunges in again. He’s driving so deep that he hits the opening of my womb and I cry out sharply in a mixture of pleasure and pain. It’s too much. Too intense.

He slows. Plants soft kisses near my ear again. He’s going to speak; perhaps apologize.

I don’t want words. At least not those words.

“Don’t stop,” I order him. It sounds more like begging. My need has outweighed my want.

I know he will need no more assurances; no more encouragement. He loves taking over my body, bending it to his will, making it sing. He played me like a maestro the first day he touched me in his massage room. The symphony has only swelled since then, building to crescendo after crescendo in an endless series of gorgeous movements.

His head bows over me, lips searching for the swell of my breast. It is already erect with tension before he tongues it into an aching knot of pleasure. He’s sucking and fucking me in perfect cadence now, the rhythm building so slowly that my mind scarcely perceives it quickening.

My body is much more attuned to the difference. It knows this pace very well, after only seven days. It knows every inch of this velvet marble; has yielded and molded itself to the rigid contours of his flesh. Each time it grips him and caresses him, pulls and releases him, and finally clutches him in spasms of ecstasy when he pushes it beyond the brink of containment.

He’s pushing my body now. Drilling me from behind in search of treasure. I can feel the engorged tip of him slamming mercilessly into the sensitive flesh of my frontal wall. With every driving thrust, he rakes the velvet marble over that quivering bundle of nerves, sparking the slow burn that will soon burst into a conflagration. My body feels it coming before I do. It responds immediately, coaxing and encouraging the quickening of his rhythm, craving the friction that will create the spark. It relishes the escalation of his thrusts. Harder. Faster. Rougher. Deeper.

We pass the familiar threshold now; the point where love-making becomes fucking. Where animal instincts and appetites overwhelm all other considerations.

Or do they? My love for him does not abate as my lust burgeons. Instead, the two conspire to merge into a force so powerful that it is far beyond my control. My hand twists in his hair, grasping it for dear life as I revel in his merciless assault. He is panting. Whimpering. Grunting. Growling. Emitting sounds of base need that I hear myself matching.

And then, he shifts, pulling out, lifting himself from me. It’s so sudden that I cry out in dismay.

“No!”

Did I say it out loud? I must have, for he chuckles. He has the audacity to find humor in breaking our bond. But before I can gather my wits to protest, he is kissing me. Kissing me with a maddening blend of tenderness and hunger that astounds me.

Of course, he isn’t done with me. He’s never done with me until he’s filled me with fireworks and I explode all around him. He is only turning me toward him and shifting our bodies so that he is on top of me. He dominates me now, parting my legs, spreading me open to take more punishment from the velvet-tipped rod.

But his sensual, full-body thrusts are anything but a punishment. The sensation of his torso grinding into mine feels far more like a reward. The heat of his skin blankets me in a passion so blistering that I dissolve beneath him. I am joined with him so completely and utterly that there is no part of me that is separate anymore. I cling to him, our limbs melding, my lungs stealing the air from his before giving it back.

He is pumping so hard now that the expensive bed finally protests noisily beneath us. I reach back and grip the iron headboard to brace myself as he fucks me with relentless fervor. He is all desperate eyes, flaring nostrils, clenched jaw, straining veins and muscles. He is glorious. The intensity of what he is doing to me is overwhelming, unbearable. The only thing more unbearable would be for him to stop.

His eyes beg me to give in; to unleash my most powerful abandon all around him.

With a shuddering cry, I submit.

The ecstasy is astonishing. I sob as if I am in pain, because the pleasure cannot bear anything less. He does the same when he comes. He shakes and shudders and moans as he bathes my core in molten liquid. I want to keep its heat inside me as long as possible; to luxuriate in that part of him that he’s left with me after he has withdrawn.

I wish I could do the same. Leave something of me with him; a reminder of what we’ve shared.

But when I see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at me, I realize I already have.