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Not Enough
Ciana Rose (c) 2003
All rights reserved

 
I await his arrival anxiously while I prepare his favorite dish. Hard to believe he's been away for only a week. More like a lifetime.

The ring of the bell sets my pulse racing and I rush to throw open the door. The smile that greets me makes me laugh with joy. He drops his case and opens his arms, and I stumble into his embrace. God how I've missed him! Heart to heart, we hold each other and feel.

The kisses come, loving at first, but quickly turn more amorous. With childish fervor, I inhale his essence to distinguish dream from reality. I will never have enough of him.

Taking my hand, he leads me to the couch and takes a seat. I kneel before him. With a tender hand, he cups my face and stares into my eyes until our reconnection is substantiated more adequately. Then another kiss--probing possessively, taking what is his.

He's come home.

Unable to get enough, I rise higher on my knees so that my body may express more articulately that which words can not. With my mounting frustration, he circles his arms and secures me to him while his tutored tongue conducts an in-depth exploration. In our fusion, passion escalates--restless hands slide, feel, and draw sustenance.

It is just not enough.

He calls upon control and severs our kiss, slowing the pace. Stretching the elastic neckline, he slowly draws my peasant blouse off, one shoulder at a time, and bares my breasts. Perky and tight, they stand for his pleasure. I regard him with admiration, my breath quickening, while he looks his fill in leisure.

Gentle fingertips brush the contour of heavy orbs playfully, urging me to arch and offer. He tweaks one distended nipple. Then the second. Then exhaling a contented sigh, he relaxes in his seat. I cannot bear the separation, the distance. Leaning into him, I press my face to his chest and caress my cheek against the roughly textured shirt while I listen to his life beat. It is not nearly enough.

My rambunctious want tugs at me relentlessly and I slowly move lower between his spread legs. While my hand cups the weight of his testicles through thick fabric, I rest my head against his thigh. But that too is not enough. I bury my face in his crotch and fill my longing with the hint of his scent. And still, it is not enough.

Blindly, my hand reaches for his belt but I am too anxious, and fumble. With a small laugh, he relieves me of the responsibility. I grow breathless with expectation as I wait and watch while he extracts that which I burn to possess most at the moment--his cock. Deliberately he works slowly, taking pleasure in taxing my hunger. Truth be known, it's a burden I care to never be relieved of.

I manage to still myself a moment to take in the princely sight upon appearance. But that is hardly enough. My patience lost, I devour him with the satisfaction of the starved in the throes of a feast. "Mmmm," I hum, striving to deepen my intake for mutual fulfillment.

While I suck to quench my thirst, he strokes my head with forbearance. Regardless of the extent of my yearning, he will not grant pacification so readily. This I know well.

With his continued resistance, my physical lust wanes, paving the way for a more emotional union. Detracting me from sweet suckling, he raises my face and with a gentle kiss, praises my lips for their tender loving.

My eyes fall on bare chest gaping through his now open shirt and my fingers gravitate toward the field of dark cashmere and the pectorals that it cloaks. But before I can savor the touch, he lays his hand on mine. With a brush of his rugged lips across my knuckles, he rises, dragging me up with him.

As we stand face to face, he casts a slow consuming look that penetrates through flesh and bone as it travels down, and then back. While I tremble with desire, his hand tucks inside the unbelted-waist of my shorts and jerks me closer. Eyes boring into mine, piece by piece, he slowly rids me of every stitch. Then he divests himself of his own clothing while I wait with baited breath.
When he is seated again, I climb the couch on my knees and move astride his lap, as instructed. Once more, our eyes meet and converse in silence. It's lust, pure male demand that his speak of. His desire for me never fails to raise me to the highest of heavens.

Carefully, I position myself over the rigid instrument, created to lead us through the mating ritual and into the depths of its pleasure. When my gaze returns to his face, the armament shining through his keen eyes sets my heart to somersaulting. He will use my anticipation to torment me. And to confirm, he commands my obedience with a strong grasp on my hip.
Desire festers within me and I ache for his fuck while he ruthlessly teases me into agony with a slow finger. "Please," I whimper, my abdomen contracting with the sensitivity he has generated. Hooded eyes climb to my face to gloat, then descend in dismissal to watch my helpless cunt be driven to weeping--a misery so sweet that even I treasure.

Only when he is ready, when he has soaked me to his satisfaction, does he begin to guide me into a descent. One by one, vibrant nerves soothe, wringing little gasps of pleasure with my glide down. It warms my heart that I'm not alone in the fight against the talons of ecstasy, lashing out to ensnare us into visionless sensation. Gazes locked in resistance, he lowers my full weight and completes the sheathing. Long-suppressed moans are released and we come together anxiously.

Urgent needs clamor, but we ward them off for a demanding mouth-to-mouth interlude that will not be deterred. How well we were constructed to fit each other.

Stretched tight, full and moist, I remain in blessed awareness of his presence inside my body as I let my hips initiate the first rhythm of our dance.  Attuned to my every need, he returns my strokes, easing me into the steady pace that will best escort me through my journey to the summit.

Destination within grasp, my blood brews in preparation of the percolation that is mine to come. Reaching, nearing...and yes, arriving...

But privacy is not mine to be had. As heat waves break loose, he suddenly clutches my hair and jerks my head back. "I want to see it," he roars, searching my face to find the ecstasy he has brought upon me.

By sheer will, I bid my fluttering lids to remain open under the merciless pounding of completion. His blatant satisfaction in conquering me brings a whimper to my lips. I would not chance to miss such a reward, regardless of how deeply I have fallen into the cups of pleasure.

Intensity begins to ebb, raising the quiet screams of the passion raging through me. How do I adequately declare that it's just not enough? Overcome by a fierce need to mesh with him, I lunge for the appeasement. He resists briefly, then draws me hard against his chest and its sanctuary.

Allowing passion to sweep him, he throws a cushion to the floor and swiftly brings us down. Now, he must claim his own. With my bottom positioned high, I wrap my legs around his waist. If only I had the key of eternity to lock him there... He rocks for a deeper joining, and siphoning through frantic appetence, he unleashes his hunger with a punishing kiss. Then, the pounding begins in earnest.

My screams grow louder, urging his pleasure to complete mine. He thrusts faster, his breath harshening in the drive. When my fingertips catch his nipple and squeeze, his demands turn more brutal--he cannot take enough. And then, with one final delivering stroke, he grinds to penetrate to the soul, then bursts with a groan. As the purging commences, I strain to spread myself wider so that he can take all that he needs, and I can receive all that he offers. He fills me. He fills my mind, my heart. He fills my body, my womb. He fills me with love, and he fills me with desire.

Could it, at last, be enough?

Later, when I remember dinner and begin to untangle my pliant body from his warmth, steel arms tighten around me and he whispers, "No, it's not enough."



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