There is something elemental about fire. Always changing, always new. Dangerous. The giver of warmth, the cooker of food, the control of which raised humans above the other animals. But how much control do we ever have?

I certainly didn’t have much. I was so hot to jump him. And he just kept smiling and going slow. At first I thought it was avoidance and then it clicked. He was deliberately driving me over the edge. I liked this man.

It was in the smile in his eyes and the twitch of the smile. 

“Ah, now.” He picked me up again, carrying me to the bed.

“Oh, no, no, no,” said he, pushing me back as my body convulsed and I reached for him. “Never heard of foreplay?” 

This was no neophyte hick-town lover. This was a skilled romancer about to do due diligence to my eager and horny bod and I couldn’t wait.

Peter smiled again. A slow, sensual, knowing smile. He was going to drag this out, torture me, tease me to the limits of my endurance before he would give me release. What a way to go.

So I relaxed into the game.

Peter looked me over as a child might examine a Christmas present or a conqueror the spoils of war. Possessive and fascinated. Appreciating the moment. Anticipating the moments to come.

“Ah.” He let his hand run up the outside of my jeans, flipped up the edge of my sweater to look at the flesh of my belly.

“Mmm.”

I was squirming now. So hot, so wet, so hungry to have him in me. But not willing to give in, to beg to grab for what I wanted. Two could play at this game.

He started with my hair. Leaning over me, his breath warm on my face, the slight shakiness of his inhalations indicating his own arousal. 

Unwinding the perennial elastic that stopped it from tangling in Edmonton’s cold winds. Ran his fingers through it and found the knots where the wind had infiltrated anyway.

Found a brush and pulled my head into his lap, onto the huge hard-on which waited for me beneath his pants. A wriggle for him to enjoy the sensation and then he was working on my hair. Long, slow, sure strokes that foretold of joys to come.

Luxuriating in the feelings, in the caring and the cosseting, I awaited his next move.

Peter then laid me out on the bed and examined me again as if deciding where to begin. He then picked up one of my hands and blew in it.

“Not cold are you?” 

My hands and face had been chilled by even the brief walk from the car to the house but my internal thermostat was going through the roof.

I shook my head.

      Peter started by kissing each of my fingers, rolling them up and let his tongue run from my nails up and over the inside of my wrist. I jerked and sensations ran rampant up my arm, to my nipples, to my clit. Writhing in piercing pleasure.

And the man just smiled. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And he continued. With his tongue teasing up under the sleeve of my sweater. Sliding the angora up my arm till he could breathe on the inside of my elbow. More bursts of pleasure thrusting upwards.

He carefully pulled the sleeve back down.

Before doing the same to the other side. 

I was shaking in ecstasy. Exquisite agony. This man was amazing. And he hadn’t even gotten to first base. Yet. 

And then I was shuddering. Bucking. As I came and came again. Mini orgasms. The kind you get sometimes riding a motorcycle. Yee-ha!

By the time he moved back to the bottom of my sweater, I was exhausted. This was the first time I had ever had orgasms without contact, without a cock or a vibrator or skilled fingers or, or a motorcycle.

And Peter knew exactly what he had done. And smiled. Sat back and traced the lines of my face with gentle giant fingers. Firm but smooth with closely-trimmed nails. 

Delicately, he placed those hands around my waist. They were big enough that they hardly touched me. Slowly, slowly, he slid the soft wool up, teasing the skin laid bare from my top inching north with his tongue.

Lashing down at times to my waist, sliding along a rib to bury its tip in my belly-button, then tickling me up the line between my ribs to the clip that held my bra closed.

I squirmed. Arched. Struggled to position my nipples in the way of his warm and searching lips.

So wet, so needing him.  

He let his thumbnails drift by them, close enough to send further throbs of ecstasy throughout my body as he eased my sweater over my head and brought his face over mine.

And then his soft lips came down on mine, his tongue gently searching, exploring, pushing my lips apart, circling.

I gasped and quivered. So much sensation. Who’da guessed this hunk had it in him. Then again, with this weather, there would be a lot of incentive to develop indoor skills.

      And then Peter’s body followed the movements of his tongue, gently circling over me. Closer. But still not joined. I arched desperately upwards, the urges within me coursing fiercely, pushing my pubes up towards his pants, rubbing against his hard cock that was clearly outlined within.

My hands headed for his zipper but he gently slid his hands out along my arms to trap them and pin me below him.

His chest eased closer and I realized the stonewashed shirt he wore was silk. Ssss-sss.  My breath hissed inward. Incredible, the reaction of my skin. Aaa-ah.

An awesome orgasm started low, deep inside me and expanded outward at ever increasing intensity. It seemed to burst through my skin, envelop my universe. It shocked me, staggered me with its sublime wash of feeling.

I was dripping wet, exhausted, overwhelmed. What a man!

And then a slow smile lit up Peter’s face, one of intense satisfaction. Gotcha! And then I realized that he had managed to release his hard-on and slide his cock inside of me. One, two, three deep, hard thrusts and I was coming again, and again, and again as he took his pleasure and collapsed on top of me.

CONTINUED