It's Morning by lovingit

It's Morning
by lovingit

It's morning. I wake up and remember you have already left for the office.

It was so like waking from a dream. It is, every morning.

You had stirred me from slumber just enough to find my breasts and attach your lips to my nipples. Startling, I take a deep breath and then sigh. Here we go again. My heart smiles.

My hand moves without thought to your head. My fingers run through your hair to the back, pulling it closer still, burying your face in my bosom. I arch my back just a little, and hide my knees carefully in your lap, creating a tight valley quickly filled by you. We settle in.

From your head, my hand slides down your back. Yours moves to cup my breast. The rhythm starts as your lips and my nipple begin to make love.

My heart tells my mind how happy I am; and the message pulses back down to my breast. I feel it. It's coming. There is a rush of warmth engulfing me and gathering behind my nipples, then released. Together we sigh. Your lips move faster and my heart registers your moan.

The rhythm continues, and the dance transgresses down my spine, the beat resonating in my womb and vibrating the walls beneath my mound. I didn't notice my hips had started to move until I felt yours respond. The motion is slight, but it matches the beat on my nipple.

I open my eyes and look at your face. It ends at my nipple. You sensed me looking, and your eyes roll up and meet mine.. They are smiling. This image of you matches a picture my mind brings back throughout the day when my mind wonders into daydreaming.

We miss half a beat as you move from one breast to the other. Your hand remains, cupping the breast that your lips have left. That nipple is wet and the air makes it tingle. The other nipple now feels the floodgate release the pressure built behind it. There is a new sigh from me and another moan from you. The beat goes on.

Your hand squeezes my empty breast and you twist my wet nipple between your finger and your thumb. Your mind is obviously elsewhere as you fiddle with it.

We are lost in the music. Our minds twirling; all our cares and plans for the day haven't even been thought of yet. There is no room for them here. I am spinning and you catch me, pulling me closer. We know the song is almost over, but there is no sadness, only a wish to make the best of beat.

I have so much, yet I want more. The longing between my thighs begins to drown out the beat on my breast. Only hours ago we had made passionate love before falling asleep. Yet, I know I am spoiled and you will not leave me wanting. The anticipation is painful.

Your lips continue playing the music. Your hand leaves my breast and runs pressing hard down my back and grabs my cheek. Your fingers dig in then release their grip. I am conscious of your hand sliding between my thighs, lifting one. I feel your fingers trace their way to my center. My heart is beating wildly. Your palm rests on my mound and the beat is picked up there and intensified as your lips meet mine. Rolling me from my side to my back by the movement of your body, you kiss me hard.

I gasp then groan when suddenly I feel your fingers slide in and move to caress my g-spot. Now I am totally lost. I open my eyes quickly to search your face. You smile. Not being able to keep my eyes open, I give in to the final beats that take me souring to heaven and float me back. Slowly the music fades and I feel you release me from your arms. A quick kiss and your gone.

The last thing I heard was rain as I sank in to an ocean and the waves of sleep carried me away.

It is a dream I know well, but it is real. One I gladly relive, in one loving variation or another, each morning. It never gets old, only more intimate.

It's morning. The sun is coming up. There is no rain. I realize what I heard earlier was the water in your shower.

Yes, you are gone, but I know you will be back here for lunch. I smile. My joy is full and my heart is peaceful. I decide to enjoy the feeling, because I know the anticipation is coming, and it will build as the hours pass. The longing and the aching always come back. Until then, I will make the best of this beautiful morning.

Reprinted with permission, please do not duplicate without the author's prior acquiescence.

HOME