He looked at his watch and smiled.  They would be together in a little less than an hour.  Before they found each other time had never been very important to him

He went to the window and placed his cheek against the sun drenched pane.  It was as warm and as smooth as her skin, but the city sounds below was a cacophony in comparison. To him the beating of her heart was music.  Her voice murmuring words of love and care blended with it into an intoxicating melody.

He delighted in the thought of the long loving strokes her fingers would trail through his hair.  The spot on his forehead after she kissed him there would be refreshingly damp and cool.  With a lock of her hair she would paint his eyelids.  When she dragged the shiny soft red strands across his nose, she would playfully tell him, that ís why they call this a bridge, you know.

The blue green pools that were her eyes always sparkled when she looked at him.  Even when they were discussing things, all he had to do was look into her eyes and the love they shared would arch like a rainbow between them.  When a compromise was reached they would hold each other close, look deeply into each others eyes.   Grinning they would say together You're my pot of gold, followed by a burst of laughter as one chased the other into the bedroom.

If he closed his eyes, he could deeply inhale and catch the faintest trace of the scent that was uniquely hers. It was an olfactory memory as vivid as his favorite apple crumb pie as his grandmother took it, hot and bubbly, from the oven.  He always knew when his Grandmother was near when the blend of the fruit, flower and fresh aromas reached his nose.  When he would say hello to her without turning around she would always ruffle the back of his hair looking for his extra pair of eyes.

She was also a potpourri of flavors. Her lips fit his so perfectly it was like mingling honey and butter on a biscuit.  When aroused her woman's nectar would satisfy him as an oasis quenched the arid throat of a thirsty man.  But it was milk, her milk, that was the sweetest, purest delicacy of them all.

Many times each day they sought a private sanctuary.  There they would undress and make a nest for themselves.  Cuddled together, his strong hands would reverently lift a full warm breast to his mouth.  Each time she felt the soft warm wetness of his mouth surround her nipple and aureole she would deeply sigh in pleasure and satisfaction.

Though normally seen as an act between mother and child, at times each experienced great sexual arousal when they suckled.  As she held him close she would tell him how incredibly wet she was becoming.  She would describe for him how her excitement increased as she watched his cock grow diamond hard.

Often, after he emptied the first breast,  her need to have him inside her was so intense she would stand and face him.  Straddling his legs she would lower herself onto his cock.  Their eyes would meet as she lifted the still full breast to him.  She loved the contrast of his ebony hands caressing her cloud white breast.  Slowly she would begin to move, matching the pace of his suckling.

The succulence of the milk was greater than the sweetness of it's taste. It ís very existence was the purest example of the love and commitment they shared.  From her breasts would flow milk rich with love. It was a priceless gift that nourished them both.

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